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Chapter Text

It was one of the many bleak winter nights to come, in a city that laid in chaos and ruin. There was mist and the smell of blood in the cold night's air. As he walked down the empty city streets, he paused for a brief moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in. The smell of blood aroused his hunger, and he was on the hunt. In the distance, the sound of a gun fired, indicating that someone was there… and, if he was lucky, it would provide a chance for him to feed.

As the hunter began to walk towards the sound, a close-by muffled scream turned him around. He listened; the echoes of the night carried the sound of crude voices of men and the distressed whimpers of a woman. His interest now shifted from the gunshot to these new sounds.

He followed them to a dark and desolate corner of the city, into a narrow alleyway between two abandoned apartment buildings. There he saw three men, street thugs, who had found prey in a young woman. One of them held her tightly from behind, his arms hugging around her body, restraining her as she struggled, while another stood in front, his body pressed against hers, with one hand cupping her mouth and whispering indecipherable cruelties in her ear. The men were laughing and yelling out like a pack of wild dogs, and in the eyes of the hunter, they were just that – animals. No, less… vermin. As the men were clearly distracted, the hunter stalked silently in the shadows, moving in towards his prey.

The girl was trying to fight back, desperate and unrelenting, and the air reeked of her fear. Although she couldn't break free from her restraint, she frantically kicked her legs – the only limbs she could move. Her efforts made the man in front stumble back, and unknown to him, the hunter was lurking close behind. The thug backed into his reach like an insect landing upon a spider's web. The hunter's large claws gripped the man's head, and with an effortless twist, before he could utter a sound, he snapped his neck.

The second thug, reactive to the sudden intrusion, pulled a switchblade knife from his back and charged towards the shadowy figure. As he lunged forward with the knife, the hunter caught his arm and spun him around, throwing him hard against the concrete wall, instantly knocking him unconscious.

Now the third man, having witnessed the ordeal, was cautious and fearful of what he was up against. He saw that the shadowed killer was strong and fast, and possessed a sense of uncaring brutality; it was not the kind of man he wanted to challenge. He threw the girl to the ground and backed away slowly, holding a knife in front of him with a quivering hand. But for his every step backward, the hunter pressed forward, stepping out of the shadows and into the street light.

"What the fuck are you, man?" The man's voice trembled as he looked upon the face that unveiled from the darkness. And soon, he would find the answer to his question as the monster revealed its identity.

With a deep growl rumbling softly from his chest, the hunter opened his mouth and a snake-like organ emerge from the depth of his throat, its head opening like a blooming orchid to reveal the sharp teeth behind its petals of flesh. This grotesque tool was a "stinger", and every person in this dying world knew what it meant to be faced with one.

The man's eyes widened in terror as he realised what stood before him. And just as he turned around to run, with speed and precision, the stinger shot out and latched onto his neck, embedding its teeth deep into the flesh.

Within moments, the hunter was feeling a sense of euphoria from the warm blood gushing down his pipe-like organ, providing him his much needed sustenance. He reveled in the feeling of another's lifeforce transferring into his own body. And soon, the weakened man fell to the ground with the hunter crouched at his side, eager to take from him every bit of life he had left.

Entranced by the carnality of feeding again for the first time in weeks, the hunter failed to notice that the second man, who had been unconscious until now, had started to wake again. Coming out of his daze, the man saw the dark figure crouched at the body of his comrade, and he reached for the knife that he had dropped on the ground nearby. Then he struggled to his feet and moved cautiously towards the feeding predator, seizing the opportunity to attack while his back was turned.

Suddenly, a loud gunshot broke the hunter's trance and his stinger quickly retracted. Another shot followed, then two more in quick succession. The hunter turned around to see the man fall dead to the ground, clutching the knife that was meant for his demise. On the side of the alleyway, the girl sat on the ground with her back pressed against the cold brick wall. Her arms were outstretched in front of her… and in her trembling hands she held a gun. She had shot the man.

The hunter let out a grunt, angry at himself that he did not sense the man approaching, and also surprised that, in the turn of events, she would be the one to save him – well, "save" him if he had been at any real risk; a knife in the back would not have caused him serious injury, but none-the-less, he did not like the fact that he was almost caught off guard.

Until this moment, he had forgotten about the girl. But now, curious, his focus was entirely on her. She was trembling and breathing heavily; in an obvious amount of trauma from the incident that had occurred. Her long brown hair was a mess, roughed up by those animals, and it fell wildly yet somewhat beautifully down the sides of her face. Her every short and heavy breath was visible in the cold night's air.

The hunter stood up from where he was crouched, and his movement caused her to quickly point the gun towards him. He didn't flinch, even as she took aim with her finger on the trigger. He was used to finding himself at the end of a gun held by a frightened human. Moments ago, the girl would have suffered a cruel fate at the hands of monsters far more vile. But those monsters wore human skin; he did not. He knew the sight of him would make her pull the trigger; they always do.

He took a slow step towards her… and then another… waiting for the moment when the gun will go off. But then, much to his surprise, she lowered the gun.

"Thank you" she said in a soft and broken voice.

He did not expect this reaction. Perplexed, he tilted his head and studied her face, reading her same way he would whenever he wanted to understand something about the human species. But he noticed that she wasn't looking at him, but somehow looking through him as if he did not exist at all.

In his curiosity, his steps came to a stop. But his silence seemed to stir a reaction in her, making her sit up with heightened attention. She leaned forward, and her face emerged from the shadows and fell into the dim street light. She was beautiful at that moment, in a melancholic way, with tears on her soft cheeks and her face pale from her fear and the cold. She scanned her surroundings, not with her eyes but seemingly with all her other senses. At that moment, he realized she was blind. She could not see him, nor see the monster that he was, and for some reason, he felt relieved. He quickly took the opportunity to walk away.

"Wait!" she called after him, scrambling to her feet as she pulled herself up against the wall. Her fallen shoe lay several paces away, and the coldness of the frost-covered ground felt like needles on the sole of her foot. "Don't leave me here…"

She started to walk towards him, but her first step landed on broken glass that had fallen from a row of smashed windows above. She let out a soft whimper as the glass pierced her naked skin. Her pained reaction made the hunter twitch a little, in a brief moment of vicarious discomfort.

She was afraid to take another step now. But he could see her desperation in wanting to follow him.

"Please… I… I can't see. I have no way of getting home."

The same desperation was heard in her voice. But the hunter never intended on being a hero; he was merely hungry. He never wanted to be a hero because the world would never see him as one. He preferred to stay out of the commotions of humans. However, this girl stood in front of him, desperate and helpless, pleading to him. He knew if he left her, she would be dead before sunrise… or worse.

"It won't be much out of your way… Please…"

She feared that his silence meant refusal, so she started to walk towards him again, this time carefully tapping her feet on the ground before putting her weight down, and running one hand along the wall for spatial reference. He could see that in just a few steps she would encounter more broken glass. He could already smell the blood from her previous cut, though it didn't entice him as he had just fed.

"Don't move," he said, quietly but firmly, just before she placed her foot down on the glass beneath it. The deep bass of his voice rumbled softly through the air like it was a part of the night.

She stopped.

He walked over to where her fallen shoe lay and picked it up… and he placed it into her hand. The panic in her eyes faded into a fragile relief. From this one gesture, she sensed his compassion, regardless if he really had any. But at that moment, she had to believe that he did.

She placed the shoe back on her bleeding foot, then looked up towards him with her soft, round eyes full of fear and hope… and she reached out her hand to him. He looked down at her hand, knowing that she meant for him to take it… but he would not. Instead, reluctantly, he took a soft grip of her arm just behind the elbow and led her forward. "Let's go."

Chapter Text

As they walked down the dimly lit streets, past empty and torn buildings and other wreckages of human civilisation, he could not help but look down at her face. He did not hesitate to stare, to study and analyse her, as she was blind and could not see him. But even though her large hazel eyes did not allow her to see the world, they allowed him to see her; their expressiveness told him of her every thought and every fear. She seemed to have calmed down now; still sombre, but the fear and panic had faded. He could hear her heartbeat; it was slowing, and colour had returned to her cheeks.

"I really appreciate this," she broke the silence. "I don't like having to ask for help, but there was no way I could get home by myself."

He did not respond to her gratitude. He was silent for a moment, and then he glanced at her curiously. "How did you shoot that man if you cannot see?" he asked.

It was the first full sentence he had said. She found his voice to be deep, and possessing a solemn calmness that was as gentle as a murmur, but at the same time concealing something much more savage. He had an old-worldly accent, which she could only place to be English.

"I can see some things – mostly just light and shadows, and movement. It's hard when it's dark, but sounds tell me where things are."

"You could have shot me," he said, not with any real concern.

"No," she replied nonchalantly. "I followed your sound ever since you showed up. I knew where you were."

Her sudden confidence just now surprised him. His gaze flickered to her face, then back to the dark street ahead. "I'm curious to know why anyone would be on these streets at night, let alone a blind girl… unaccompanied."

"I was meeting a friend."

"And it seemed like a good idea to meet this friend in the middle of the night in a dark alleyway?" His tone was more curious than condescending, though perhaps a little bit sarcastic.

"They dragged me into that alleyway," she retorted. "I was waiting by the road."

A few paces behind them, a wild dog trotted with quiet footsteps and hungry eyes, scouring the streets for food. He was quite impressed that she was able to notice this, shifting her attention to behind her, when even his own senses could only just detect the presence of the dog. After determining it was not a threat, she continued, "My friend was supposed to pick me up. We were supposed to leave the city tonight – take the midnight train to Washington."

He looked at his watch; thirteen minutes past midnight. "Looks like you missed your train."

"Actually… I came to tell him that I'm not leaving."

Again, he turned to her, surprised. "Why would anyone choose to stay in this place?" he muttered in his deep voice. 

"Because…" she paused and looked down. "There's something here that's important to me."

"Important enough to risk your safety?"

"Important enough to risk everything…"

He looked at her, waiting for her to explain. And she could sense his questions before he asked them.

She took a deep breath. "I know this sounds crazy, but I think we're close to finding a vaccine for this… plague."

"Vaccine?" Now he was intrigued.

"Yeah," she said, seeming a little more animated now, as if life had returned to her. "You see, a good friend of mine is one of the best molecular biologists in the country – Doctor Graeme Price." She paused to see if that name sparked any reaction from the stranger, but it did not. "He's been researching a vaccine ever since this whole thing started. He's close, I know it… and I want to be here when it happens. We were in this together since the beginning."

"Hnn…"

She could not decipher if his response was a chuckle at the ridiculous notion of a vaccine, or one of genuine curiosity. Perhaps to him, it was a bit of both.

"You're involved in this… research?" he asked.

"I guess you could say that."

"Then tell me, how would this vaccine work?"

"Ok, where do I start?" she muttered to herself. "Well… At first we thought this thing was a parasite – you know… the worms, and the altered behaviour in their hosts. But then it didn't make sense. You see, parasites live off their host, but these things, they don't live off us; they change us… at a genetic level; no parasite can do that. These worms aren't parasites, but carriers of a genetic code that alters human DNA. These worms are merely a vessel for the… virus."

"Merely a vessel?" he asked, staring at her intently. The deepness of his voice came out like a purr. But with the slightest change in tone, it could become a growl.

"Yeah," she replied. "The worms are just carriers, and the key is in the genetic material they carry. Anyway, we know this thing can only infect humans. We found that these worms don't release the virus until it recognizes it's inside a human host, which means it has sensors for reading DNA. So maybe we can introduce an agent that interferes with its sensors so it won't recognise the human host. Essentially, make them blind…" she paused, "…like me," she said with a slight smile.

Her explanation intrigued him; he had never heard his enemy described in such a scientific manner, not even by his associate Doctor Ephraim Goodweather. But he knew better than to be hopeful, as throughout the times, men had always thought of new and inciting ways of defeating this evil, but always failed. Still, he wanted to know more.

"Has it been tested?" His questions were becoming a little more eager.

"No. We… I mean he," she corrected herself, "Doctor Price, is still working on it. Besides, to be able to test this, we would need to administer the vaccine on uninfected human subjects, and then purposely infect them without knowing if the vaccine will work. I don't know how we would do that."

"Then you better be certain that your vaccine works."

Suddenly, the burst-fire of an automatic rifle tore through the silence, followed by some inaudible yelling, and the loud engine of a vehicle. The sounds were a little too close for comfort. Startled, she reactively grabbed his arm and pulled herself close to him. She could feel the strength and muscularity of his stature. It was the type of figure that would make a woman feel protected to be near. However, he had not found a woman turning to him for protection since many lifetimes ago. The feeling had become alien to him. He looked down at her… he could feel the warmth of her body… he could sense her fear. He was sure that if she had her sight, if she could see him, the night would have played out very differently. Perhaps she would have pulled the trigger in that alleyway. But instead, here she was, clinging to him tightly.

In silent agreement, they both hastened their pace. Moments later, a military Humvee turned into the street. There was blood on the side of the vehicle – human blood. The hunter pulled the hood of his coat over his head and turned his face away. The vehicle slowed as it drove up beside them.

A soldier leaned out the window and addressed the girl, "Is everything alright, ma'am?" He then looked suspiciously at the hooded man beside her, eyeing him up and down, trying to capture glimpse of his face that he was obviously trying to hide.

"I'm fine," she answered dismissively, drawing the soldier's attention back to her. She could have easily turned to the soldiers for assistance, but instead she chose to stay with the stranger.

After giving the hooded figure a final stare, and reassured that the woman was not in distress, the solider said, "Please return to your homes; you shouldn't be out here," before the vehicle drove off.

The hunter was relieved; too many incidents like this ended in blood-shed. But not this time. He turned his head back into the light, and the pair continued walking.

They stopped outside an apartment building that seemed less in shambles than ones on the previous block. There were a few broken windows, but also a few with light peeping through the cracks of blinds, suggesting people still resided here. Perhaps because the building was reasonably secure – metal bars had been bolted across all the windows on the ground floor, and a solid metal gate with a sturdy lock guarded the front entrance of the building. It was enough to deter intruders, both human and otherwise.

"I believe we're here," he said.

She was starting to grow fond of his deep voice, and she found the tone of sophistication in his old English to be a pleasant contrast against the savagery of the new world. In a way, she thought it was a distinguishing contrast against his own savagery, that of which she was certain – even though she didn't see how exactly he dealt with those street thugs, she knew it was not gently.

Her hand slid down the rough fabric of his sleeve as she somewhat reluctantly let his arm slip out of her grip.

"I… uh… don't really know how to thank you, so…" She pulled out an envelope of documents from her pocket. "Take this. It will get you out of the city."

He felt some appreciation for her gesture, regardless of whether it was out of kindness or purely compensation. He looked down at the envelope for a moment, and then back up at her. "I won't be leaving here any time soon."

"Why would anyone stay in this place?" she smiled as she asked him the same words he had asked her.

"Hnn," a smile escaped from his lips only briefly. "Hold onto it. You might change your mind." He stared at her unabashedly. Although she could not see, she felt his gaze on her, but somehow it did not make her feel uncomfortable. He noticed her beauty, but his gaze was not of the same physical admiration that a man would look upon a woman; after all, he was not a man.

"What's your name?" she asked. Before he could answer, a dog bark caught her attention. From around the corner, a golden Labrador came running, with its harness dangling behind him. "Caesar!" she cried as she crouched down and the dog ran into her arms. "There you are!"

She thought she had lost him when those men dragged her away. But somehow, her trusted companion had made his way back home… back to her side. The dog wasn't just her companion, but he was her eyes… and her freedom.

After a brief happy reunion, she stood back up. But she noticed a sudden emptiness surrounding her – she could no longer sense the stranger's presence.

"Are you there?" she asked quietly, almost as if she did not expect anyone to hear her words. And indeed, no one was there. The mysterious stranger, to whom she owed her life, had disappeared, leaving not even a name. However he left her with a sense of calm, perhaps from his voice and the way he spoke, or the courteous manner in which he escorted her home, not once taking advantage of her helpless situation. Although he said very little, and she knew even less about him, she felt comforted by their encounter. She slept easy that night, which was a rare luxury for anyone in these times, but especially for her.

Chapter Text

It was three o'clock in the morning when he returned from the streets and slipped silently back into the headquarters. After he left the girl, he returned to the hunt – this time not to feed, but to kill… as many of them as he could. He hunted in places that the patrols neglected, and at the same time keeping himself out of sight of the soldiers.

As he walked quietly through the darkness of the old warehouse, a voice greeted him from across the room.

"Merry Christmas"

He turned around to see Doctor Ephraim Goodweather sitting on the old and torn couch, alone in the dark, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Did you know it's Christmas?" the doctor asked, taking a swig from the bottle. His tone was both jovial and sarcastic at the same time, and quite clearly under the influence of alcohol.

"I have not been keeping track of the days," he replied impassively, as if to avoid conversation.

"Ha," the doctor laughed. "Trust me, when you have kids, you'll always know when it's Christmas." The smile on his face and distant look in his eyes spoke of reminiscence of a past happiness. But it quickly faded and turned into a look of anguish and despair. He brought the bottle to his lips again, and drank with a heavy conscience, grimacing as he swallowed the strong liquor. Then, a moment later, a lighter mood returned. "Tell me Quin, have you…"

"Quinlan," he corrected with a cold stare.

"Tell me Quinlan, have you ever seen New York back in the day? I mean, before all this shit happened?"

"Yes, I have," Quinlan replied, approaching the doctor and carefully observing his state.

Ephraim took no notice of Quinlan's reply and continued, "Back in those days, you'd know when it was Christmas. I mean, you couldn't miss it – the lights, the decorations, and all the people…" he waved his arms around as he spoke, still holding the bottle of whiskey and somehow managing not to spill any of it. "Oh and Christmas carols playing every goddamn shop you walk into! God I hated those songs!" he continued his rant. "But Zach and Kelly… they loved them; they loved the whole Christmas thing. But for me, it was always a distraction from work…" His voice faded.

Quinlan could see the doctor's eyes growing distant once again, as his mind wandered into past memories and regrets. He quickly interrupted the doctor's dark thoughts, "Speaking of work, how is the research coming along, Doctor?"

His attention snapped back to the present. "Ha," he chuckled. "There's no point. It doesn't work." His words were slurred.

Quinlan grew concerned. "I thought you said you tested the formula and it was successful."

"Oh, the formula works; kills every Strigoi infected by it within a couple of days. But so what? It doesn't make any difference." He was not usually this pessimistic and dispirited, especially when it came to his work. He took another gulp of whiskey and then continued, "In the time it takes to kill one of them, a hundred of us become infected." He hung his head down and closed his tired eyes, rubbing them as if trying to clear his blurred vision. "What's the point anyway? The whole world's going to turn, and then what? I just kill everyone with some biological weapon?"

Even though this temporary pessimism was only brought about by alcohol, Quinlan knew the doctor was right. "Perhaps your efforts should have been towards looking for a vaccine, not a weapon."

"A vaccine?" Ephraim laughed. "That's impossible!"

"Not according to a certain Doctor Graeme Price…"

The mention of this name caused Ephraim to suddenly look up with full attention. "Wait, how do you know Graeme Price?"

Quinlan didn't answer.

"Is he here in the city? Did you speak to him?" Ephraim asked eagerly.

"I might know someone who's in contact with him."

The doctor's eyes lit up as he sprung to his feet and stumbled clumsily towards Quinlan. "W…we gotta go talk to him!" With a combination of excitement and drunkenness, he was hardly able to get his words out. "He's like, the best guy in the field!"

"So I've heard…" Quinlan remarked quietly.

Enthusiasm had returned to Doctor Goodweather, almost as if he was a different person to the man that had just been sitting defeated in the dark, ready to give up. "And you said he's researching a vaccine? We gotta speak to him… Find out what he knows."

Quinlan was somewhat amused to witness the doctor go through a whole plethora of emotions within just five minutes. The intoxication from alcohol was something he could never experience for himself, but throughout the times, he had seen it change men, even the most obstinate men – even kings.

"Come see me in the morning… when you're less inebriated." Quinlan turned and started walking away. "Good night, Doctor Goodweather."

Ephraim was left standing there, in a drunken daze, before finally retorting, "But it is the morning..." By then, Quinlan had already left the room.

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since the night she encountered the mysterious stranger, who had assisted her without asking for anything in return. The solitude in his voice was as if he asked for nothing from the world. For some reason, the encounter held some significance in her mind. Though now, her thoughts of him were beginning to lessen, and she was sure that they would never meet again.

She wrapped her big winter coat tightly around her petite figure, then bent down to fasten her dog's harness and give him a quick pat before walking out of her apartment. She shared the elevator down with a man and a woman, and unavoidably listened to their conversation.

"Did you hear they're withdrawing all patrols after sun-down?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, 'cause too many of them are getting infected," the man replied.

"But after sun-down is when we need them the most!"

"We don't need 'em wasting military resources when there's an easier solution: just don't go out at night." The man did not seem to share her concern. "The only people out at night are thugs and looters anyway."

"That's exactly the problem!" the woman exclaimed, becoming increasingly agitated. "The nights are just going to be overrun by gangs and the infected!"

"Then let the gangs and the infected kill each other."

The conversation continued after the elevator stopped at ground floor. The couple rushed off ahead and she could no longer hear what they were saying. As they opened the front door of the building, she felt a gust of chilling wind blow right through her, penetrating all her layers down to the bone. Her body shuddered involuntarily. When she stepped out onto the street, the smallest amount of warmth could be felt from the morning sun, but not enough to overcome the chill. She joined behind a small group of people all walking in the same direction, heading towards the town hall where food rations were distributed on the forth day of every week.

She heard an eager voice behind her. "Excuse me… Hey there. Hello?" Then she felt a tap on her shoulder that made her jolt. She realized this unfamiliar voice had been calling out to her. She tensed up.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Hi… um… my name's Ephraim Goodweather. Can I talk to you?" the man's voice said. He started walking alongside her.

"What do you want?" she asked coldly, picking up her pace.

"I was hoping you could help me with something."

"I'm pretty sure you can see I'm not in a position to help anyone," she said, cautious that this was a setup for some sort of misdeed.

"I want to talk to you about Doctor Graeme Price." This made her stop. She turned to him with a look of curiosity and concern. He continued, "I was told that you know Doctor Price, and that he's here in New York… working on a vaccine."

Her look of concern now turned to a look of astonishment. "You were told? By who?" Her voice was stern, with a hint of hostility.

Ephraim sensed her defensiveness. "Look, a… uh… friend of mine helped you the other night. He said you told him about Doctor Price, and the vaccine…" He could see the thoughts processing in her head; there was a slight moment of confusion, and then realization. The look on her face changed. Although he could not quite read her expression, he could sense that her guard was momentarily down, so he continued before she could say anything, "He said I'd find you here. Look, I need your help… or, I was hoping we could help each other. I used to work for the CDC. I'm an epidemiologist…"

"Sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Ephraim Goodweather."

The name suddenly dawned on her, "Doctor Ephraim Goodweather?"

"Yeah…"

"…who lead the CDC Canary Team?"

"Yep, that's me."

"I know who you are," she said, as she turned to continue walking, slowly this time, almost inviting him to walk along with her. "You know, when this whole thing started, we were all looking to you for an answer."

He laughed softly. "Well, now I'm looking to Doctor Price for answers."

They walked together down the street, awkwardly trying to get past the small talk so they could get to more important matters, such as the reason why Ephraim so eagerly sought her. The whole time he walked with her, he could not help but notice her vulnerability, watching her careful steps and alertness to every stimulus. He wondered what it must be like to be blind in times like these. He instantly felt sympathy for her, though perhaps inflated by the fact that she was a young and attractive woman, and that was often his weakness. Every now and then, when they crossed the street, or when there was a step in the pavement, he felt compelled to put his hand gently on her back and guide her where she was walking. And every time, she awkwardly pulled away, too politely subtle for him to notice, until she finally said, "It's ok, that's what Caesar's here for", motioning to her guide dog.

Doctor Goodweather started to talk about his research, but in the back of her mind she thought about this so-called friend of his – the nameless stranger who had been on her mind so many times since that night. However, the conversation did not leave room for her ask. Besides, the information that Doctor Goodweather was telling her was far too interesting. He described how he had created a virus of his own, that was able to infect the infected, killing them – a biological weapon against the creatures that terrorized humanity. She interrogated every detail of his research, and he answered all of her questions until she was satisfied that what he was saying was genuine.

Finally, she smiled. It was the first time that he saw her expression lighten. "You know, Doctor Goodweather…"

"Please, call me Eph," he smiled back, even though she could not see.

"Your reputation for being the CDC cover-boy precedes the reputation for your work," she grinned. "But I'm surprised; this is actually impressive."

He wasn't quite sure how to interpret her seemingly backhanded compliment. But her smile reassured him that she was only being facetious. However, he knew there was also truth behind what she said – when he worked for the CDC, he was most known for his media presence. Because of his handsome looks and ability to charm an audience, he was often the distraction tactic thrown in front of the media whenever the CDC needed to cover something up. And for that reason, those who knew the truth hated him. Rumours also began spreading that he charmed his way to the top of his career, undermining the fact that he was actually a brilliant doctor.

On the road next to them, a patrol vehicle rolled past with its loud engine rumbling. On top of the truck sat a group of soldiers, heavily armoured and carrying assault rifles. The expressions on the soldiers' faces were tired and worn, and their eyes were lifeless. They sat slumped like defeated men, no longer dignified or distinguished by their uniforms. At that moment, they were not soldiers, but simply men... boys... stripped down to their bare humanity, gripped by fear, exhaustion and hopelessness.

When they reached the town hall, a large queue of people had already formed, starting from the tall wooden doors of the entrance, down the large stone steps, and all the way along the side of massive brick building. They joined the back of the line, which was moving forward ever so slowly. Those who had already received their rations were standing around on the street, rummaging through their tattered cloth bags, eager to find something more than bread, potatoes and canned food. On good weeks, there would be meat, eggs, cheese, and other things.

Several armed military personnel walked up and down the line, eyeing the people like they were dangerous criminals rather than civilians. One soldier carried a loudspeaker. "Have your meal cards and your IDs ready. Citizens, have your meal cards and your IDs ready," he blared into the speaker as he walked down the line.

She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket, brushing past the gun that she always kept with her, before reaching for her ID and meal card.

"Mia… Carrera," Ephraim leaned over and read her name on the ID card that she held in her hand. "Well it's nice to meet you Mia."

Instinctively, she held the card close to her chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself," she realized.

"Doctor Carrera?"

"Actually, I'm not a doctor," she smiled bashfully. "I just worked at the lab with Doctor Price."

"So, where is his lab?" Ephraim asked, getting back on topic. "I didn't know there are still research facilities running in the city."

"There isn't," she replied. "They've all been shut down… Abandoned. All the facilities are just sitting there, so why not use them?"

"How did he manage to get permission from the Authorities?"

"Permission?" she grinned.

"Wait, you mean he's not actually doing this in a strictly… legal manner?"

For a moment, she dreaded that she had revealed too much to Ephraim – a man that she really knew nothing about. What if he was working with the Council? This information would surely have Doctor Price arrested, or worse. "Where are you doing your work?" she queried him.

"I don't even have a lab," he shrugged. "Just set up in a warehouse with some equipment I borrowed from a high school."

"You couldn't get a grant from the Council to have you set up somewhere?"

"Pff, the Council!" he laughed, oblivious to the fact that she was testing him to see where his allegiances lay. "They have no interest in science. That's why they shut down all the labs and put all the resources into the military. Violence solves everything!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "But science… well that shit's useless."

She smiled.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by loud and frantic yelling, cutting through the murmur of voices from the crowd. Startled, the crowd fell silent and all heads turned towards the sound. Near the front of the queue, a man in his forties, dressed in dirty jeans and an old grey ski jacket, charged at one of the soldiers and grabbed him by the collar of his uniform.

"Thieves! You're all fucking thieves!" he screamed into the face of the stunned soldier. "This food belongs to the people! You can't treat us like dogs! You can't enslave us!"

Recovering from his initial shock, the soldier broke free from the man's grip and slammed the butt of his rifle into his face, sending him stumbling back. Blood began pouring from his nose and his mouth. The crazed man reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. But before he could take aim, the soldier's rifle had taken a single precise shot, and the powerful bullet penetrated the man's head, also killing a civilian behind him. A spray of blood landed upon others standing close by, and screams of panic followed.

Mia's hand wrapped tightly around the handle of the gun in her pocket. Her heart was pounding. Ephraim put his arm around her and moved her a few paces back, even though they were not close to the commotion to begin with.

"What's happening?" she asked anxiously.

"Some guy attacked one of the soldiers."

Then, another gunshot scattered the crowd and people near the front began running, scared and panicked. There were several more gunshots, and amidst the chaos, Ephraim could see dead bodies sprawled across the stone steps of the building. A patrol vehicle, possibly the same one that passed earlier, pulled up outside the hall and several soldiers quickly dispatched from the vehicle. Ephraim knew it was time to get out of there; he grabbed Mia's hand and pulled her into the side street next to the hall.

"The rations…" she gasped.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll get our rations another day," he reassured. "Come on, let's get out of here."

They hurried away from the town hall, walking as quickly as Mia could, only slowing down when the chaos was far enough behind them. The gunfire down the street had stopped, but an air of panic lingered over the city.

"You ok?" Ephraim asked.

"Yeah…" she uttered, catching her breath, as she politely broke free from Ephraim's hand. "What happened back there?"

"I have no idea. Who the hell knows what's happening around here anymore."

"We should get off the streets," she said. "We should go home and see if there's any news on the radio."

"I'll walk you back," Ephraim offered, a little too eagerly.

"No," she quickly replied. "I'm fine. I'm used to getting around by myself."

He walked with her a little bit, to the end of the street, where they were due to go their separate ways. He asked her several times if she was sure she did not want his escort, but she insisted. They stopped at the corner of the street in front of an empty old bar with smashed windows, where a fire had also torched parts of the inside. They turned to each other to say their goodbyes.

"I'll talk to Doctor Price," she said. "He'll be interested to hear about your work. I'll let you know when he's able to meet you."

"Yeah, that would be great," Ephraim said enthusiastically. "Let him know I'm interested in working with him. I think it's going to take more than one brilliant mind to crack this thing!" he smiled. Then, slightly embarrassed, Ephraim paused before asking, "And um, also… I kinda need a favour…"

Another favour? Mia thought. This made her nervous. She didn't like favours, nor did she like asking for them – she thought it was too often a gateway to the abuse of privileges.

"You see," he said, "the lab I have set up at the warehouse isn't much of a lab. I need proper equipment, and facilities..."

"So you want to take some equipment from the lab?"

"Well…" he considered how to word his request. "Actually, I was hoping to move my work into a proper lab." Before she could say anything, he quickly added, "Some things are kinda hard to set up in a warehouse, you know – like a cold room, imaging systems, a floor centrifuge…"

"I'll speak to Doctor Price," she replied with slight uncertainty. "So, how do I contact you?"

"Here, take this." He pulled out a satellite phone from his pocket and entered a number. "The number is already set on the screen, so just press this button to call it." He placed the phone in her hand and moved her finger over the 'call' button. "I guess I'll hear from you soon."

"Yeah," she said, giving him a brief smile before she turned and walked away.

Ephraim watched her for a while as she walked down the street, her long brown hair fluttering behind her in the breeze. He didn't imagine her to be so beautiful when Quinlan told him about her. "Blind woman; likely to have a dog with her. Brown hair, moderate height, age late twenties to early thirties," Quinlan had said, and he described her so methodically, without any sentiment or allusion to her beauty, like any man would have. But then again, what more did he expect from Quinlan? Ephraim smiled to himself, and then began to make his way back to the warehouse.

That night, the citizens of New York sat by their radios and listened to the broadcast. It announced that two men had initiated an attack on military personnel during the ration distribution. They were believed to be affiliated with an anti-military group who called themselves Nemesis. The same group was responsible for the fall of Boston over a year ago when they blew up the power plant, sending the whole city into eternal blackness. Within weeks, civil war broke out; the streets were overrun by human violence during the day, and the infected during the night. The military completely lost control. Hundreds of soldiers died, or turned, and those who were left were ordered to pull out of the city. Since then, Massachusetts has been off the grid; complete radio silence. No one knows if anyone is still alive in there.

In other ominous news, as Mia had heard in the elevator, the broadcast announced that the military would no longer be patrolling the streets at night. This meant two things – one; that the military were at a strain for resources, and two; that they were losing the battle for control over the night. Those who partook in devious activities saw this as good news; they could conduct whatever matters they wished during the night with absolute freedom, as long as they were willing to share the streets with the infected. But those who were smarter knew that the mayhem created in the night would not be contained within the night, and would soon spew over into the day. It was the beginning of the inevitable fall of New York.

Chapter Text

It was a week later now, Ephraim had still not heard from Mia; he was starting to grow impatient. As he sat there, staring down at the satellite phone on the table next various guns and spread out maps of the city, he felt a sudden impulse that propelled him to his feet. He decided he wouldn't wait any longer, and he would go to her apartment at that very instant.

Then just as he wrapped his warm woolen scarf around his neck, the phone on the table began to buzz. He leaped to grab it.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Eph? It's Mia." Her voice was quiet, and her tone was sombre.

Ephraim, on the other hand, spoke with excitement. "Hey! I was just wondering when I'd hear from you. Not to sound eager or anything…"

"Yeah, sorry, I haven't had a chance to speak to Doctor Price."

"Maybe I can talk to him directly… if you tell me how to get in contact with him."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Ephraim almost thought the signal had dropped out, but then he heard her breathe a soft sigh. "I think we should just drop by at the lab…" she finally said. He was too excited to notice the hesitation in her voice.

"Great! Hey, I was wondering if I could bring a few samples. I've been meaning to run some tests, and it would be really handy if I could use some of the equipment at the lab… I mean, if that's alright? Besides it would be a good chance to show Doctor Pr…"

"Yeah, just bring whatever you need," she cut him off impatiently, though he hardly noticed.

"Ok then, I'll pick you up in an hour."

Again, there was a pause before she answered. "No… we have to wait until after dark."

"After dark?" Ephraim exclaimed.

"The lab… it's outside the safe zone," she replied somewhat reluctantly. She waited for some sort of reaction from Ephraim, but he was silent. She continued, "It'll be easier to sneak out at night, especially now that they've stopped the night patrols."

"Wait… outside the safe zone?" Ephraim finally said.

"Well, you can't get anywhere near the facilities around here; they're all guarded or occupied by the military."

Ephraim knew this was true, as he'd already tried… many times. He sighed, knowing that this was going to turn out to be a far more complicated and dangerous mission than he had originally thought. But there was no other choice. "Alright, I'll pick you after sundown."

As soon as Ephraim put down the phone, he reached for the radio transceiver across the table.

"Fet? Fet, are you there?"

As always, he had no idea where Vasiliy Fet had gone off to. Ephraim just hoped he was close enough to receive his transmission.

A moment later, a voice responded. "Hey, what's up Doc?"

"Change of plans for tonight. You think you're up for taking a drive outside the safe zone?"

A slight pause.

"Outside the safe zone?!" he laughed as if it were a joke. "You better have a good reason for wanting to go out there."

"Yeah, I'll explain later."

"Alright," Fet replied, easily convinced. The trouble-seeking ex-mercenary rarely turned down a mission. "Oh, and bring the Half Breed," he said, referring to Quinlan. "If things get ugly, we could use him."

"Good idea," Ephraim agreed, knowing that if there was ever any danger, having Quinlan around was better than any weapon a man could carry.

When night came, Mia was waiting impatiently by her window, overlooking the street outside. The radio on the table beside her was on quietly; she partly listened to the broadcast, partly lost in her own mind… plagued by her own troubles.

Again, the man on the radio was talking about the group Nemesis. The Authorities feared another attack. Everyone feared the violence, or worse, a repeat of Boston. Yet so many took to the group's cause that their numbers were multiplying across the country. The illusion of control was slipping, and the people could see it.

Mia heard a car pull up outside. She quickly turned off the radio, grabbed her coat and hurried out of her apartment. She made her way downstairs without her guide dog; it was easy enough, as she had walked these hallways many times. She stayed close to the walls, touching them with her hand every few paces just to reaffirm her position. Then as she walked out of the front door of the building, Ephraim greeted her and took her arm, leading her to the car.

"Not bringing your dog?" he asked.

"No, I figured you would do," she said with a smile.

The driver inside the car started the engine. Its rumble was loud against the silence of the night.

"We should move before we draw attention," another voice said.

This voice caught her attention. She immediately recognized it, and the familiar feelings that came with it. She let go of Ephraim's hand and walked towards the silhouette of a man standing in the headlights of the vehicle.

"You…" she said, unable to hide the smile on her face. "I didn't think we'd meet again."

"Yes, an unexpected turn of events," Quinlan replied evenly. She had almost forgotten the deep sound of his voice.

She walked slowly towards him… until the dark shadow of his silhouette veiled her eyes, looming over her as he stood before her.

"You disappeared into the night before I could ask for your name…" she said.

"Quinlan," he replied matter-of-factly.

"I'm Mia," she smiled, as her eyes lowered slightly, with seemingly submissive yet charming timidity.

"Mia…" he repeated softly.

The quiet moment was interrupted when the man in the driver's seat leaned out the window and tapped his hand impatiently on the side of the vehicle. "C'mon, let's go."

Quinlan's eyes lingered on her for a moment, before he turned and climbed into the van. Mia and Ephraim followed.

"Mia, this is Fet. Fet, Mia," Ephraim introduced.

The two greeted each other briefly.

"Alright, where are we goin'?" Fet asked, getting straight to the point. From his voice, Mia could tell he was a tough kind of man; the masculine type who did not care for formalities. He had a slight European accent - Russian, she thought. Although his background was actually Ukrainian.

"Manhassett," Mia replied. "There's a medical facility up there, just off the expressway."

"I don't know how we're gonna get past the guard posts," Fet sighed, shaking his head as he started driving off.

"Just stay off the main roads," Ephraim suggested.

"Yeah, thanks Doctor Obvious."

As they drove through the city, there was a tense and uncomfortable silence in the car, though Mia wondered if it was just her own anxiety – being in a car full of strange men, and embarking on a strange journey, with an outcome that she feared the most. But it was her own request to go out there, and so she took a deep breath and kept her nerves at bay.

As expected, there were no patrol vehicles. The streets were completely empty, with the exception of four men they saw at one point, huddle together under a railway bridge, discussing something that appeared to be very secretive. All four men looked up as the van approached, with suspicious and unfriendly eyes, and their glares followed the vehicle all the way until it was out of sight.

Moments later, they were outside the residential zone, and the streets were more desolate than ever, littered with rubble and broken objects that were remnants of a once civilized world. In this area, there were no lights, and the night was suddenly much darker. The tall buildings around them stood like hollow skeletons, towering over the pavement. And the silence in this dead part of the city most unnerving.

"This place gives me the creeps," Ephraim remarked. "Hard to imagine the risk Doctor Price is taking every time he goes out to the lab."

"Well he mostly stays at the facility," said Mia. "He comes back once a week for his rations."

"Which roads does he take?" Fet quickly realised the more important question to ask. "If he's gettin' in and out without any trouble, maybe we should take the same roads."

"I don't know," she replied, biting her lip. "I've never been out here with him."

"So you've never actually been there? Well that's just great…" he muttered.

Then suddenly, something caught Fet's attention. "Shit…" He quickly turned off the car's headlights and slowed the vehicle to a halt. "Guard post up ahead," he said, nodding towards the bright searchlights in the distance. "Looks like we can't get through this way."

"Do you think they saw us?" Ephraim asked.

"Nah… don't think so…"

Mia appeared agitated now, as she sat forward in her seat, brows furrowed and hands anxiously clutching the back of the seat in front of her. As Quinlan observed her reaction, he noticed that her stern expression revealed eagerness rather than fear, and he wondered what exactly she was so eager about.

"What do we do now?" Ephraim asked.

"We're gonna have to go back."

"No! Keep going," Mia instructed with a sudden firmness in her voice. "We have to get to the lab!" She offered no further explanation, but her face was stern and resolute… and her order was final. Her unexpected authority made the others turn and look at her, and then at each other, not knowing what to make of it.

Then finally, Fet shook his head in resignation and started up the car again. "Alright, I'm gonna try headin' around down south. If this don't work, I'm goin' back, alright?"

Mia agreed in silence.

"Should we be expecting any surprises?" Quinlan studied her inquisitively.

Again, she didn't respond.

With luck, the next road they tried was unguarded, and they slipped right through the border. There was no wall, no line on the ground, or any sign or indication that marked this invisible border; it was as if the safe zone was just some arbitrary place named by men just to make themselves feel safe. But in reality, the only thing that kept Death from crossing over into the city… was time.

Once far enough outside, Fet turned the car's headlights back on. The light revealed a road that was overgrown and cracked. Dead winter branches weaved around man-made structures as if they had merged into one. Everything around them was grey and lifeless, and the further they drove, the more they saw the spread of Death's wings over the land.

When they reached the highway, the spectacle that emerged in front of them was a graveyard of abandoned cars, stretching as far as the eye could see; a field of mechanical corpses laying silently in the night.

"Woah, would you look at that," Fet exclaimed in awe.

Every car they drove past had been left with its doors, bonnet and fuel hatch wide open. They lay completely ravaged, and everything that can be looted had been taken.

Ephraim leaned over from the back of the van, looking out the front window. "You think any of these people made it out?"

"All those people are out there, that's for sure," Fet muttered, still gazing with bewilderment. "I just don't know if they're still… people."

"You think they all turned?"

The air suddenly seemed to grow colder, and the night darker, as the presence of an invisible threat lingered over each person. As they neared the research facility, the landscape around them began to grow into a natural wilderness.

Turning off the highway, the small road in front of them was engulfed by tall trees on both sides, with their leafless branches stretching out like claws over the road. The area around them, which had once been a large golf course, was now almost a forest.

The van pulled up in front of a large security gate at the entrance of the institute.

"North Shore Medical Research…" Fet read from a sign. "This is it?" he asked, as if unconvinced.

"Yeah, that's it," Mia replied, handing Fet a security pass for the front gate.

"Nah, I don't think that's gonna work," he said. "The power's out." He looked at the large, looming building behind the gate; there was not a single light, or any sign of activity. "Are you sure your doc's here?"

"Yeah, it doesn't look like anybody's here," Ephraim agreed.

They looked to Mia, but she didn't answer. She didn't appear to be surprised at this outcome, almost as if she had expected it. However, it did not ease her tension. A flash of fear fled from her eyes before anyone could catch a glimpse of it… all except Quinlan.

"There's a switchboard around the back," she said, masking a tremble in her voice. "We can try getting the power back up; that'll open the gate."

Fet looked again at the dark building ahead, haunting and imposing, surrounded by rustling forestland that concealed whatever threats that might've lurked in the night. "You want me to go out there?!" he asked, raising his brow.

"No, no," Ephraim quickly interjected, "Quinlan should go." He looked at Quinlan, who gave him a look in return. "I mean, we don't know what's out there."

Fet now also looked at Quinlan. He didn't mind going himself, but if Quinlan were to offer, he would not object.

Quinlan stared back at the two staring at him, his face full of indifference, and perhaps a slight hint of annoyance. "Alright, I'll go," he said.

Without hesitation, he stepped out of the van. And just as he was about to close the door behind him, Mia followed him out.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused.

"I'm going with you."

Ephraim laughed. "You're not serious…"

"You won't find the switchboard without me. Besides, when the power's back up, you're gonna need me to reset the security program." There was that tone of confidence in her voice again. Quinlan found it rather intriguing, perhaps because at first it seemed out of character for her demure nature. But really, it was the most telling sign of her character.

Fet and Ephraim were still staring questioningly at Mia when Quinlan slammed shut the door of the van.

"Alright, lead the way," he said with a slight grin.

She turned to face him. She could feel him standing close in front of her. She reached out her hand and smiled at the familiarity of this scene. But this time, as he stood unmoving, she reached forth and found his hand, and took hold of it. She felt the warmth of his skin on her cold, frost-bitten hands. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt a gentle human touch. He paused in the moment, staring down at her hand in his, confused, as if it was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. He was suddenly met with a feeling that was slightly uncomfortable, but not completely unpleasant.

He shook away the feeling. There were more important tasks at hand.

They began to walk away from the lights of the van, and towards the darkness of the wilderness that lay beside the road, circling around the side of the medical facility.

"Your friends didn't hesitate to throw you out here," she said to him quietly.

"And you were foolish enough to follow."

Chapter Text

The bushland that surrounded them rustled with noises, accompanying the background melody of the howling wind. The night was so dark that Mia's eyes saw nothing but complete blackness. She relied heavily on Quinlan's guidance. They walked along the outside of the tall wire fence that surrounded the facility, until they found a small opening in a part of the fence that had collapsed. Without thinking, Quinlan let go of Mia's hand and slipped through the gap. She quickly followed, her hands reaching out for him in sudden panic at the void of his presence. As she navigated through the tight gap, a protruding wire grazed her neck and made a small cut. She let out a soft cry. Quinlan quickly turned, realising he had neglected her. He wasn't used to being concerned for the well-being of others; such considerations often slipped his mind, and so those around him always wondered if such a creature was capable of caring at all.

He looked her up and down, analysing what injury had occurred.

"You were meant to be my eyes," she scolded somewhat teasingly as she rubbed the tender spot on her neck.

He realized it was just a graze. For a split second, he glanced at the tiny sliver of blood on her skin, but then quickly turned away before any thoughts could take form. "I apologise I'm not as apt at this task as your dog," he retorted facetiously.

"Yeah, well it just takes training," she smirked, reaching for his hand again. He was beginning to get used to this feeling, or perhaps just better at ignoring it.

"There's a parking lot behind the building. That's where the switchboard is," Mia instructed.

"How are you so familiar with this place?"

"I used to work here… before I lost my sight. I guess it was a long time ago."

"Lost your sight?" It occurred to him that she had not always been blind. "How did it happen?"

She took a deep breath before beginning to tell her story. "There was a fire at the lab one day; the building was evacuated. But as I was walking out, I realised a very important research that Doctor Price had been working on was still in there. All the documents and samples would've been lost – it was years of work. So I went back. The whole place was up in flames; not just a regular fire, but all the chemicals and gases… I remember my eyes were stinging like crazy, and I was choking on the smoke. I don't remember much after that."

Quinlan was silent for a moment. She could feel him thinking.

"You should have left, but you chose to stay – I'm starting to see the pattern here."

Mia chuckled at the irony. "You know, when they dragged me out, I was barely conscious, but I was still holding those samples in my hand. They were saved. So if you're going to ask me if I regret my decision, the answer is no. And I don't regret staying in New York."

She was not able to see the slight smile of admiration on Quinlan's face.

It was now beginning to snow, and the air had grown even colder. They found the switchboard right where Mia had said. As Quinlan was figuring out how to operate the switches, Mia stood beside him shivering, bringing both her hands to her mouth and breathing warmth onto her icy fingers. Her long brown hair was becoming wet as the snowflakes melted upon it, and there were snowflakes resting gently upon her long, dark lashes that veiled her beautiful doll-like eyes. Quinlan looked at her – for a brief moment, she looked as fragile as she did that night he first saw her. But he was also beginning to see something else in her – behind the fragility, he saw strength and determination. He forced his eyes away from her.

Within moments, the power was back up, and the lights around the parameter turned on, making the large building look even more empty and surreal. Fet and Ephraim gazed upon the lights from inside the van.

"Finally!" Fet grumbled.

"I was starting to get worried," Ephraim said with relief. "I still can't believe she went out there. You think she'll be alright?"

"I don't know," Fet turned to Ephraim with a big smirk on his face, "depends how hungry Quinlan's feeling."

"What?" Ephraim cackled at the macabre joke. "He wouldn't..."

"Nah, I'm serious. What if one day he just turns on us? I mean, those things... they all got this animal side that they can't control, right?"

Ephraim shuddered at the thought of it. "So why do we keep him around?"

"Because he's useful, that's why."

Ephraim pulled out a small bottle of liquor from his jacket pocket and took a swig before passing it to Fet. The warm liquid provided some comfort and relief from the harsh cold.

Mia tilted her head up towards the lights, being able to see their glow. She smiled at the accomplishment of their first task. Now she just needed to get inside the building.

"Alright, there's a storeroom door on the east side of the building. We can get in through there." Mia started to walk off on her own. Quinlan quickly followed and took her arm.

The east side of the building, unlike the front with its walls of large glass windows, was mostly a solid concrete wall, with no windows on ground level, and only a small door that was hidden within a concave part of the wall.

"This is the door?" Quinlan asked.

"Yeah," Mia replied, as she pressed her hand against the door like it was her way of seeing it. She then moved her hand down until she found the handle, and she tried turning it; it was locked, as she expected. She pulled the gun from her pocket and pressed the end of the barrel to the lock.

"No," Quinlan quickly grabbed her hand. "You'll alert everything out here to our presence."

"Then how do we open it?"

Without replying, Quinlan pushed her back and stood in front of the door. He raised his knee, and with a powerful thrust, he kicked the door wide open.

There was a look of surprise on Mia's face. "Ok, I guess that works too."

He reached behind and took her arm to lead her into the building. But she stopped at the doorway.

"Quinlan..." she said softly.

He turned around to see a look of hesitation on her face. He gave her arm a gentle pull, but she didn't move. She was biting her lip nervously.

"The truth is… I haven't heard from Doctor Price; I've been trying to call him for weeks... I don't know what we're going to find in there..."

She didn't need to say it; Quinlan already knew this. "There's only one way to find out," he said. He waited for a moment, until he could see on her face that she was ready to move forward. And with a deep breath, she stepped through the door.

They entered a small, dark room where the only light was what shined in through the open door. The room had two rows of shelves on either side along the wall, stacked full of cardboard boxes, bottles of chemicals, and various random objects. Mia let go of Quinlan's hand and walked straight up to a door on the other side of the room, as if she knew exactly where it was. Quinlan followed.

"Here, through this door," she whispered, feeling the need to be quiet.

Just as he did before, Quinlan gave a powerful kick to the door, only this time taking it off its hinges completely. The door fell with a loud crash that echoed all the way through the silence of the empty building.

They both stood frozen in surprise for a second.

"And you thought the gun was too loud?" Mia teased. "Come on, this way." This time she took the lead and walked through the door.

They stepped out into a long hallway with a high ceiling, illuminated only by the light that peeped in through the small windows high above. In its silence and emptiness, the inside of the building had a haunting sense of vastness. The atmosphere was cold and uninviting. Even without her sight, Mia could feel the eeriness of the abandoned research facility. Once again, she pulled herself close to Quinlan. He noticed she always did this when she was scared. This small gesture, that she was probably not even aware of, was somehow significant enough to stir an unexplainable feeling within him; for the first time, he felt the need to protect someone. Perhaps it was because she so blindly and innocently trusted him, unable to see what he really was, and so he felt obliged to keep her illusion from being shattered. And perhaps because she couldn't see him, for once, he would forget to see himself.

Suddenly, a loud spine-chilling shriek echoed down the hallway, stopping them dead in their tracks. The sound was not anything that could come from human, and the echoes made it impossible to determine where it came from. Moments later, there were sounds of scuttling footsteps dashing across the hard concrete floor. Quinlan realized it was coming towards them. His eyes widened and his ferocious gaze scanned the environment. Mia froze; her heart pounded as her grip tightened around Quinlan's arm. Soon they were surrounded by echoes of animalistic grunts and running footsteps, getting louder and louder. Then suddenly, out of the darkness at the end of the hallway, three shadowy human-like figures charged wildly towards them with the same high-pitched shrieks.

Quinlan threw Mia back and she fell to the floor, sliding across the ground. Terrified, she crawled to the wall and pressed her back against it, fumbling the gun in her pocket. But all she could see was a blur of silhouettes in front of her. They moved too fast for her senses to follow. Her body trembled as dashes of shadows and the sounds of their echoes surrounded her and overloaded her senses.

The creatures charged full speed at Quinlan. They were fast and savage, like rabid animals. But Quinlan was faster. He drew the sword from behind his back and cut the head off the first creature that lunged at him in a single swift motion. The other two creatures swiped at him with wild, thrashing, claw-like hands. He evaded them effortlessly, ducking under their swipes and then thrusting his sword up from beneath, penetrating one of the creatures under its chin and through its skull, while kicking the other one back to give himself some distance.

Two more creatures ran out from the other end of the hallway, and they were headed towards Mia. Without hesitation, Quinlan charged towards them, at the same time, reaching for his guns – two machine pistols, holstered on either side of him. With a gun in each hand, he unleashed a spray of bullets in both directions, until all the creatures were motionless on the floor. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his eyes were vicious and intense. His senses scanned the surrounding like an alert predator on the hunt – silence; there was no movement. He holstered his guns. The look in his eyes somewhat softened again as he turned to Mia. She got up onto her knees and looked towards him, helpless and afraid. He walked to her and pulled her to her feet.

"Quinlan… are you ok?" she gasped, grabbing his arm as she stood to her feet. "Are you hurt?" Her eyes quivered with worry as she tried to sense if he had been injured in the rampage.

For a moment, Quinlan didn't know how to respond, as if the question stumped him. He couldn't remember the last time anyone asked him if he was ok. Perhaps no one ever did. If he was ever injured in battle, it never concerned anyone… not even himself. He looked at her worried face... a strange sight for him to see. "I'm fine," he answered almost diffidently.

"Those things… were they…?"

"Infected, yes," he finished her sentence. His voice was more stern than before.

"How did they get in here?" she asked, still catching her breath from the surge of adrenaline. "I mean, you saw this whole place was locked up."

Quinlan didn't reply. He was looking around, analysing the situation.

"We should check the lab. It's on the third floor; there's a stairway just at the end of…"

"Mia," Quinlan softly interrupted, "are you forgetting something?"

Her mind had blanked.

"The gate," Quinlan reminded. "We need to open the gate."

"Oh, yeah, of course," she muttered to herself. "That way," she pointed down the hallway in the direction where the last two creatures came from, "towards the front lobby."

Navigating through the dark and unsettling hallways, especially after what had occurred, Mia's nerves were tense. "Do you think there's any more of them?" she asked, staying closer than ever to Quinlan.

He looked down at her by his side. He could tell she was more afraid than she was trying to let on. She needn't be afraid, he thought. If only she knew what he was capable of. But then… if she did, perhaps it's him that she would be afraid of.

"I don't hear anything," he said.

Chapter Text

When they finally reached the front lobby, the bright headlights of the van outside were shining in through the glass doors, lighting up the large space with ghostly white rays. The lobby seemed enormous and desolate, intensified by its massive six-storey ceiling, where from the ground floor you could look up and see the mezzanines of all six levels. Every level appeared dark and foreboding. Even Quinlan took a moment to grasp this spectral ambiance. Mia let go of Quinlan's hand and slowly walked out towards the centre of the lobby, her every footstep echoing softly in the silence. She looked around as if she could actually see the place, and she did, in her mind – in her memories.

"There's a security desk near the front entrance. All you need to do is reboot the computers. The light switches are on the wall to the right."

Quinlan followed her instructions, as she stood there gazing around the lobby, distracted by her thoughts.

"The password?" Quinlan asked.

"Atlas 1960," she replied.

Moments later, all the lights inside the building turned on. The sudden brightness caused a glare in Mia's eyes, and she squinted, shading them with her hand. After a moment to adjust, she looked up and saw the outline of a tall figure walking towards her. He seemed to move with a sense of dignified confidence, like a victorious warrior marching home through the gates of his city. His posture was strong and powerful, like that of a young man in his prime. But his voice and his words possessed a much older tone and wisdom. She wished she could see the face of the man who saved her life, and look into his eyes to see the kind of man he was. But this was as close as she would come to seeing him.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No," she averted her eyes, blushing slightly, "that's it."

Outside, a blanket of snow had covered the ground, and falling snowflakes could be seen drifting in the rays of light from the van's headlights. A layer of snow had also covered the van. Every now and then, the windscreen wiper cleared the white dusting from the front window. When Fet saw the lights inside the building turn on, he gave the security pass another try. This time, the sensor buzzed and the heavy gate began to slide open, its rusty metal squeaking as it dragged itself through the thick snow. The van drove in through the gates and pulled up outside the glass doors at the front of the building. Without wasting a moment, Fet hopped out of the van stormed inside.

"What happened? I heard gun fire."

"Strigoi," Quinlan replied. "There were five of them in the building."

"Strigoi?" Mia repeated, confused.

"Yeah, official name for the infected," Fet answered dismissively.

Official? Mia wondered.

At this point, Ephraim walked in carrying a large and seemingly heavy cardboard box, with a duffle bag slung across one shoulder, and a laptop bag across the other. "Can someone give me a hand?" He called out with slight frustration. Fet quickly walked over and took the box from his hands.

"The lab's on level three," Mia urged impatiently. She scanned around for Quinlan's presence, almost expecting him to take her arm, but before she could find him, Ephraim placed his hand on her back.

"Ok, let's go," he said, with a smile that could be heard in his voice.

In the elevator, amidst the silence, Quinlan could hear Mia's heart pounding, and he understood the reason for her anxiety. But the others seemed oblivious. As soon as the elevator door opened, Mia rushed out ahead of everyone. "There," she pointed towards the swinging doors at the end of the foyer. "East wing."

Quinlan took the lead and the others followed close behind. He pushed open the swinging doors into a long, sterile-looking white hallway with laboratories on either side. As they walked down the hallway, they passed windows that looked into each room, and there was something very unsettling about peering into these empty laboratories. Overhead, several of the fluorescent lights were broken. One in particular produced a buzzing hum as it flickered constantly. The flickering light played tricks on the eyes, creating illusions of moving shadows and strange reflections in the windows. Ephraim caught a glimpse of his own reflection, and for a split second, he thought it was another person on the other side of the room. His heart jumped. He felt as though he was walking through a scene from someone's nightmare, of eerie labs, mad doctors and monstrous creations.

In his mind, Ephraim questioned whether they should turn back. But the two warriors, the hunter and the ex-mercenary, only knew to go forward, regardless of the peril. Ephraim kept his fears to himself. The four walked silently and cautiously down the hallway. When they reached the lab they were looking for, the third room on the left, it was evident that someone had been there not long ago – the computers were switched on and there were equipment left out on the benches. But then, upon closer look, there was evidence of a violent event, as much of the equipment on the bench was tipped over, broken and shattered. There was also a tipped over shelf with its contents strewn across the floor, and loose sheets of documents everywhere, as if they had been thrown into the air and then rained down upon the floor.

"Graeme?" Mia called nervously.

"There's nobody here," said Fet.

They stood suspended for a moment, looking around and taking in the sight in front of them. Then Quinlan proceeded wander across the room, examining various things, while Ephraim eagerly collected the scattered documents, hoping they contained valuable information to the research. Vasiliy Fet, not to anyone's surprise, had disappeared out of the room to pursue whatever idea he had at that moment. Mia was left standing on her own, close to the doorway, where her mind had wandered to other thoughts.

Suddenly, a violent interruption startled everyone, even Quinlan. Out of nowhere, a strigoi launched itself at Mia, shrieking and gurgling as it tackled her to the ground. She hit the floor hard, with the creature on top of her. It pushed down on her with incredible strength, thrusting its face in hers. She pushed back as hard as she could, unable to free her hand to reach for her gun. She could feel its breath on her face and its corpse-like skin under her fingernails. She groaned and cried out as she fought back with all her strength, but it was too strong. She didn't know that the creature's stinger was beginning to emerge from its mouth. She would have been just seconds from doom, but a pair of strong hands peeled the creature off her and threw it to the ground. Quinlan stood over the creature with one foot on top of its chest, holding it down as it writhed and struggled. He then slid his blade into its heart, and with a final shriek, the creature laid motionless.

Mia gasped to catch her breath. She sat up from the ground and frantically brushed the hair off her face, patting herself from her face to her neck, making sure there were no marks. From where he stood, Quinlan also examined her carefully; she was clean.

As Ephraim walked nervously to where the fallen creature laid, his eyes widened and a look of dread spread across his face.

"Oh shit..." he uttered under his breath.

He looked at the creature on the ground; it still resembled a man. He could make out that it had once been an old man with grey hair, and its face was one that Ephraim recognized, except now with sunken cheeks, deathly white skin and a gaping black hole where the mouth had been. Its expression was twisted in agony, and its bloodshot red eyes were staring wide open at the ceiling. Quinlan looked at the creature and understood Ephraim's reaction.

"What is it?" Mia asked, her voice trembling.

Ephraim didn't know how to answer. He stood there, speechless, breathing a long, despairing sigh. But Mia's expression told that she did not need a reply. The moment that she realized, she felt as though her heart stopped. The expression on her face changed from fear, to denial, to anguish. She trembled as she crawled over to the creature that lay in front of her and kneeled beside its body. She slowly and carefully extended her hand to touch it; to touch him. Her hand landed softly on his forehead, as she gently traced the outline of his face; it was a face that she recognised, despite its disfiguration. Her emotions seemed distant at first, but then she found the creature's hand and she took it into her lap, and held it tenderly in both her hands. At that moment, Quinlan briefly saw a deep sorrow in her eyes, before she quickly hung her head down, hiding her face from view. She stayed silent and motionless in that position. Quinlan looked down at her with a glim of sympathy in his eyes… or perhaps it was empathy. Behind the warrior's seemingly cold eyes was a sorrow of his own, appearing for only a brief moment and then it was gone. He tilted his head to see her face; he wanted to understand what she was experiencing in that moment, but she was giving nothing away – no words, no tears. But Quinlan understood.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Ephraim finally spoke.

Mia took a final moment before letting go of her friend's hand, and looking up and standing to her feet. "We've all lost friends," she said, surprisingly cold and emotionless. She took a deep breath and swallowed. "Now let's do what we came here to do."

Chapter Text

Moments later, Vasiliy returned to the lab, rushing into the room and unconcernedly stepping over the doctor's body.

"Guys, you need to see this!" he exclaimed, waving a hard drive in his hand.

"What is it?" Ephraim asked.

"I checked to see if the security cameras were running, and what d'ya know – they've been recording this whole time." He marched towards one of the computers sitting on the benchtop and plugged in the device.

Everyone made their way over and gathered around. But Mia stood unmoving, dazed and vacant, like her mind was lost in some dark place. She vaguely listened to their chatter from across the room, and she could hear Vasiliy clicking the mouse of the computer as he searched through the footage. A part of her wanted to see what the others were seeing, but another part of her felt violently ill at the thought of it.

There was a long moment of silence… then Ephraim gasped under his breath, "What… the hell…"

"What is it?" Mia asked anxiously, unable to protect herself from her own curiosity.

No one answered.

"Go back," Ephraim told Vasiliy. "I wanna see what happened earlier."

"Tell me what you're seeing," Mia demanded, losing her patience.

"Alright, but you might not like what's on here," Vasiliy warned.

"I need to know…"

Vasiliy began to narrate the video: "December third, eleven PM - footage from the lobby. The Doctor just entered the building, and he's… uhh… dragging in a body."

A look of confusion appeared on Mia's face. "Human?" she asked.

"Yeah, human – young male. He's dragging him across the floor into the elevator… and that's it, you don't see him after that." Vasiliy paused and there was more clicking of the mouse. "December seventh, one AM – the doctor came in with another body – this one's got a bag over its head."

"Do you think they were infected?"

"Not sure. He's gone back outside." Another pause. "Ok, he's coming back with another body, female this time. She certainly doesn't look infected."

What the hell is this? Mia thought to herself, nervously digging her nails into the flesh of her hand.

"He's leaving the female in the lobby and dragging the other one into the elevator. I guess he's coming back for her."

Then there was a long moment of silence, in which Mia found the anticipation to be unbearable.

"Oh shit!" Vasiliy suddenly exclaimed, as Ephraim also let out a startled reaction. "The woman… she's alive! She's moving. Looks like she's tryin' to get up. I think she's injured… no, maybe just confused. Alright she's up."

"Look, there," Ephraim pointed to the corner of the screen.

"Looks like the doctor's back," Vasiliy continued. "He just walked out of the elevator. The woman's seen him… and she's running for the front door!" Pause. "Shit…" Vasiliy fell silent.

"What?" Mia urged, with panic in her voice.

"He... shot her."

Mia's eyes widened in shock.

"I don't think he meant for that to happen. She ran and he pulled a gun on her. Looks like he's panicking now; he's pacing back and forth, talking to himself."

"Is there footage from the other cameras?" Mia asked. "Can we see what happened to those other bodies?"

"Yeah it's all on here," Vasiliy replied, clicking through the files.

Mia clenched her fists nervously. "Maybe they were infected." She tried desperately to find an explanation, but she did not sound convinced of her own words. She turned and walked a few paces away, and stood with her back to the group. Quinlan watched her from the corner of his eye. He could tell she was hiding whatever emotion was on her face at that moment. The need to hide one's emotions could only come from fear and denial. He understood because he had done the same... many times.

"Here we go!" Vasiliy cried out. "Footage from the lab… from this room right here."

He did not narrate this time; he watched the footage in silence, along with Ephraim and Quinlan. Moments into the viewing, a look of horror began spread across Ephraim's face, while Vasiliy's was frozen in a stern expression; his eyes were wide underneath furrowed brows, and his gaze was locked intensely onto the screen. Quinlan watched the video only for as long as he needed to understand what had happened, and then he walked away, looking around the room, every now and then glancing at Mia.

Ephraim and Vasiliy were silent for a long time as they watched pieces of the footage from one day to the next, until all the footage was over and the last thing they saw was themselves walking into the room. Ephraim rubbed his face and let out a long breath before turning to Mia. "I guess you want to know?"

"Tell me," she replied without turning around.

Ephraim took a deep breath. "Those bodies… they were all alive. All human. He must've drugged them when he brought them in, but they woke up not long after." He rubbed his chin nervously. "He tied them down on these benches, and..."

"And what?"

Ephraim swallowed. "He was performing tests on them. He was injecting them with the virus." Ephraim could not shake the images from his head; images that he chose not to share with Mia. He had seen them screaming and thrashing as the doctor injected them. He watched them wait out their death sentences, bound and helpless, knowing what was going to happen to them. He saw the fear in their eyes. And then he watched them turn; he watched their humanity slowly slip away as they tried desperately to hold onto it. The process was agonizing.

Ephraim had said enough for Mia's imagination to fill in the details. She swallowed her emotions, but she could not turn to face the group. "Did it show how he got infected?" She tried to sound unruffled but her voice trembled.

"His subjects all turned. But instead of killing them, he was keeping them locked up in that room next to the lab. They got out..."

Vasiliy, who had been standing silent and motionless, facing the computer screen, suddenly spun around and stormed over to Mia with a look of rage on his face. Mia heard his sudden ferocious footsteps and turned around to find him right in her face. She stumbled back in surprise, hitting the bench behind her.

"You lied to us!" Vasiliy growled through grit teeth. "The footage shows the doctor got infected over two weeks ago."

He leaned in closer and she pressed back into the bench as hard as she could.

"This wasn't about the vaccine or Eph's research. You knew something was up so you dragged us out here to check it out," he snarled in her face. She could feel his towering presence leaning over her. She defensively put up her hands, but they fell upon his large, broad chest. She pushed against him and he grabbed both her wrists.

Ephraim, in the background, was yelling at Vasiliy to calm down, but it was falling on deaf ears. Meanwhile, Quinlan moved towards the commotion and stood close by. It was unusual that he found this scene somewhat uncomfortable, as he was rarely moved by the rages of men. However, this time, Quinlan felt a certain anxiety that was propelling him to intercept. Perhaps it was because she looked so helpless against the large man, like a damsel in the hands of a bully. But then again, that was unlikely the reason – only heroes feel compelled to protect the weak and innocent; he was not a hero, and she was neither weak, nor innocent. In fact, in truthfulness, Vasiliy had every right to be angry for the betrayal. Quinlan stopped himself from interfering and instead observed the situation carefully.

"That was your whole plan wasn't it? You used us! You risked our lives!" His grip tightened around her wrists.

"I… I can explain…" Mia stuttered in a soft voice. She was visibly scared. Her head was turned to the side, her chin tucked into her shoulder as if expecting to be struck.

"I bet you knew about the experiments too," he growled.

"No, I didn't know anything about that!"

"You expect me to believe that you had no idea what your friend here was..."

"That's enough!" Quinlan bellowed, his deep voice carrying an incontestable authority. He shot Vasiliy a glare that even the hardened Ukrainian soldier would think twice before challenging. Vasiliy could hear Quinlan's stinger producing a soft purr, reminding him once again that this was not a man he was faced with. Vasiliy finally let go of Mia and took a step back, and she cautiously lowered her guard. Quinlan could see that she had tears in her eyes. Ephraim saw this too and immediately felt sorry for the girl.

"I think you're jumping to too many conclusions here," Ephraim said to Vasiliy, defending the girl. "I mean, how could she have known? We saw on the videos that she was never here when any of this…"

"No, he's right," Mia softly interjected.

Vasiliy and Ephraim both turned and looked at her.

"I knew something was wrong… and I needed your help to get here." Her voice was shaky, yet it had a tone of determination. "So, yes, I used you… but I swear I didn't know about the experiments."

"See?!" Vasiliy exclaimed, pointing his finger at her. "We can't trust her!"

"It's just that… I had no one else…"

Chapter Text

"Well, we're here now," Ephraim shrugged. "Might as well see what's in these files; could still be useful." He started picking up the sheets of paper littered across the floor. "Are you going to help or just stand there?" He said to Vasiliy, who was still standing glaring at Mia with his arms crossed in front of him. Reluctantly, he peeled his glare from her and walked over to help Ephraim collect the scattered documents.

"It's karma if you ask me," Vasiliy spoke his mind out loud. "Killed by his own experiments…"

Mia lowered her head and grimaced.

"The lesson here is," he continued, "don't kidnap people and infect 'em, then decide to keep 'em as pets."

Mia clenched her fists and swallowed her emotions. With her head still lowered, not wanting to look up, she made her way over to the office on the other side of the lab. She did not want to be in the same room as that callous man, nor listen to what he had to say. The office was a familiar place to her. Although it was where Doctor Price had kept those creatures, and the broken objects and scratches on the walls were evidence of the horrors that had occurred in there, Mia could not see any of that. As she stood in the doorway gazing in, she pictured the neatly stacked book shelf to her right, the framed awards and certificates hanging on the walls, the window on the far wall that overlooked the golf course, and the desk beneath it where Doctor Price was always sitting with his head buried in his work. He would never notice her standing in the doorway behind him, and would only look up when she called, "Graeme. Go home, it's late." And the doctor would look up with tired eyes, and smile, "I'll be done in just a minute. You go on home."

Mia walked over to the desk and sat upon it. Her thoughts were distant, as were her emotions. For some reason, she could not cry. She heard footsteps enter the room – gentle footsteps that approached carefully. The sound made her memories of the room fade like a dream as she woke up in the cold, dark reality. She recognized these footsteps. She did not want company, but if it was anyone, she preferred it to be him.

"I guess you want an apology," she said, unable to look up and face him. She was disappointed in herself that she was not able to be honest with him.

"Apology?" he asked as if it was unwarranted. "Unlike Mr. Fet and Doctor Goodweather, I had no preconceived expectations of the purpose of this visit."

She was grateful that his response was neither scolding, nor judgmental or questioning. And his tone was the calm that she needed at that moment.

Quinlan walked towards the desk where she was sitting, and noticed a broken picture frame on the floor with a photo in it. He picked it up, brushing away the broken glass of the frame, and studied it. It was a photo of Mia – she was young and dressed in her graduation gown. On one side of her stood an older man with grey hair, and to her other side was a woman of similar age as the man. They both had their arms around Mia, and they shared a sort of closeness that would make you think they were family – father, mother and daughter. Except Mia did not share any of their features; they both had fair hair and prominent anglo saxon features, while Mia was dark-haired, with soft and feminine features that sometimes appeared almost oriental. Everyone in the photo was smiling; they were smiles of genuine happiness that glowed with an untainted vibrancy that you would no longer see in this world. Quinlan was suddenly overcome by a feeling of bereavement. He looked up at the broken girl sitting before him and wondered what the girl in the picture was like. But then he felt as if by looking at the photo he was stealing a moment that she did not consensually share with him.

"I didn't know about the experiments," she said once again. It weighed heavily on her mind.

"I know," Quinlan replied.

"The others... they don't believe me."

"Does it matter what they believe?"

His question made her pause for a moment. "I guess not," she answered. She looked up and brushed the hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. "I've never been very good at making new friends."

Quinlan smiled. "You and I both. But it seems like the friends you have, you care deeply about. That is why you came here, is it not?"

"I didn't come here to find... this," said Mia, shaking her head. "It should never have happened. What he did to those people..."

"Yes, it was cruel," Quinlan agreed matter-of-factly.

"Do you think he just went mad in this place? Is that what happened?"

"I think Doctor Price did what he thought was necessary."

She lowered her head, her brows furrowed in an anguished expression. "He was a good man…" her voice trembled.

Quinlan slowly approached her with an expression that was rarely seen on his face - a soft and gentle expression, unlike the savage predator that he was seen to be.

"Fear and desperation can make good men do unthinkable things," his deep voice murmured softly. Once again, the calm in his voice brought her back from the edge of breaking.

"No," she shook her head. "That should never be an excuse; Graeme was the one who taught me that. He always said, 'we must never lose our humanity; it's the only thing in this world worth fighting for'. The day we give up our humanity is the day we truly die."

Those words cut through Quinlan's heart like a blade. For a moment his mind retreated into a world of his own, filled with pain and memories – memories he had almost forgotten over the long years. And at times, he felt as though he was beginning to forget who he was and everything he had fought for… and everything he had lost. And in the process, it was perhaps his humanity that he had let go of.

His eyes lowered and fell upon the picture he was still holding in his hand; it pulled him back from his thoughts. He took one last look at it, at Mia's smile, and then walked up to her, closer than he would normally dare, and placed the photo in her hand. Mia traced the outline of the photo with her fingers, and realized what it was. It was the only photo Doctor Price kept on his desk; the photo that used to remind her, every time she looked at it, that she was not alone in this world. Her jaw clenched and her body tensed as she fought back the tears. Quinlan stood close to her, listening to her quivering breaths and her beating heart. Although she would not cry, Quinlan could see her every pain. His silence comforted her. She could feel from him a certain understanding, and it was because of this understanding that he did not need to say a single thing.

We must never lose our humanity, her words echoed in his mind.

They shared a long moment of silence that spoke more than words ever could.

Chapter Text

Quinlan heard Ephraim approach and he quickly backed away from her. However, as Ephraim walked into the room, he could sense that he was interrupting some sort of private conversation, and for a brief moment he wondered what she could possibly share with him that was even remotely delicate or personal. As well as that, she seemed unflinching of his close proximity. Ephraim wondered if she knew what he was.

"Hey," he called for their attention. "Fet just left. He got a call from a friend with some sort of emergency. You guys got a ride home? I'm gonna stay here tonight and sort through some of this work."

"Alright, I'll arrange for Malaika to take us back to the city." Quinlan's tone was suddenly different now talking to Ephraim, and his mood was far less delicate than before. He walked past Ephraim and snatched the phone from his hand before exiting the room.

Ephraim glanced over his shoulder and watched Quinlan walk away, and then turned to Mia. He walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "You ok?"

She nodded.

"Look, don't worry about Fet; he tends to overreact to things. Probably comes from ten years of being a mercenary in the Ukraine."

Mia didn't respond.

He sat down on the table beside her. "You know, if you'd told me the truth, I would've helped you. All you had to do was ask."

"I'm not good at asking for help," she replied without looking up. "Besides, would you have come here if you knew something was wrong?"

"Yes," Ephraim exclaimed without a second of thought. "I mean, what we might find here could change everything. I had a look through some of Graeme's notes; the detail is incredible!" Ephraim leaned in closer. "Mia," he whispered with strong conviction, "I can work with this information!"

Mia showed no response. Ephraim looked at her, his face close to hers. He could tell she was deeply despondent, but he didn't know for which reason – she had lost a friend, but the world lost a chance; now the brilliant doctor's work may never be complete. He wondered which of those things weighed more on Mia's despair.

"Doctor Price… was he a close friend?" Ephraim asked.

"I guess you could say that," she replied, slipping the photo in her hand into her jacket pocket without him noticing.

"I'm really sorry for your loss," he said softly. He feared that those words did not sound sincere; after all, it would have been the standard response. He thought, if only she knew that he was no stranger to loss himself, and that he understood her pain. He wanted desperately to comfort her, but she would not let him; she was distant and impenetrable.

Quinlan returned after almost an hour, walking into the lab to find Ephraim compiling Doctor Price's notes, his eyes darting across the pages as he commented out loud his every thought, which were mostly exclamations of excitement and amazement at the contents of those pages. Mia stood leaning against the bench, pretending to be listening, but really her mind was in a distant place.

"It's time to go," Quinlan said to Mia. "Doctor Goodweather, are you certain you will be staying here?"

"What?" Ephraim looked up from the notes. "Oh… yeah," he answered dismissively, before immediately returning to the notes. He only looked up again when he realized it was time for Mia to leave. He turned to her, clutching the papers fervently in his hand. "Mia, I can do this." He looked into her eyes and wished that she could see his, and see the determination and conviction within them. "It's all here in the notes. I can work this out."

She nodded, forcing a smile. "I'll do whatever I can to help." She started to leave with Quinlan, but then stopped and turned to Ephraim. She reached out and touched his arm. "Thank you," she whispered.

Those two words were all the recognition Ephraim ever wanted for his efforts. All the times in the past when his work went unnoticed and unappreciated; all the years he had put in and then for someone else's name to be on the paper - it destroyed him as a man. He did not need the world to know what he had done; he just needed one person to say, 'Thank you, Ephraim. Thank you, because I know what you did'. Now, those two words from Mia, in all their sincerity, were all it took to spark the beginning of an intense dedication – no, obsession – within Ephraim to complete Doctor Price's work.

Outside, a black Chevrolet with dark tinted windows was parked where Vasiliy's van had been. In the driver's seat was a dark-skinned girl with a stern face, boyish features, and short wiry black hair. She watched as Quinlan and Mia walked out of the building and towards the car. Immediately, her eyes fell on Mia; she noticed, first, the way Mia looked, which was the opposite to herself in almost every way. Then she noticed Quinlan's hand softly gripping her arm at the elbow as he appeared to be escorting her. Although there was nothing specific to note about this sight, she felt it was unusual enough that it was of some significance. She grimaced.

Quinlan opened the back door and helped Mia into the car, then took the front passenger seat himself. He didn't introduce the driver; in fact, they both said nothing at all. But Mia didn't even notice as there was much else on her mind. It wasn't until they approached the border heading into the safe zone that the driver muttered something in a foreign language. It caught Mia's attention as she did not expect to hear a woman's voice, nor foreign words. Then, to Mia's surprise, Quinlan replied in the same language. The tones of this language were unique – it sounded like an African language, she thought. But before she could listen for more, the brief exchange of words was over.

The car stopped in front of Mia's apartment building, and Quinlan got out and opened the door for her. She wearily stepped out of the car and he escorted her to the gate at the entrance of the building. She took her keys out of her pocket and fumbled them in her trembling hands, her fingers weak and disobedient to her will as if they were not a part of her body. Quinlan watched as she struggled, and he could hear her pained breaths, with every effort to mask their shuddering sound. Inevitably, the keys slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground. Quinlan stared at her, unsure of what it made him feel, if anything at all. But as she slowly lowered herself to pick up her keys, he found himself picking them up before she could reach them. He stood to his feet and paused for a moment as he glanced at her again, and then proceeded to unlock the gate and pull the heavy metal frame open for her. Without thinking, she went to walk in.

"Your keys..." Quinlan reminded.

"Oh," she turned to him and held out her hand. He placed the keys into her hand, and as he did, his fingers softly brushed against hers. The unexpected nature of the touch heightened the sensation of it, surprising him with a tingling feeling on his skin where it touched hers. Then suddenly, to his surprise, she closed her hand around his. Her petite fingers wrapped tightly around his large hand, and when she felt him pull away ever so slightly, she squeezed as if she did not want to let go.

"Thank you," she whispered, clutching his hand for a moment longer before reluctantly easing her grip and letting his hand slip out of hers. She turned her head away.

Quinlan did not understand the meaning of this gesture, nor did he think he should try. Nothing good could come from allowing his thoughts to lead him astray. But the longer he looked at her, the more conflicted he became. He forced himself to look away.

"Good night, Mia," he whispered. He turned and began to walk back towards the car.

"Quinlan," she called, just as he was about to enter the car. He stopped and turned to her. "I need to go back there. I need to go back to the lab."

Quinlan nodded with a slight smile, as if he already knew she was going to ask. "I'll have Malaika take you there tomorrow night."

She nodded, then, without saying another word, turned around and walked inside, shutting the gate behind her. Quinlan watched her for only a moment before getting into the car. However, that moment was long enough for the dark-skinned girl to notice.

"[Who is she?]" She asked in her language. Her tone was harsh and abrupt.

"[Someone who could help our cause.]" Quinlan replied in the same language.

"[A blind girl? Help our cause?]"

Quinlan shot her a subtle look. "[Just drive.]"

And with that, Malaika knew to stay quiet.

Mia felt an intense emptiness as she walked into her apartment; an emptiness that she had not felt for a long time. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she felt as though she had shut out the world. In here, no one could see her vulnerability. As soon as the door closed, her mask fell, and the numbness made way for all her emotions to come flooding in. Clutching the handle of the door, she gasped for air, but she could not breathe. She leaned her back against the door, but her legs gave way and she slid to the floor. Her heart felt as though it was being torn apart. Her trembling hand reached into her pocket and found the photo she had placed in there. She took it out and held it to her chest. Then the tears fell. At first they were silent, but then the realization hit her like a ton of bricks and she wailed uncontrollably. She had lost the only man she ever loved; the only man she ever wanted to call 'father'; her only light in this dark world - it was the realization that she was now completely and utterly alone.

She cried until her body had spent its last energy, and her eyes began to close; her cries began to quieten. She lay in the dark, curled up on the floor in front of the door. Her breaths were short and abrupt, occasionally hiccupping softly. With her eyes closed and her mind drifting into unconsciousness, the last tear rolled down her cheek. Her companion, Caesar, sat beside her, whimpering as he watched her cry herself to sleep. He licked the tears on her cheek; she was motionless. He curled up against her and stayed through the night, his warmth keeping the cold from taking its dreadful toll.

Chapter Text

Earlier that night, Vasiliy abruptly left the group after a phone call from an old friend; it was urgent. But then again, she always made everything seem like a matter of life and death; either that or things were completely trivial to her. But none-the-less, if she said it was urgent, then Vasiliy would be there in a heartbeat.

After leaving the others at the research facility, Vasiliy drove back into the city and pulled into a small alleyway in one of the so-called dead zones – uninhabited areas within the safe zone that were often unpatrolled. In the past, dead zones were places where gangs and thugs would carry out their misdeeds. But their presence drew in the infected, and it became their hunting ground. The military knew this, but they allowed it, as they thought it was doing them a favour in cleansing the streets of crime. But while the crimes did slow, the number of infected rose - you would wonder which was the lesser of two evils. Now, dead zones have become a quiet, quiet place.

Vasiliy stepped out into the alleyway, softly closing the door of the van behind him. He clicked on his flashlight, checked the handgun in his back pocket, and then slung his shotgun over his shoulder before walking away from the van. He turned out of the alleyway and onto the street. There was not a single light other than the beam from his flashlight, which revealed the graffiti covered walls and the broken and vandalized roller-doors of old shops as he walked past them. This part of the city was not so different from the old days, he thought, perhaps just a little more broken. He had walked this familiar path many times, past the old empty gas station, the mechanics shop with the collapsing roof, the old grocery deli with its broken windows and empty shelves, and the used-car dealership, now filled with rusty pieces of junk with their windows smashed and parts torn out. Next to this car yard, set back from the footpath, was doorway in a brick structure that was not visible unless you looked for it. The structure looked as though it was a part of the car yard, but it was in fact one of the many hidden entrances to the underground subway. Vasiliy walked towards this entrance.

He allowed his flashlight to guide him through the dark doorway and down the long flight of stairs descending beneath the city. The platform below was pitch black and damp, and Vasiliy could only see as far as the light from his torch allowed. He could hear the tiny scampering feet of critters, the crunch of broken tiles beneath his feet, and the slow, rhythmic drips of water somewhere nearby. He hopped off the edge of the platform and onto the tracks. Far away in the distance, down the dark tunnel, was a single dim light. He walked towards this light, along the way passing an old, empty train that sat on the tracks. Some nights, he would walk through the inside of the train, down its long empty carriages. But they were not completely empty; two old corpses, now almost skeletons, were left inside. Vasiliy had named them – there was Gina, the blonde, who Vasiliy imagined was quite the stunner back in her days, and Johnny Boy, the solider, dressed in his military uniform, whose dog tag read 'Johnathan Mills'. Vasiliy did not know how their lives had ended in this dark, underground place - perhaps the girl had been dragged down here by thugs, who either killed her or left her to die. But the soldier was more of a mystery, as the military did not patrol the tunnels. Anyhow, every time Vasiliy walked through the carriage, he greeted them, and made small conversation; one sided, of course. But that night, he walked along the outside of the carriages. He was not in the mood for company.

Upon reaching the dimly lit lightbulb on the wall of the tunnel, he could see another far ahead. Then upon reaching that one there was another. Now he could hear the buzz of a generator. He followed the lights until they reached a platform that was well lit up. Standing in front of the platform were two young men, almost just boys, carrying automatic rifles. Upon seeing Vasiliy, they both jumped with fright and pointed their rifles at him.

"Stop right there!" One of them yelled, trying to sound intimidating, but his voice was barely a man's.

"Woah, easy, kid," Vasiliy put his hands up but continued to walk closer. "You might shoot someone with that thing."

"Yeah, that's the idea," the nervous boy threatened.

Both of the young men gripped their guns tighter, their fingers trembling over the trigger.

"Dutch ain't gonna be very happy if you kill her favourite handyman," Vasiliy taunted, approaching closer still.

The boy pointed his gun just inches from Vasiliy's chest to let him know that he'd walked close enough. "You know Dutch?"

"Intimately," Vasiliy grinned.

Then, the clanking of heavy boots walked down the stationary escalator on the platform behind the two young men; boots that followed up to a pair of long legs in ripped jeans, and a scruffy, woolly coat on a tall, slim woman in her late twenties. Her messy blonde hair and smudged black eyeliner around her light grey eyes gave her a look of both sensuality and defiance. Vasiliy smiled as he saw her - Dutch - still with that same ragged look, and still as charming as ever.

"It's alright boys, let him through," she said in her British accent.

The two men lowered their guns and let Vasiliy pass.

"Don't mind them," she said, motioning for Vasiliy to follow her. "New recruits. They don't know who you are."

"Well, they better learn who I am real quick," he purposely said loudly so they would hear, while giving them a wicked smile as he followed Dutch up the escalator. "So what are you recruiting from kindergarten now? Do those kids even know how to use a gun?"

"Just point and shoot; that's what you once told me, right?" She smiled with that same playful gleam in her eyes.

At the top of escalator was a spectacle that astounded anyone who ever saw it. Even though Vasiliy was no stranger to this place, every time he walked up those steps, he would feel as though he had entered a strange foreign world. What had once been a large subway station was now almost an underground settlement. There were men and women, easily fifty in sight but Vasiliy knew many more lived there; some were dressed in rags, some armed and wearing combat gear, some were preoccupied with certain tasks, while others huddle together on mattresses on the floor. The place was dim, but considerably well lit, with lights hooked up to generators, as well as colourful neon signs that had been taken from the world above. The large open area then split into a maze of walkways in all directions, with stairs going up and down to various platforms, and rows of old shops along the walkways. Some of these shops had been converted into homes, with their insides stripped bare and filled with old furniture and personal belongings, and curtains made of sheets of old fabric across the glass windows. Other shops have been turned into workstations for fixing or modifying anything from radios, computers and car parts, to weapons and firearms.

A few people greeted Vasiliy as he walked past. He followed Dutch into an old barber shop, where the original shop sign could still be seen behind the neon sign that Dutch put in front of it. The blue neon sign read 'Live Music', but the second word did not light up - it simply said 'Live'. Perhaps it was to remind her what was important - to live, and keep living. The window at the front of the store had been painted black like many others for privacy at "home". Dutch closed the door behind Vasiliy. Inside was a small bed against the artistically graffitied back wall, an old wooden bedside table, suitcases full of belongings, and a counter in the middle of the room left over from the old barber shop. Dutch walked around to the other side of the counter and stood leaning over it on her elbows, looking at Vasiliy.

"I like what you've done with this place," Vasiliy said, looking around the room.

"It's no different to how you last saw it," Dutch replied, giving him an unimpressed look at his terrible attempt at conversation.

"Well, I still like it… the small space, the musty smell, the lack of sunlight – I can see why you left our comfy home at the warehouse."

Dutch rolled her eyes. She wasn't bothered by his stirring as she was well accustomed to it.

"So, I heard about the attack at the town hall." Vasiliy walked up to the counter and fiddled with some of her gadgets on the countertop. "It's all over the radio. So what, you guys are attacking soldiers in broad daylight now?"

"Those two men had nothing to do with Nemesis," Dutch emphasized, suddenly standing up straight. "That was stupid and reckless, and achieved nothing. You really think we'd pull a cheap stunt like that?"

"You've surprised me before with your… cheap stunts."

Now Dutch was annoyed; she hated it when he turned things personal. "Ok," she crossed her arms in front of her and gave him that look, "what's your problem, Fet?"

"My problem? How about when you left me for that nutjob, who convinced you to join his terrorist group?"

"Terrorist?" Dutch particularly frowned at that word. "Is that what you think we are?" She stormed over to Fet from around the counter. "We are not terrorists! We're fighting to give power back to the people!"

"Power back to the people," Fet laughed. "That's kinda ironic considering what happened in Boston."

"Boston was a mistake."

A part of him enjoyed seeing her so worked up, but a part of him hated it more than anything; it was the only way he could get any sort of reaction from her anymore.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she seemed to jump up a little, as though she had just realised something important.

"Follow me," she commanded, as she fervently stormed out of the shop.

She walked eagerly like she was on a mission, through the open area and down another walkway. Fet hurried to keep up. She turned a corner, and there were stairs descending to the platform below. Two armed men were standing in front of the stairs, smoking and laughing, distracted by some humorous conversation. As soon as they saw Dutch, they stood to attention, but she gave them no acknowledgement as she hurried past them and headed down the stairs. Fet gave the men a nod of greeting and followed her down. They landed on a dark platform that was filled with piles of packaged items stacked across the entire platform.

"Look!" Dutch turned to Fet, waving her arm at everything behind her.

Fet scanned the piles with his flashlight. As the light moved over the items, his eyes widened with amazement. It was all food – hundreds of cans, jars and boxes of all sorts of foods. He had never seen so much food, or ever imagined that so much food even existed, as the storerooms at the town hall were always half empty while rations were being handed out, and people were always told to be sparing with their rations as food was scarce.

"Where the hell did you get all this?"

"We intercepted one of the military supply routes. All this food comes into the city every week!" She walked up to him, her eyes burning with fervour. "There's more than enough food to feed everyone, and yet people out there are starving. What do we get in our rations? Barely anything. Where is all this food going?"

She looked right into his eyes, desperate for him to see and to understand. At that moment, he did not know what to think, and he lowered his gaze from her burning stare. But she could recognise the look in his eyes that he was contemplating certain possibilities; it was different to his usual adamant look, which meant it was impossible to convince him of anything.

"You think they're keeping all this for themselves?" He asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Well they're certainly not giving it to us, are they?"

"So what's your plan?"

"Overthrow the military," she said ambitiously with a smirk.

Fet chuckled. She always dreamed big, and he liked that about her.

"So, you called me here for something urgent?"

"Oh yes," she suddenly remembered. "We got the infected moving in on one of our main smuggle routes." She looked at him to gage his reaction to the magnitude of the favour she was about to ask. "We need you to clear them out."

"Consider it done," he shrugged casually.

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, shaking her head.

"What?" Fet asked, confused by her reaction.

"We lost twelve men going through there; twelve good men who knew how to handle themselves. And just like that – consider it done?"

Vasiliy raised his hands in a shrug. "I always deliver what I promise, don't I?"

She looked at him quizzically. "How do you do it? How do you fight these things when we can't even do it with a hundred men?"

"Let's just say I got a guy who's a… specialist in dealing with these things." He grinned.

"Who is he?" She asked curiously.

"It don't matter," he shrugged. "What matters is he gets the job done."

Dutch sighed in resignation. "Alright. Name your payment."

Vasiliy pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

Her eyes glanced over the contents. "Guns, ammo, gas… the usual…" she continued reading down the list. "Oh great, and more booze. Good to see the doctor's keeping up his drinking habit." She folded up the piece of paper and tucked it in her back pocket. "We're a bit short on gas at the moment, but I'll talk to Des and see what we can spare."

The mention of that name sent a flood of anger through Vasiliy, and he quickly turned away to hide it, but it was obvious to Dutch.

"Yeah, you go talk to Des," Vasiliy muttered. "I gotta head back to the warehouse. I'll be in touch." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "It was good seeing you, Dutch" He turned and started walking back up the stairs.

She stood there silent as she watched him walk away. He hadn't changed at all; still as stubborn as anything, with that quick temper of his, but loyal to a fault.

"You too," she whispered.

Chapter Text

Mia woke up the next morning cold and shivering on the floor. She touched her face; she felt as though she was dreaming. Her emotions were far away again. She liked the feeling of being far away, as if she was a bodiless entity; a mere spectator looking in on a world that was not real. She got up onto her feet, disorientated for a moment, until she reached for the wall next to her and found the front door to her apartment, and then she remembered that was where she had slept. She went through the motions of the day – she turned on the radio with no intention of listening to it, and then went to her cupboard in the kitchen to scrape together some food. There was the last two slices of bread. She put it on a plate, along with some baked beans and ham. As always, she ate only half of it before putting the rest on the floor for Caesar. Can't you hunt the rats, she often found herself thinking. You're an animal; don't you naturally have the instinct to hunt? She heard him lap up all the food within just seconds, and sighed.

At the warehouse, it was a particularly quiet morning, as Ephraim had stayed at the facility, the dark-skinned girl was nowhere to be seen, and the two that were left were the ones that had the least to say to each other.

Vasiliy walked into the living room and found Quinlan standing in front of the bookshelf at the other end of the room, flipping through the pages of one of the many books he had collected. He wasn't reading the book; he was merely glancing over the pages. But he had read it before, many times. In fact, he had probably read every book on the shelf at least twice. Without turning around, Quinlan let Vasiliy know that he was aware of his presence.

"Hatred is blind; rage carries you away; and he who pours out vengeance runs the risk of tasting a bitter draught."

"What?" Vasiliy asked, confused.

"Alexandre Dumas," Quinlan said, closing the book in his hands and turning around to face Vasiliy. "The Count of Monte Cristo."

"Well excuse me, I'm not quite as versed in old literature," Vasiliy scoffed sarcastically.

Quinlan snickered softly. "Old…" he repeated the word, smiling as he looked down at the book in his hands. "I had wielded my sword in a hundred battles before Mr. Dumas ever picked up his first pen." He carefully placed the book back into the empty slot on the shelf.

"You must be getting real tired of life," Vasiliy sneered.

When Quinlan turned around this time, the look on his face was cold. He walked up to Vasiliy and stood face to face in front of him, locking Vasiliy's eyes with his penetrating stare. Although the two of them stood the same size – Vasiliy was a tall man of strong stature – he could not help but feel a slight intimidation whenever he was faced with this creature, and Vasiliy was rarely intimidated by anyone. It was not just Quinlan's physical strength and capabilities that Vasiliy found particularly unnerving, it was more the fact that he possessed the ability to read human emotions better than most people, but lacked the capacity to feel such emotions himself, or so Vasiliy believed. To understand a man's fears and desires but to possess none himself is what makes a true monster. But Vasiliy would never let Quinlan see his trepidation.

"You left in a hurry last night," Quinlan noted.

"Yeah, business called." Vasiliy broke Quinlan's stare and walked around him into the kitchen. A slight smile escaped from Quinlan's lips as he knew he had made Vasiliy feel uncomfortable.

"Anything I should be concerned about?"

"Got a job for you." Vasiliy grabbed an apple from the kitchen and then walked over to the table where the maps lay spread out. "The tunnel here," he pointed, crunching on a piece of apple as he talked, "between East Broadway and York Street… crawling with Strigoi."

Quinlan gave him a look almost as if to say, and what do you want me to do about it? Although the answer was obvious.

"I need you and your hunters to clear 'em out."

Whatever uneasiness existed between the two of them was never present when they talked matters of war. Although Quinlan knew this man did not accept him, perhaps even detested him, they shared a mutual respect, from one warrior to another. And Quinlan somewhat liked Mr. Fet's straightforwardness.

"How many of them?"

"Don't know. All I know is those things took out a lot of men down there."

"You mean your friends in the Resistance?" Quinlan smirked. "What do they call themselves…? Ah yes, Nemesis – Goddess of retribution."

"Just remember, we need them more than they need us," Fet reminded.

Quinlan leaned over the table, his eyes darting up and down the map as he analyzed the situation. He then turned to Vasiliy, standing tall and straight with an imposing confidence.

"It won't be a problem. I'll gather the hunters."

Chapter Text

That evening, as Quinlan had promised, the black car arrived outside Mia's apartment as soon as night fell. Mia was relieved; had she been alone with her thoughts any longer, her mind would have descended into a dark place again. She needed to get out of there. She made her way out onto the street, but this time there was no one there to take her hand. Mia carefully followed the sound of the engine and slowly made her way towards the car. The girl watched Mia from inside the car and scoffed silently at her unfortunate condition, purposely not getting out to help her. When Mia finally found her way into the front passenger seat, the car sped off abruptly, turning a tight corner and throwing Mia against the side of the door. Mia could sense the deliberateness of the driver's action. She felt nervous; but Quinlan knew this girl, and Mia trusted that he would not put her in danger.

"You must be Malaika," she attempted to make polite conversation.

There was no response.

"Ok…" Mia muttered to herself. She thought for a moment that she should introduce herself, but then decided not to bother. "So, you want head south; take Linden Boulevard all the way to Elmont…"

"I know where I'm going," the girl snapped. She had a deep voice and a strong accent, which Mia could now be sure was African.

Mia sensed her hostility and decided to stay quiet. The rest of the drive was in an uncomfortable silence.

Upon arriving at the facility, Mia was surprised to find Ephraim already waiting outside, opening the door for her as soon as the car pulled up. She wondered if Quinlan had told him she was coming.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I'm here to pick up my order," Ephraim smiled as he helped Mia out of the car. "Oh, I didn't mean you."

He walked around to the back of the car and opened the boot; inside were several duffle bags and cardboard boxes full of things. He picked one of the bags and walked over to Mia, and hung the strap over her shoulder. She let out a slight gasp as the sudden weight of the bag pulled down on her. She quickly readjusted herself. Ephraim smiled at her somewhat adorable reaction. He then picked up another bag and a large cardboard box, and then tapped on the driver's window. "Hey, some help with the bags?"

Reluctantly, the girl got out of the car and picked up the remaining things from the boot. The three of them made their way inside.

"So what's all this?" Mia asked once they were inside the elevator.

"Well… I'm moving in!"

"You're going to stay here?" Mia asked, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"I can't risk going back and forth. Besides, I need to be where my work is."

Mia did not say anything, but her expression showed great concern.

Again, the elevator stopped on level three. The doors opened into the foyer, facing the mezzanine that overlooked the lobby. On one side of the foyer was the doors to the laboratories in the East Wing, and on the other side was the West Wing, comprised mostly of meeting rooms and lounge areas. Ephraim lead the way towards the West Wing, where the atmosphere was more welcoming than the sterile laboratories in the east. He appeared to be well acquainted with the place already, as he walked into a lounge area with a cafeteria and a few sofa suites. He dumped his belongings on one of the cafeteria tables.

The girl did the same, throwing Ephraim's bags carelessly onto the table, and then turned to leave. But just before she walked out the door, she suddenly stopped and looked at Mia. "You," she called to her. "Your eyes… they are a burden for everyone." Her heavy accent and the way she emphasized her words made it sound harsh and vicious… but perhaps she meant it that way. She glared at Mia before proceeding to walk out of the room.

Mia stood there stunned by such a cold and unwarranted attack. What disturbed her the most was the truth in those words, that forced Mia to confront her feelings towards her limitations. She quite often felt weak and useless, but the last thing she wanted to be was a burden to anyone. She felt angry for a moment, more at herself than at the girl, but she quickly subdued whatever emotion those words intended to arouse. She recomposed herself.

"What's her problem?" she asked Ephraim.

"Ah, don't worry about her; she's just a kid," Ephraim brushed it off.

"A kid?"

"Oh yeah," Ephraim realized that Mia would not have known. "She's like, what, sixteen? You know, probably got the whole teenage angst thing going on."

"Oh." The immaturity of her behaviour suddenly became apparent to Mia. "So who is she?"

"I don't know. She came with Quinlan. She usually never says a word to anyone except him. But hey, you managed to get a few words out of her," Ephraim teasingly nudged her. "You must be special!"

"Yeah, specially hated," Mia muttered.

Ephraim started to unpack his bags. As he pulled out his bottle of whiskey, he felt a sense of shame, and glanced at Mia, reassuring himself that she could not see. He looked at her, and then at the bottle in his hands. For a moment, he thought he could smell it; his senses tingled and he felt an urge rising. Just open the lid and take a swig; she won't even know.

"Ephraim... " Mia's tone suddenly sounded serious.

Ephraim tensed as he reactively held the bottle close to his chest, almost hiding it. He looked at her and suddenly felt as though she had been watching him. The thought seemed absurd, but a man without a clear conscience was often cursed with the feeling of being watched; paranoia is the guilty man's punishment.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Mia continued.

"What do you mean?" he asked nervously.

"I mean you moving in here. I just don't think you should."

Ephraim's nerves eased. "Why not?"

"I don't know. Just this place… I mean, you saw what happened to Doctor Price."

"Mia," Ephraim sighed affectionately as he put down the bottle and walked up to her. "What happened to Doctor Price is…" he stopped to rephrase. "I'm not running the same sort of experiments here." He put his hand on her shoulder. "This place is safe, and I got everything I need here. I can come back to the city for the rations, just like Doctor Price did. It'll be fine." He looked into her eyes and gave her a reassuring look, but then realised he could not persuade her with his eyes like he could with other people. "Besides, you're gonna drop in to check on me, aren't you?" he smiled.

Mia smiled reluctantly, but the smile soon faded. "So where is he? The body…"

Ephraim did not expect her to ask this so suddenly. He hesitated a little. "Fet and I put him in the freezer." He realized how callous it sounded.

Mia simply nodded. "We'll bury him when we have a chance." Then with a deep breath, her mood lightened. "Well, I'm going to make use of the showers here. The good thing about this place is it runs off its own water system."

"You need help getting around?"

"Eph, I spent six years of my life here," she smirked. "I think I can manage."

Ephraim returned to the lab as Mia made her way to the shower rooms. Now the place was clear of any threats, it felt somewhat safe, but certainly not comfortable. The eeriness of the large, empty building was just as unnerving as previous night.

Mia's boots echoed loudly on the bathroom tiles as she walked down a row of empty lockers towards the showers. She went to the same shower she always used; the one on the far end; the one that felt the most hidden. She reached in and found the hot water tap on the wall, and turned it. The pipes in the walls chugged loudly, then after a few seconds, water came running out of the shower head. She held her hand under the water, hoping it would turn warm. For a while, it was ice cold, but then slowly, the sharpness of the cold eased into a gentle warmth.

Mia let her large, heavy coat drop to the floor and then she slipped off her boots; the tiles felt like ice beneath her bare feet. She paused for a moment and felt a sudden anxiety. She nervously looked around behind her, listening for anyone's presence; there were no sounds and no moving shadows, but still she felt uneasy. Finally, reassured of her privacy, she slid her jeans to the floor and stepped out of them, then pulled her sweater over her head, and then hesitantly removed the rest of her clothes. She stepped into the stream of running water, jolting at first at the forgotten sensation of warm water on her skin. But soon, the pleasure of the sensation took over and she closed her eyes. Her tension eased, and her troubles washed away with the water as it ran down her body. As she stood there with her eyes closed, focusing on the warm sensations on her cold skin, he suddenly entered her mind. It was not any thought in particular; it was only vague. For a moment, she felt as though she could picture him. But in the mind of a blind person, pictures were a different thing; they were not visual or material, but they were a sound, a voice, and a feeling; a soul.

She did not understand why he often invaded her thoughts, and it scared her that she felt drawn to him; not in a way of attraction, but in a way that she felt safe around him, comfortable even, and it was rare that she would feel comfortable around anyone. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, but also, in many of their silent moments together, she felt like he understood her.

A man who can understand the demons in my head must surely have ones of his own.

Chapter Text

The city glowed brightly that night under the light of the full moon. The streets within the dead zone were empty and lifeless, and the only sound came from the clinking of a tin can rolling in the breeze down the cracked pavement. Quinlan found himself walking freely and uncaringly down the middle of the wide, desolate road. His hood was pulled low over his head, hiding his face in the shadows, with only his eyes piercing through the darkness as the light from the moon refracted off their ice-blue surface. He was in an area that had once been an industrial part of the city, full of old factories and warehouses that now lay hollow and abandoned. He arrived outside a small brick building wedged in between two large warehouses. This building had no windows; just a small, solid metal door on the wall facing the street.

Quinlan walked up to the door and banged his fist on it twice; the metal rattled loudly. After a moment, a narrow panel on the door slid open and dark eyes stared at Quinlan from inside. Then the panel closed, and Quinlan could hear the first lock being opened, and then the second lock. The door opened halfway and a large African-American man with a shaved head and tattoos on his face peered out. Before the man could say anything, Quinlan put one hand against the door and pushed it wide open, forcing the man to step back as he let himself in. The large man said nothing and stepped aside respectfully as Quinlan marched past him, walking with heavy strides through the hallway and down the stairs descending into the basement. The large man followed behind him. The stairway was dark and narrow, and the claustrophobic feeling was further enhanced by the walls painted black. There were two flights of stairs that bent around in an L shape, and at the bottom of the stairs was a large room that had once been an underground nightclub. The room was still set up like a nightclub, with the bar on the side, pool tables in the centre, and lounge suites at the back. There were even a few bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind the bar. The place looked ragged and unkempt, but considering the type of neighbourhood this had been, the nightclub might not have looked too different back when it was alive.

A young man wearing a knit cap sat hunched over the bar with his head hung down low and a glass of liquor in front of him. He glanced up at Quinlan from the corner of his eye and then looked down again. Another man stood at the pool table assembling an AK-47 while smoking a cigarette, with parts of the weapon spread across the table. Several other men were standing around the room, but no one said a word to each other or to Quinlan. There was a tension in the silence and the looks on the men's faces were sombre.

Quinlan threw the hood off his head and revealed his predatory glare as it scanned the room. "Where are the rest of the men?" The intensity in his tone was almost a hiss.

"We lost three of 'em last night." A young Mexican man with a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck walked across from the other side of the room. The way he looked, he could easily have been mistaken for someone from one of the street gangs, and he quite possibly was in the past. As he approached Quinlan, he postured like a tough and hardened man, but there was a certain boyishness about him, and a certain kindness in his eyes behind his rough exterior.

A slight scowl spread across Quinlan's face as his eyes grew even more intense; he was clearly unimpressed with the situation. He counted the men – there were nine of them; the group had started with twenty. As Quinlan's eyes glanced over each men, he noticed one man sitting on the lounge suite in the back of the room, pale and shivering, with tiny beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His eyes were weak and almost closing, but as Quinlan looked at him, his eyes locked with Quinlan's and they suddenly widened with fear.

Quinlan started to walk towards the man, but the young Mexican quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "Quinlan…"

Before he could say anything, Quinlan firmly pushed the young man aside and continued to march towards the man on the couch. The man sat up straighter and tried to look strong, but he was clearly very sick.

"Show it to me." Quinlan commanded, standing over the man.

"It's just a fever, man. It's this fucking cold…" His weak voice trembled. "Come on Gus, tell him... tell him it's just a fever." He looked at Gus, the young Mexican man, whose eyes fluttered down as he lowered his head and remained silent.

Quinlan leaned over and grabbed the collar of the man's jacket, ripping it to the side. It revealed the skin on his neck with a large, festering wound. At the centre of the wound were two puncture holes, with dark and raised veins spreading from the wound like roots spreading from a tree. As Quinlan's eyes fell upon this sight, the look of anger in his face faded just enough to reveal a slight sadness in his eyes.

"Quinlan," the sick man whispered, shaking his head. "Please…"

Quinlan looked into the man's pleading eyes; he could tell he desperately wanted to live; he was not ready for this fate. For a brief second, the look in Quinlan's eyes told the man, I'm sorry. But the look quickly faded as a vicious expression formed on Quinlan's face, and without hesitation, he stepped back and unsheathed his sword.

"No don't! Quinlan, pl…"

The sword was fast and swift, and the man's head rolled onto the ground with a thud. Nobody moved or said a word. Quinlan himself was still for a moment, before sheathing his sword and then turning around with a ferocious fire burning in his eyes.

"You," he pointed at Gus. "Augustin Elizalde; you're in charge now."

Gus nodded, looking up at Quinlan for a moment before finding it uncomfortable to lock his gaze, and lowered his head again.

"You brought him back with you even though he was infected. Do not let it happen again," Quinlan scolded as he looked at each of the eight men in the room.

Many heads lowered in guilt, their expressions all despondent.

"This is war we can't win," Gus muttered, shaking his head.

"And you won't win if you don't fight." Quinlan paced around the room, looking the men up and down. "I have word that there are hordes of Strigoi moving in through the tunnels. If we don't stop them, they will soon be on our doorsteps." Quinlan's gaze shifted to a beautifully crafted hunting knife sitting on top of the bar. He picked it up and held it in front of him, admiring its beauty, before carefully placing it back down. His gaze shifted to Gus. "We move in three days. Be ready."

And with that, Quinlan turned around and disappeared up the stairs.

Opening the door to the outside, a gust of cold air swept across Quinlan's face; it carried the smell of the sea. Quinlan looked up at the bright light of the moon and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and with that breath came a single thought that entered his mind; that thought was a name – Nathan Sullivan. It was the name of the man he had just killed; no, not killed - freed. He was one of the first Quinlan trained; a young man who Quinlan sculpted with his own hands into a fine warrior. But this warrior's battle ends tonight. His name will not be forgotten. Quinlan opened his eyes.

Outside, the black car waited. Quinlan walked towards it, but before getting in, he took a long look at the dark and dismal building behind him, where inside his warriors waited out their numbered days. Then he finally sat into the car, looking out the window.

"[Where to?]" The girl asked.

"The research facility."

The car drove off quietly into the night.

Chapter Text

Over the years, Mia had become very good at distracting herself from her thoughts. And she did just that as she leaned over the bench while Ephraim worked. Given her limitations, there was only so much she could do to help, but none-the-less, Ephraim appreciated her being there. He quite often had questions about the research that she was able to answer, as Doctor Price had shared many details of his work with her. And she enjoyed feeling useful whenever she was able to answer Ephraim's questions.

Hours had passed and the two of them had become completely engrossed in the work, occasionally sharing small conversation, although it was never about anything particularly personal.

"So how do you do it?" Ephraim asked. "I mean, living with all this chaos and… you know… not being able to see.

"I've never really thought about it."

"I can't imagine how hard it must be," Ephraim chatted while looking carefully down the microscope. "I don't think I could do it."

Mia hoped this was not an expression of flattery or sympathy just now. "You'd be surprised at the limitations you're able to overcome when you have to survive," she smiled at him.

Ephraim looked up from his work and looked at her face. She was beautiful and intelligent, and had an elegance about her that seemed untouched by the harshness of the world. It was as if she had retained a sense of grace from the old world only because she could not see the disgraced state of humanity in this new world. But at the same time, Ephraim knew she was not naive to such horrors; he sensed a depth and complexity about her that could only come from knowing the darker states of human existence. She was an enigma to him; one that Ephraim tried his hardest to not attempt to solve.

"So… um…" Ephraim cleared his throat and turned his thoughts back to his work. "I need blood samples. Human blood samples. Do you keep any around here?"

"You might find some in the lab at the end of the hallway. Otherwise try the East Wing on level five."

"Alright, I'll be back. Will you be ok here?"

Mia laughed again at his constant worrying, which made Ephraim smile with slight embarrassment, as he also realised he worried a little too much about her.

"Let's hope I find some otherwise I'm gonna have to use yours," he joked as he walked out of the room.

Alone, Mia found herself wandering back into the office beside the laboratory. This time, as she walked across the room, she noticed there were items scattered across the floor – they were mostly loose sheets of paper, books and folders. She kneeled down to pick them up; her hands searched the floor around her, picking up whatever they landed upon, as she collected a small pile of books and papers in her hands. She stopped when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She paused and listened, turning her head over her shoulder.

"Eph?"

There was a moment of silence and then a familiar deep voice spoke. "You should perhaps consider fixing the storeroom door; anyone could just walk in."

Mia smiled at the sound of his voice. "Perhaps the person who broke it should consider fixing it." She stood up and faced him, smiling playfully.

Quinlan was glad to see she was in higher spirits than when he left her the previous night. He found himself smiling back at her.

"Where is Doctor Goodweather?"

"Looking for blood samples."

Quinlan looked down at Mia's hands holding the things she had collected off the floor. "And what are you looking for?"

She paused for a moment, wondering if the question had a layered meaning. "I don't know," she shrugged. "Answers… Closure…?"

She placed the pile of books and papers down, then turned and sat upon the desk. "So tell me, how did you all end up in this together?" She diverted the topic. "You, Eph, and the guy with the attitude problem..."

"Mr. Fet," Quinlan said with a slight grin.

"Yeah, Fet."

"It was by coincidence that we met, and it is for convenience that we work together."

Mia liked the way he spoke; it was simple yet eloquent, and sometimes almost poetic.

"Work together to do what?"

"To stop this thing."

"Hmm," Mia looked down as she pondered. "See, I understand Eph's motivation – he's a doctor and this is his field. And Fet, he was a soldier so it's in his nature to fight back. But you… I haven't quite figured you out," she smiled.

"Are you trying to figure me out?" Quinlan taunted.

"No," Mia shook her head, smirking. "Are you trying to figure me out?"

Quinlan found it fascinating that she was challenging him in this almost playful way.

"You're probably thinking," she continued, "how did this helpless little blind girl manage to stay alive through all of this?"

"You're alive because you are a fighter," Quinlan's tone was suddenly serious.

Mia's smile faded as her expression, too, turned serious. He was right about her; she was a fighter, and the battles she had fought were more violent than what any person should have to endure. But it was a long time ago, and when her battles ended, she thought she had put the fighter inside her rest, but somehow he recognised it.

"What makes you say that?" She asked curiously.

Quinlan slowly paced the room as he deliberated her question. "That night in the alleyway, you never stopped fighting back, not for a single moment, even if you did not believe you could overcome the situation. But you did."

"Only because you were there."

"But it was you who pulled the trigger."

"You gave me the opportunity."

"And a fighter looks for opportunities."

Mia paused in her relay of words with him. There was a slight look of frustration on her face when she couldn't think of a reply. Quinlan smiled.

"I often find, when a person takes a life for the first time, they hesitate before pulling the trigger; but you did not hesitate."

Mia turned her head and looked away.

"So it was not your first time," Quinlan observed, reading her expression.

Mia remained silent. Quinlan could tell she did not want to be pressed on this topic.

"You chose to stay in New York when you had the chance to leave," he continued. "And you risked your life to come here. Most people would not have. I know the outcome was not what you hoped for, but yet you're still here. Why?"

"I don't know..."

"I'll tell you why - it is because you persist, and you persevere; that is what you do. That is why you are a fighter. And the most difficult battle... is with loss." His tone softened and there was empathy in his voice, almost as if he felt the pain himself. "I know you have lost someone very dear to you."

Mia felt a sudden heaviness in her chest. His words touched her deeply; or rather, it was not his words but his recognition of her pain. All that time, quietly in the background, he had paid attention to her griefs, and he understood. And in that moment, she did not feel alone. For once, she felt as though she was able to share her pain.

"I should never have left him alone in this place," she said, shaking her head. "I should've been here. I could've stopped this from happening."

"You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened," Quinlan reassured.

"I stayed away from this place because I was afraid I'd just get in the way. I didn't want him to feel like he had to look after me." Mia's face cringed with frustration. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I'm just an inconvenience to people... a burden."

Quinlan could see the pain her condition caused her, and it made him feel a tremendous amount of shame and guilt, because he knew of a cure for her condition - a solution to her pain - that he selfishly kept from her, and he detested himself for doing so.

"Is that how you see yourself? A burden?" Quinlan asked, hiding his guilt behind an impassive tone.

"I'm just afraid that's how others see me." Mia looked down. "I knew Graeme didn't want me here. He never said it, but I knew. He always kept me away."

"Perhaps he was only trying to protect you."

"Maybe..." said Mia, looking up with a changed expression - one of tenacity. "But in the end, I should've been the one to protect him. I'm not going to make the same mistake again. I want to be here this time, and I want to help."

Quinlan smiled. "If this research is really as important as Doctor Goodweather believes, then you have already helped more than you can imagine. Doctor Goodweather would not be here if it wasn't for you."

Mia stood up from the desk and walked towards Quinlan. She stood before him and gazed up at him with a tender expression that no person had showed him for a long time. "And if it wasn't for you," she whispered, "I wouldn't be here."

Quinlan's eyes widened as he was taken back by her unexpected response.

"I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life," she smiled at him. Her smile was warm and gentle, as were her words. "So... thank you."

Quinlan looked at her with a deep confusion that stirred an inner turmoil within him. The way she spoke to him; the way she smiled... it almost made him feel as if he was... a man.

Chapter Text

At this point, Ephraim returned to the lab.

"Mia?" he called, looking around the room. He felt a slight worry when he was not able to see her anywhere.

"Any luck with the blood samples?" She emerged from the doorway behind him.

"Oh there you are!" Ephraim exclaimed as he turned around. Then his eyes shifted to the figure behind her. "Quinlan, didn't realize you were here." There was a slight unwelcoming tone in his voice, though it was probably unintentional. Quinlan stared at him with his usual unreadable expression.

Ephraim had returned carrying a large suitcase. He was struggling with its weight, and the loud thud as he dropped it on the benchtop confirmed that it was heavy. "So, I found Doctor Price's car in the basement."

"The basement?" Mia exclaimed with surprise. "What part of 'east wing on level five' didn't you understand?"

"I didn't find the blood samples. I did, however, find the keys in the car," Ephraim grinned, holding up the keys and jingling them. "The car still runs perfectly, so looks like we got ourselves a new ride!"

"Another vehicle means more petrol, and we barely have enough as it is," Quinlan reminded, looking at Ephraim.

Ephraim avoided his gaze. "We'll figure it out," he dismissed. "But uh… about the blood samples…" he turned to Mia, scratching the back of his head. "You know when I said I might have to use your blood? Well it might not have been a joke after all."

"Oh, yeah, of course," she offered without hesitation.

"I'm sorry about this," Ephraim apologized, feeling slightly awkward. He pulled up a stool, then lead her towards it and sat her down. "Are you sure it's ok?"

Mia laughed, "It's just a little blood."

He supposed she was right; the process was rather trivial, but yet, to ask for someone's blood seemed uncomfortably personal. Ephraim reached into his bag and pulled out a small plastic packet. He tore the packet open and pulled out a syringe, and then carefully took her arm, rolling up her sleeve.

Quinlan watched from the corner of the room. His eyes were wide in their predatory stare. The anticipation of seeing her blood made his heart beat faster. His stinger stirred within him, as his senses heightened and his body tensed. Over the centuries, he had mastered control of his thirst; however it had been a long time since he last fed. He could feel his body reacting instinctively, but he knew he was still in control. He had not lost control for a long, long time, and he was certain it would not happen again.

Suddenly, Ephraim paused and looked over at Quinlan. He knew of Quinlan's thirst for human blood, and the idea of him being in the room, watching, as he was about to draw her blood made Ephraim feel uneasy. He locked Quinlan's gaze - for the first time not shying away from facing him - and gave him a look that said, "don't you dare!"

Quinlan turned his head respectfully. This made Ephraim satisfied enough to continue.

A glass cupboard on the wall beside Quinlan caught his attention and he distracted himself with the various objects inside it. He picked up an instrument that he did not recognize and studied it – it was some sort of electronic box with a series of switches, and a tube running from it connected to another strange looking device. Man and his inventions, Quinlan thought to himself.

"Alright, all done," Ephraim confirmed, pulling down Mia's sleeve. "Now let's get you home."

Quinlan placed the device back on the shelf and turned towards Mia, his eyes glancing briefly at the vile of blood sitting on the benchtop. "Yes, we should go."

"Oh wait," Ephraim called. "I found this suitcase in the doctor's car. It's locked; I don't know what's inside, but I thought you might want to take it... you know, it could be personal things." He hauled of heavy suitcase off the bench and placed it down in front of Mia.

"Thanks," Mia moved forward to grab it, but Quinlan picked it up before she could. The weight was barely noticeable to him. The two of them then made their way to the car outside as Ephraim returned to his work.

The drive back to the residential zone revealed an unusual spectacle. As they passed the town hall, Quinlan saw two men in front of the building, diligently performing a peculiar task. One man was carrying a small tin bucket and a bundle of rolled up papers under his arm, while the other held a paintbrush, and was brushing something onto the wall of the building. The men turned around and glanced at the car; seeing that it was not a military vehicle, they carried on with their task. The man with the brush took one of the rolls of papers and unrolled it to reveal a large poster. He then stuck it to the wall where he had applied what was obviously glue. Quinlan tried to see the contents of the poster, but the car passed them before he was able to. However, on the next street he was given another opportunity, as the same posters were already on every building.

"Slow down," he ordered Malaika.

The car slowed to a near halt. Quinlan peered through the window and studied the poster on the wall. His eyes widened as he saw what was on the poster, and he was suddenly overcome by an ominous premonition, one that would have devastating consequences for every person in the city. Quinlan felt a terrible sense of dread that made him restless.

The posters were everywhere; on every street and every building, and when the car arrived at its destination, Quinlan saw that Mia's apartment building was no exception; the same poster was stuck on the wall. Mia wouldn't have known, and Quinlan did not mention it. He helped her out of the car and then picked up the suitcase from the back.

"You know, this is the third time you've walked me to these gates," Mia noted as they approached the front gate of the building. "I think I prefer it when you don't disappear into the night like the first time," she shot him a quick smile before she turned to unlock the gate. Then she turned back to him. "Do you have the suitcase?"

"Yes."

Mia looked hesitant, biting her lip in her usual manner whenever she was nervous. "Do you… want to help me carry it up?" There was a slight blush in her cheeks. Quinlan would have noticed if he weren't too stubborn to look at her and see the way that she saw him. But he would never accept the possibility that a person could see him as anything but a monster. And therefore, even if he had seen her blushed cheeks, he would not have recognised it.

"It seems I don't have a choice." Quinlan looked back at the car and Malaika was glaring angrily at him. He ignored her and followed Mia through the door.

She led him through the dingy corridors of the building, with chipped walls and peeling paint. They passed one doorway after another, some secured with metal bolts, and others flung wide open into abandoned apartments. Quinlan observed the surroundings as he followed behind her, and he imagined the kind of lives people lived in this place. It was no more and no less glamorous than the warehouse that he and the others were set up in.

Mia stopped outside the door at the end of the hallway and inserted a key into the lock. She opened the door and walked in, leaving it open for Quinlan to follow without giving him a verbal invitation. He paused at the doorway before slowly walking inside. He looked around the room; it immediately reminded him of homes he had seen in the slums of post war London in the 1950s. It was an old apartment with wooden floorboards that creaked with every step, and wallpaper that was peeling off the walls. The room was minimally furnished, with not much more than a three-seater couch against the back wall, an old wooden dining table with chairs in the center of the room, and a hallway table under the only window in the room, on top of which sat a small radio.

In the corner of the room, Mia's golden Labrador slept on a pile of old rags. It looked up at Quinlan and let out a single, lazy bark.

"Caesar, quiet," Mia shushed. It did not take much convincing for the dog to go back to sleep.

Quinlan set the suitcase upon the dining table. His task was done, but he found himself unable to leave, as if he had something to say, but didn't know what. He stood in the middle of the room, watching her as she turned on the small electric heater beside the couch and wrapped her large coat tightly around herself.

"Would you like me to open the suitcase?" He found a reason for not departing straight away.

"But it's locked..."

"Yes, would you like me to open it?"

Mia shook her head.

The two of them stood in the darkness of room. It didn't occur to her that she had not turned on the lights, as there was never a reason for her to. Anyone else would have thought it to be peculiar standing in the dark, but Quinlan was comfortable with the darkness, and he could see just fine.

"Quinlan," she called his name softly as she stood facing him, slightly shivering from the cold. "Do you think when a person turns, there's any part of them that's still inside?"

He did not expect her to suddenly ask such a question. It was the same question that he had almost driven himself mad thinking about in the past, until he finally reached a conclusion after many years. "No, there is no trace of the person they once were."

Her brows furrowed as if she was displeased with this answer. "How do you know that? How do you know there's not a part of them that's trapped inside? ...fighting to break free; fighting to remember who they were."

"Because I know," he answered firmly, with an abruptness that suggested he did not wish to continue the conversation.

"And what exactly do you know about these creatures?" she pressed.

"Perhaps you should ask Doctor Goodweather; he is the expert after all."

"I'm not asking for a scientific view," she said. "I want to know what you know about them." He was silent; she could sense his reluctance to answer, but she continued anyway. "Whatever this thing is, I feel like there's more to it than what we're going to find in a lab."

"Man has always feared what he cannot explain with science," Quinlan idly noted.

"I'm not looking to science; not this time. Doctor Price dedicated his whole life to science... and he died for it," her voice trembled and the pain briefly showed on her face again, but it was quickly replaced with a look of desperation. "How do we fight something if we don't even know what it is? I just... I need to know what we're dealing with here."

"What makes you think I have the answer?"

Mia looked increasingly anxious, as if there was something on her mind that she could not say. "I know... this has some significance to you..."

"Why?" His tone was abrupt with agitation.

"Because you're…" she stopped, almost choking on her words.

"Because I'm what?"

Mia looked down, her brows furrowed in a tense expression. There was a struggle within her to say the words. She nervously clenched her fists beside her. Then finally, she looked up again and faced him. There was a slight quiver in her eyes. "Because... you're not human."

Quinlan's eyes widened in shock and he suddenly felt his heart sink. He stared at her, unable to move and unable to speak.

"You thought I didn't know…?"

He didn't answer. All he could do was stare at her. But it was true; he never imagined that she could have known. Because of the way she spoke to him, the way she held his arm when she was scared, and the way she smiled at him... How could she have shown him such tenderness if she knew the monster that he was?

"How long have you known?" he finally managed to speak, though he was not able to hide the shock in his voice.

"I've always known. Since that night in the alleyway."

His eyes widened even more. She knew all along… "How?"

"I can hear those sounds you make," Mia spoke softly as she walked towards him from across the room, "like a soft rattle that comes from your chest. And the way you move, your strength, and your voice…" she stopped in front of him, her eyes gazing towards him like she was looking right at him. "I just knew."

He stared at her, unblinking. "Does that scare you?" he asked in a cold and almost threatening tone. But Mia was unmoved by his threat.

"No," she answered calmly. "There's nothing in this world more terrifying than what humans are capable of. So why would it scare me that you're not human?"

She took another step towards him, and immediately, he jolted back as if he had no control of the reaction. He suddenly felt uncomfortable being close to her.

Mia paused. "Do I... scare you?"

He looked at her with confusion.

"You moved away from me just now as I came close to you," she said. "You've never done that before."

Quinlan's eyes fluttered down as he could no longer suppress his discomfort.

"What are you?" she whispered.

"I was conceived by two humans, just like you." Quinlan spoke matter-of-factly, hiding his vulnerability behind a cold tone. "My mother was infected when I was inside her womb, and somehow the infection changed me."

"Your mother was infected?" Mia uttered with surprise. "You're telling me this virus has been around since before you were born?"

Before I was born, Quinlan thought to himself. If she had any idea how long ago that was... "This virus has always existed; it's as old as human history."

"But there's no record of it. Why doesn't the world know about this? After so many years, why is there an outbreak now?" A million questions raced through her mind, but that was all she could manage to ask.

"That's what I'm here to find out."

She was silent for a moment, and then looked towards him apprehensively. "Do the others know? Do they know… about you?"

Quinlan snickered. Her ignorance was almost endearing. "Anyone who could see me would certainly not mistake me for human."

"Anyone who could see you?" she asked, both curious and perplexed. She stepped towards him again. This time, he did not move away, though only because she had made note of it. She stood close in front of him, and slowly reached out her hand. "What do you look like?" she whispered, looking up at him with her unseeing yet expressive eyes.

Her hand reached up towards his face. He tilted back, but her hand continued to reach forward, until her fingertips landed softly on his cheek. His heart pounded as he felt her touch upon his face. He stood frozen and motionless, staring at her. Her touch was hesitant at first, withdrawing for a second, before continuing. She touched his cheekbone and felt its prominent definition, protruding abnormally compared to a human's. Her fingers delicately traced along the ridge of the bone, circling up to his brow. She found no hair on his brow, but it was strong and defined. She could feel a certain primal masculinity in the structure of his face; it was what she had imagined. She never pondered over how human or inhuman he may have looked; she simply pictured strength, and that was what she felt. She placed her hand against the side of his face. His skin felt less different to a human's - soft and warm to the touch. Then, her fingers felt a mark beneath them - a deep gash in the skin across his cheek. A scar. Mia's brows furrowed as she felt the injury that had been inflicted upon him. A slight sadness showed on her face as her fingers traced the scar, moving down his cheek towards his lips.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he desperately wanted to feel something from her touch; something he had not felt for many years. But he couldn't - whatever feelings of tenderness he may have found in her touch, his mind violently rejected it, even though his heart was already beginning to betray him. His eyes sprung open. He could no longer endure it. This feeling somehow burned a fire within him that he could not control. Just before her fingers touched his lips, he abruptly grabbed her wrist and stopped her hand from moving any further.

Mia gasped. His grip was much harder than he intended. A look of panic spread across her face as she pulled her hand from his grasp. Quinlan, surprised by his own action, realized what he had done and quickly released her. Mia took her hand back, holding it across her chest, and backed away from him. Quinlan feared he had hurt her.

"I… I'm sorry," she stammered. "It's just how I… see."

"You do not need to see me," he replied coldly.

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"I am not the one who should be afraid!" he growled; his tone was suddenly menacing. He turned away from her and walked towards the window, and he stood before it, leaning his hands on the windowsill. His heart was racing and his restless eyes darted across the night. He knew his words were harsh. He did not intend to be this way; it was truly not what he wanted, but it was all he could do. He glanced at her, standing there in confusion. She was too naive, and too kind. He had to stay away from her.

"Now that Doctor Goodweather is in possession of a vehicle, he will be the one to assist you from now on."

At that moment, Mia's heart sank. A deep sadness appeared on her face, and Quinlan caught the expression just as she lowered her head. It was a look that angered him as much as it pained him; it angered him that she showed him sadness instead of fear. He almost wished that she would be afraid of him like all the others; it would have been easier.

Mia looked down for long while, until her emotions faded from her face, and she looked up again. She gave Quinlan a faint smile. "Ok, I guess I'm Eph's burden now."

Quinlan realized his words would have only exacerbated her insecurities that she had revealed to him earlier that night. He knew how much it must have hurt her. She was never a burden to him; that was not the reason, and he could have reassured her of this. But instead, he chose to remain silent. At that moment, Quinlan despised himself. This was his curse, and it served no purpose but to cause him pain, and to remind him of his place in this world - the purpose of his existence. Suddenly, Quinlan remembered something important; he remembered what he had seen on the street that night - the posters. Times were about to change. And when the world turns as ugly as the monster he saw in himself; when the world becomes violent and repulsive, that was when the purpose of his existence seemed clear to him.

There is a war coming.

Quinlan looked down onto the street outside; it was empty and silent for now. But the silence would not last.

"You were right about one thing," he said, "there is nothing more terrifying than what humans are capable of. And over the next few days, you will witness just that. Do not leave your apartment tomorrow, do you understand? You must not go out onto the street."

Mia did not answer; her mind was elsewhere. Quinlan knew she had heard him, and he hoped that she would heed his warning; all he could do was hope.

"It's been a long day," she finally said, in a soft and broken voice. "I won't keep you any longer. Good night, Quinlan."

Quinlan felt a turmoil within him that he could not explain, and it infuriated him. He took one last look at her, and then he walked away without looking back.

Mia heard the door close behind him, and then she was alone.

At the warehouse, Vasiliy was fast asleep on his bed; he did not hear the front door being opened, or the clinking of boots walking up the metal stairs. He only woke up when he heard the latch on his bedroom door click. He opened his eyes to see a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room. Vasiliy sprung up, grabbing the gun from under his pillow and pointed it at the intruder. The figure stepped forward into the light coming in from the window, and suddenly the inhuman appearance of the pale-skinned figure startled Vasiliy. It took a moment for him to realize it was Quinlan. No matter how many times Vasiliy had looked at this creature, catching an unexpected sight of him still made his heart jump.

"What the hell are you doing?" Vasiliy grumbled. "I could've shot you."

Quinlan walked up to the end of his bed and tossed him a rolled up poster. "We need to talk."

Chapter Text

The next morning, Mia was woken by gunfire on the street. She bolted upright in her bed; her heart pounded. Outside her window, several loud vehicles drove by; Mia could tell from their sound that they were the military Humvees. It was not the usual patrol – five vehicles passed by, one after the other, their engines churning louder than usual as they accelerated with intent down the road. Panicked voices could be heard outside; people were yelling as they ran down the street, but their words were indistinguishable. In the distance, more gunfire sounded from what seemed like several automatic rifles. Then, there was a sound that sent fear and panic through the hearts of every person in the city – it was the haunting wail of the distress siren that blared deafeningly from the speakers around the city. The siren was a signal for all residents to return to their homes, and in the past, it had only ever sounded when the infected had breached the safe zone. But it was not possible this time, as it was day time and the light from the sun harmed these creatures.

What the hell is happening? Mia panicked. Suddenly, she remembered Quinlan's warning from the previous night; he knew something about this. She leaped out of bed, threw on her coat, and hurried into the living room to turn on the radio. A pre-recorded message played on repeat:

"All citizens must remain inside their homes until further notice. Any person on the street will be arrested. Any person engaging military personnel will be executed on sight."

There were no further details. This is bad, Mia thought. This is really bad.

Vasiliy was on the streets when the riots broke out early in the morning. When he reached the town hall, a group of rowdy people had gathered outside, shouting and throwing objects at the building. Many were holding up the posters that they pulled off the walls around the city. Vasiliy kept his distance and watched the commotion from afar. More people were arriving at the scene, and every group of new arrivals appeared angrier than the last, and more equipped for destruction. People were carrying wooden bats, steel pipes, and various tools, and they began swinging madly at the large wooden doors of the town hall. The door rattled on its hinges and the wood began to chip, but none-the-less, the solid structure held ungiving in its place.

Two patrol units arrived within just minutes and soldiers surrounded the crowd. They called for order but it was useless; the more they tried to restrain the crowd, the more the crowd diverted their anger towards them. At first, people simply wanted answers, but inevitably, the rage became contagious and began to fuel itself. Amidst the anger and confusion, and the crowd grew more and more fanatical. They began to press towards the line of soldiers that encircled them, forcing the soldiers to push back with force. And then, a glass bottle was hurled from the crowd, spinning in the air over the heads of the people, before coming down and landing upon the helmet of one of the soldiers. The glass shattered as it hit the rim of the helmet. There was a moment of silence where events almost seemed to play in slow motion, and then the tension snapped; the first soldier opened fire on the crowd, and out of fear and adrenaline, the others followed. A symphony of machine guns resonated down the streets. Vasiliy took the opportunity to sneak away. He did not look back, but he knew it would have been a bloodbath. He quickly ducked into an alleyway as he saw five more patrol units approaching.

As Vasiliy snuck through the city, the loud siren began to wail. He stopped; the hairs on his arm stood on their ends. The sound had conditioned a natural fear response in every person in the city. It had always been the call of Death's arrival. After taking a moment to become accustomed to the sound, Vasiliy continued.

A few blocks away from the town hall, nearing the outskirts of the residential zone, a single patrol vehicle was stopped in the middle of the road, blocking Vasiliy's path. The soldiers had not seen him yet; Vasiliy spotted them from the alleyway before he turned out onto the street, and he quickly retreated behind the large building on the corner of the alleyway. He peered out from behind the building; two soldiers were standing in front of the vehicle, holding up three civilians who had been made to kneel on the ground with their hands behind their heads. One soldier stood with his rifle aimed at the three men on the ground, while the other was speaking into his radio. Vasiliy could not hear the communication. The soldier then clipped his radio back onto his belt and pulled out his handgun. He took aim, and without even a wince in his face, the soldier casually put a bullet in the heads of all three men. The men dropped to the ground in a row, one after the other, without a single sound other than the soft thud of their limp bodies hitting the ground.

Vasiliy retreated back further behind the building. Suddenly, he felt a cold metal barrel press against the back of his head.

"Hold it right there." A man's voice commanded.

Vasiliy knew it was in his best interest to comply. He raised his hands up in surrender, with one hand holding a rolled up poster. "Easy now, I'm not looking for trouble."

"What the hell is this?" The soldier snatched the poster out of his hand.

Vasiliy's heart pounded. Shit!

The soldier stepped back a few paces, and Vasiliy slowly turned around to face the young man holding the pistol. The soldier nervously struggled to unroll the poster while still trying to keep his gun aimed at Vasiliy, constantly glancing back and forth between the two. He unrolled the poster just enough to see what it was. His eyes widened and he abruptly dropped the paper to the ground and postured up, gripping his gun tighter and reaffirming his aim at Vasiliy.

His other hand reached for his radio. "This is Unit 5. I got a suspected member of the resistance here. Awaiting orders. Over."

"Woah, I'm not a member of…"

"Shut up!" The soldier's nerves were tense.

"Unit 5, this is Command. Bring him in," the voice on the radio replied. "If he resists, shoot him. Over."

Vasiliy had been a soldier himself; he knew how these guys worked. He knew that if he was captured, he would be forced by any means necessary to give up information on the Nemesis group. And whether or not he spoke, the final outcome for him would be the same. Being captured was not an option. Vasiliy's made a quick glance at the gun in the soldier's hand.

"Hey, over here!" The soldier called to his comrades around the corner.

Vasiliy knew he had to act now. As the soldier's eyes left Vasiliy for just a moment, looking out onto the street, Vasiliy lunged forward, grabbing the soldier's hand and pointing the gun away from himself. He knew he only had seconds before the rest of the unit arrived. He elbowed the soldier in the face as he wrenched the gun out of his hand. The soldier stumbled back. In that time, Vasiliy regained his posture and aimed the gun at the soldier's head. There was no time. Vasiliy's finger twitched nervously on the trigger as his heart pounded. No. He lowered his aim and discharged one bullet into the soldier's foot, then picked up the poster on the ground and ran as fast as he could down the alleyway.

He turned out onto the main road and looked to the left, then to the right; there was far too much open space – if he kept running down the road, he would become an open target. He glanced back down the alleyway; two soldiers were running towards him and the distance was closing quickly. He had to think fast. There was a small door on the side of the building just a few meters into the alleyway. But to get to the door, Vasiliy had to run back down the alleyway towards the soldiers who were running towards him. Goddamn it! It was his only choice; he bolted for the door. It was locked. He stood back and took a shot at the lock. Just as he did, another gun sounded and a bullet ricocheted off the metal pipes just behind his head. One of the soldiers had taken a shot at him, but luckily it missed. Vasiliy dived through the open door and ran up the stairs inside the building. He did not stop to see if the soldiers had followed him; he ran as fast as he could up the spiralling stairs inside the old and crumbling building.

He lost track of the number of floors he had passed. He looked up the middle of the stairway; the building was tall; he could not keep running up forever. Vasiliy decided to turn off the stairs and head down the hallway. It was an abandoned apartment building, and some apartment doors were open, some were closed, and other doors were lying broken off its hinges on the floor. Vasiliy ducked inside one of the open doors and quietly closed it behind him. He listened at the door; he could not hear them. It was completely silent other than the sound of his own breathing. After catching his breath, Vasiliy quietly made his way across the living room, then down the hallway and into the bedroom at the end. He closed the bedroom door and listened once more. Again, there was silence. Perhaps they never even followed him inside the building; maybe one man was not worth the pursuit. Vasiliy breathed a sigh of relief. As he turned away from the door and faced the room, he was startled by a ghastly sight – on the bed in front of him was a corpse lying on its back with its face turned towards Vasiliy, mouth open and hollow eyes staring motionlessly at him. The body had already decomposed, almost partially mummified, leaving an old black stain on the bed around it. The hand was still clutching the gun that the person had used to take their life. Vasiliy stared at the unfortunate scene.

At what point does it come to this; to just give up and die alone?

The room had already been looted; all the drawers were pulled out and emptied. The window had been smashed, and the walls were vandalised. On the wall behind the bed, words had been graffitied in large black letters – HERE LIES A COWARD.

The world is cruel and unforgiving, even in death.

Vasiliy sighed. He averted his eyes from the scene and made for the window, climbing out onto the side of the building. He shuffled along the edge of the windowsill until he reached the stairs on the outside of the building and made his way back down onto the street. The soldiers were nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

Once again, Vasiliy found himself in the tunnels deep under the city, walking down the train tracks, following the dim lights on the wall until he reached the platform guarded by two armed men. They were two different men this time, and they recognised Vasiliy as he approached. He usually greeted them, but this time he was too set on his intent to even notice them. He pulled himself up onto the platform then headed straight up the escalator. On the level above, many people were out and about, busy with whatever tasks they were doing; the subterranean town was bustling with activity that day.

"Hey Fet," a man with a squeaky, nasal voice called out as Vasiliy walked past. The man, with wild curly hair and thick-rimmed glasses, was sitting inside a workshop with all sorts of weapons, tools and gadgets spread across a large metal bench. He sprung to his feet excitedly when he saw Vasiliy.

"Hey, ya wanna see the latest pipe bomb I've been workin' on? I call it Darla; named after my ex-wife, cos after she's done with ya, there ain't nothing left!" He snorted loudly, laughing at his own joke.

"Not now, Speedy," Vasiliy mumbled. He could never figure out if the man had earned the nickname 'Speedy' because of how fast he talked; how words just constantly poured out of his mouth without a break, or because of his addiction to the drug of the same name.

"Oh right, of course, you probably got more important things. Hey, if you're looking for Dutch, she's just over there," he pointed to a small group of people standing around a table.

"Thank Speedy. I'll check out your new toy another time."

"You're gonna love it, Fet!" he yelled excitedly after Vasiliy, who was already walking away. "And I got another one just for you! Oh man, you're gonna cream your pants when you see what I've done…" The sound of his voice faded as Vasiliy walked away, but he was still talking.

Vasiliy's eyes were locked onto Dutch as she stood with her back to him, talking amongst a group of people. Vasiliy walked up behind her and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. She turned with a startled expression and then saw that it was him.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Vasiliy did not answer. He pulled her by her arm down the walkway towards her quarters in the old barber shop. He pushed her into the room and then closed the door behind him. Dutch stood staring at him, stunned and confused. She could tell by the look on his face that he was angry.

He walked up to the counter in the middle of the room, unrolling the poster in his hands, and then slammed the large sheet of paper down on the countertop.

"What the hell is this?" He growled.

Dutch looked down at the poster – at the top were the words, in large, bold font:

FOOD SHORTAGE?

Below that was a picture of the many piles of food that Dutch had shown Vasiliy, stacked across the station platform. In the forefront of the picture, standing in front of the piles, was an intimidating looking man holding an assault rifle, with a hockey mask covering his face, long blonde hair tied at the back, wearing jeans and a black leather vest that was open at the front revealing a large tattoo across his chest reading 'NEMESIS'.

Underneath the picture, it said:

What is your government hiding from you? Join the Resistance.

"This…" Dutch grinned, "…is the beginning of change."

"No, this is the beginning of a goddamn civil war!" Vasiliy slammed his fist on the countertop. "This is Boston all over again; is that what you want?!"

"You don't understand…"

"Have you seen what it's like outside? Have you seen what you've done?!" Vasiliy yelled, fuming.

"Yes, I've seen what's happening out there; the people are waking up, that's what's happening!" Dutch yelled back. "Don't you see? If we do nothing, we are letting them enslave us. I know we've started a war, but I would rather die fighting than live as a slave!"

Vasiliy opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn't quite come out.

"You know what?" Dutch continued, taking advantage of his loss of words, "I would rather turn than be a slave!"

The look on Vasiliy's face changed. He stared at her, then looked down and shook his head. "You don't know what you're saying," he mumbled. "And you have no idea what you're doing. You had no idea when you left; when you walked out on me, and you still have no idea what it is you really want."

"I wanted more from life than what I would've had if I stayed with you." Dutch looked at him scornfully.

Vasiliy laughed in disbelief. "Oh what, like a nice house with a little garden, and maybe a couple of kids?" he sneered. He threw his hands up on his head in frustration. "We're in the middle of a goddamn apocalypse, Dutch! What do you want?!"

"I want a cause!" She cried, fighting back tears of anger and frustration. "I want to fight for something and not just sit around waiting for a fucking miracle!" Her eyes were burning with fervor.

Vasiliy let out a disappointed chuckle, shaking his head. "Is that what you think I'm doing; just sitting around, waiting?"

Dutch knew she had injured him enough already, but she was furious at him for bringing up the past, yet again. She could not control the words that were coming out of her mouth.

"If you're putting your bets on Eph's stupid research, then it's as good as doing nothing. The guy can't even help himself let alone the world."

Vasiliy was silent for a moment, looking down with furrowed brows. His chest heaved up and down with his breaths. "Well," he calmed himself, lowering his voice, "judge us as you will; at least we're not murderers. But you… you just damned this whole city."

The door behind Vasiliy creaked open and Dutch suddenly stood up straight, looking behind Vasiliy with an awkward expression. Vasiliy turned around to see a man standing in the doorway wearing dark jeans, leather boots, and a black leather jacket. He was skinny, with a bony face and a hook nose, thin lips hiding behind a beard and moustache, and long, scruffy blond hair that fell past his shoulders. He was possibly the same age as Vasiliy, in his late thirties, but his unshaven face, stern expression, and creases around his deep-set eyes made him appear much older.

"Vasiliy Fet," the man grinned, walking into the room. His sharp eyes pierced through Vasiliy, and there was a certain nastiness behind his smile. "I've heard a lot about you." He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. He spoke with a sharp, raspy voice and a southern accent, which perfectly complimented his southern hard rock look.

Goddamn redneck.

"You must be Des," Vasiliy muttered, as fury coursed through his veins. He tried his best to hide it, but Des could see it in his eyes, and this made him grin even wider.

"Of course, you know who I am."

"You're the man behind the Resistance; everyone knows who you are."

"But I imagine you know me for other reasons too." He walked up to Dutch and stood close beside her, giving her an affectionate glance, then turning to Vasiliy as if to make sure he saw. "I hope we can put any unsavoury history behind us." He spoke slowly, with intent behind each word.

Consumed with rage, Vasiliy looked away. He knew that Des was baiting him and he feared that if he lost control, he would be right where Des wanted him. Dutch kept her head lowered, not daring to look at either of the men.

"It's not the history I'm the worried about," Vasiliy affirmed, "it's the future; the future that you're creating here." He looked up at Des, who had finally wiped that smug smile off his face.

"Yes, a future that I'm creating," he declared grandiosely. "Because I refuse to sit back and let the government take away our liberties."

"You're making a big mistake," Vasiliy muttered, shaking his head. "A lot of people are going to die. A lot of people are already dead."

"No war can be won without casualties; you know that." Des studied Vasiliy through his small, narrow eyes as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He flicked open the lid and tilted the pack, letting a single cigarette fall out. "I know about your past. I know there's blood on your hands." He placed the cigarette between his lips, then struck a match and brought the flame to the end of his cigarette, sucking on the thin stick. His actions were as paced and deliberate as his words. "You're gonna suddenly convince yourself that you got a problem with death now?" He breathed out a puff of smoke.

Vasiliy sneered. "You don't know me, Des; I got no problem with death. I work for my own interest. Now I'm just wondering, how is turning this city into a goddamn war zone in my interest? Cos let me tell you something, on my way here today, a soldier almost put a bullet in my head!"

Des smiled, nodding as if he was pleased with what he heard. "Spoken like a truth mercenary," he pointed at Vasiliy with the cigarette between his fingers. "You only fight when it's in your interest; I like that." Then he sighed, shaking his head. "Unfortunately I wasn't blessed with such simplicity. See, I was cursed with having a greater vision, and with that comes great sacrifice." He sighed, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. "You wouldn't understand."

Vasiliy knew those words were intended to belittle him. His nostrils flared as he breathed in, suppressing his rage. Dutch glanced at him nervously; she knew him too well, and feared he would lose control of his anger. If she had not been standing there, Vasiliy would have put this man in his place right then, and this skinny snake of a man would have been no match for someone of Vasiliy's physicality. But it was not just Dutch's presence, or her involvement with the group, but it was the undeniable fact that Vasiliy needed support from the Nemesis group, and making enemies with their leader was not the best way to gain such support.

"You're right; I don't understand what you're trying to do here," Vasiliy admitted. "All I know is how to stay alive, and the violence that you're creating ain't helping anyone."

"Well, you worry about staying alive, and I'll worry about things on my end. Besides, I need you alive." He walked up to Vasiliy and put his hand on his shoulder as if they were friends. Vasiliy silently seethed. "Now, about your payment for the job," Des smiled, "I got it all here, plus more. It's yours as soon as you get it done."

"I'll be here to collect my payment in three days." Vasiliy confirmed, looking down at Des' hand on his shoulder as if to let him know he was intruding in his personal space.

Des grinned once again, giving Vasiliy a pat on the shoulder before removing his hand.

Vasility knew he needed to get out of there. As he made his way to the door, he looked at Dutch; she had been looking at him, but then lowered her eyes to avoid his. He could tell she was unhappy, and it angered him that she had put herself in this situation. But she made her decision; she chose him… that sonofabitch.

"Be careful out there," she warned, giving him a quick glance.

"I'm always careful."

The civil unrest carried on for the next two days. For now, most civilians lacked the courage to act out in any extreme fashion and resorted to petty gestures of rebellion behind the military's back. However, the streets were becoming alive again at night - vandals with a political message, deviants who wanted in on the "fun", and criminal gangs who capitalised on the chaos. But most importantly, the seed of anger and distrust towards the government had been sown in the people's minds, and people were beginning to talk; they were beginning to reach out to Nemesis. Vasiliy knew it was only a matter of time…

Goddamn it Dutch, what have you done?

Chapter Text

It was the third day after the beginning of the riots. The sunset was particularly beautiful that evening, glowing red behind a unique formation of clouds as the sky was painted with an array of deep blue and purple. Quinlan stood on the roof of a tall building that overlooked the old industrial area, looking out into the horizon, watching the sun disappear beneath the city skyline. The beauty of the scene only further reminded him of the starkness of the world, yet it was somehow comforting, in that moment, that the beauty of nature will remain long after the end of humanity. It did not matter to Quinlan if that day was near; he saw the end of humanity as merely an inevitable part of the cycle. But it was his own end that seemed too far away. Against all odds, he had somehow survived through the ages, and he never imagined he would be here today. But he promised himself long ago that as long as his heart was still beating, and as long as they still existed, he would hunt every last one of them.

The light from the sun had disappeared now. From where Quinlan was standing, high up on the rooftop, the headlights of the patrol vehicles could be seen from all over the city, returning to base like trails of ants returning to the nest. The old prison served well as a military base; it provided all the necessary facilities, and most importantly, security. Walls that were once built to keep monsters in now served to keep them out. Somewhere in the distance, on the western border of the residential zone, a large ball of flames suddenly rose up from the darkness; there was no sound, no explosion; just a silent eruption of fire. Shortly, there was another burst of flames upon the wall of a building in the same area. Somebody was having fun with Molotov cocktails; probably rioters. The patrol vehicles in the area did not even slow; the sun had set, and they wanted nothing to do with the night.

It was time to move. Quinlan jumped down from the ledge of the building and landed on his feet on the street below. Around the corner of the street, his hunters were waiting, standing armed and ready by the side of a truck.

"We're ready to go," Gus informed Quinlan as he arrived.

Quinlan nodded. The young man opened the back door of the truck and motioned for the others to get in.

"Another night, another fight…" one of the men sighed dispiritedly as he climbed into the truck.

"Hey," Gus caught his arm, "you're still here to fight another day, that's what matters."

The look on the man's face brightened as he gave Gus a solid nod.

While many are born leaders, Gus was not; he had much learn about this world, and about himself. But Quinlan saw his potential; he saw in his eyes bravery and determination, and most importantly, loyalty and compassion. Quinlan knew he made the right choice in putting this young man in charge.

Suddenly, Quinlan sensed a presence behind him; a silent figure with a pair of watchful eyes.

Just as Quinlan confirmed his senses, an old voice called out. "Mr. Quinlan."

Quinlan turned around to see a figure standing in the shadows on the other side of the road - an old, frail-looking man with a white beard and matching white hair underneath a fedora hat, holding a silver cane. The familiar face of this old man caught Quinlan by surprise; it was a face he never expected to see again.

"Abraham Setrakian." Quinlan looked at the old man; his health had deteriorated since Quinlan last saw him. However, it was a miracle that he was alive at all; he should have been dead many years ago, but he had found a way to defy nature; to regenerate his decaying body. However, it could only last so much longer.

Quinlan turned to Gus, "Start the engine and wait for me." He crossed the road towards the old man, looking upon his old familiar face and noting how much it had aged. "Most people are looking for a way out of this God-forsaken city. But you have found your way in. Whatever brings you here must be important."

"I have a message for you," the old man croaked, looking at Quinlan with a stern face. Although, it was the only expression he ever had.

"A message from whom?"

"From the Ancients."

"The Ancients?" Quinlan's initial surprise soon turned into irritation. "That's not possible; the Ancients are all dead. Why are you really here?"

"So even you think the Ancients are dead. Good! That's exactly what they want!"

The old man was not making any sense. Quinlan looked at him, confused and impatient to get to the point. But he knew that any conversation with Abraham Setrakian meant first navigating through the labyrinth of his mind.

"The Ancients have been hiding," the old man continued, "and if you were smart you'd do the same."

"Hiding is not my style, Mr. Setrakian. I thought you would know that by now."

"Let me ask you something, Quinlan – do you know who's behind all this madness?"

"I have some idea…"

"The Nazi," Abraham confirmed Quinlan's thoughts. The intensity grew in the old man's eyes. "He's looking for you, Quinlan; you're the one he wants, and he won't stop until he finds you."

"Then that saves me looking for him."

"No, he must not find you! You don't know the risk." The old man was getting flustered, struggling to catch his breath in between words. "Even the Ancients have taken the precaution…"

"The ancients are cowards!" Quinlan snapped with sudden infuriation. "If he wants me then let him come. Perhaps I will remind him how I destroyed my father." His lips curled as he spoke, revealing the tips of his sharp teeth. "What makes him think he can do any better?"

The old man began to speak but Quinlan cut him off. "I appreciate your warning. If that was the message you came to deliver, then consider it heard." Quinlan turned and walked back across the road towards the truck. "Send the ancients my regards," he called out without turning around, "…that is, if they are really alive."

The old man stood on the side of the street, tightly clutching his silver cane in both hands as he watched the truck drive away with Quinlan and his hunters. You fool! You have no idea what he has planned.

Chapter Text

The truck stopped underneath the Manhattan Bridge; Quinlan was the first to jump out from the back. As soon as he stepped onto the street, he scanned the area, and then motioned for the others to follow. One by one, the hunters dispatched from the back of the truck with their weapons in their hands – rifles, shotguns, knives and machetes. Gus simply preferred a pistol; it was light-weight and allowed him to move quickly. Quinlan, as always, was equipped with his two machine pistols, holstered on each side, and the sword on his back that he had carried with him through the ages; it was a heavy weapon, forged by hand from ancient blacksmiths, sharp, double edged, and its hilt made of bone with ancient engravings.

Quinlan lead the team towards a nearby subway entrance that appeared like the mouth of a cave descending into a dark oblivion, and who knew what lay in the darkness below. Even the trained hunters were afraid, and Quinlan could smell their fear; he did not blame them, for it was only human. Just a few paces down the stairs into the subway entrance, the darkness engulfed them. The hunters turn on their head torches, and from a distance it looked like eerie beams of light illuminating from faceless heads of shadowy figures. The hunters continued their descent.

Deep below the street was a platform littered with junk and rubble. In the dark, empty space, tall steel columns spaced every few meters stood like giants, casting looming shadows at different angles depending on where the light from the torches hit them. With Quinlan in front, the team walked slowly and carefully down the platform.

Suddenly, Quinlan stopped and held up his fist, signalling the hunters behind him to halt. Their steps came to an abrupt stop; everyone was silent and still as they listened and looked around their surroundings. The darkness meant that they could only see within the beam of light from their head torches, like a spotlight in the dark, revealing a small area at a time. The hunters could not hear or see anything out of the ordinary, however, what scared them was the fact that they knew Quinlan could, and they trusted his senses.

Suddenly, from behind the large steel column next to Gus, a ghastly white face stuck through the darkness and into the light of his torch, just inches from his face. Its white skin was creeping with dark veins, eyes were red and bloodshot, and the mouth was wide open, letting out a bloodcurdling shriek. Gus fell backwards, paralysed for a moment from the fright. The creature's chest heaved as if it was about to regurgitate, and then out shot its stinger, flying towards Gus, whose eyes were wide with fear. Before he had time to react, Quinlan caught the creature's stinger in one hand, and with a hard tug, he pulled the whole organ out of its body through its mouth. The creature lay limp and motionless on the floor.

Then, behind the group, another creature leaped out from the darkness. Everyone spun around. The large African-American man with the shaved head and tattoos, a beast of man, stood the closest to the creature. He showed no emotion or surprise when the creature lunged out. He reacted quickly and aimed his double-barrel shotgun at the creature's chest and pulled the trigger. The gun let out a loud explosive sound as it sent the creature flying back. The creature lay on the ground for a moment, and then got up into a crawling position, its joints contorted and limbs spread out like a spider. It shrieked at the hunters before scampering into the darkness in a spider-like crawl. The hunters tried to follow it with their torches, but it moved too quickly; it disappeared into the darkness. Quinlan could see it in a far corner, glaring at them. But he could sense that it had no intention of attacking again; it was severely wounded. He decided to leave it. He began to walk towards the tracks and motioned for the others to follow. Gus walked beside him.

"You froze," said Quinlan. "That will get you killed."

"I would've shot that thing if you gave me the chance," Gus retorted, annoyed at himself that he did in fact freeze, and would have been stung if Quinlan had not been there.

Quinlan turned to him and smirked. "Next time I will be sure to not interfere."

The team continued down the tracks, deeper and deeper into the tunnel. There was an uncomfortable silence around them, like the type of dead silence that comes before a storm. They could hear their footsteps on the loose rocks beneath their feet, and if they could hear it, then so could anything else that was down there. Ahead, the tunnel split in two. Quinlan stopped and turned to his men.

"You three," he pointed to Gus and two others, "follow me. The rest of you take the tunnel on the right. Try to avoid using your guns."

"And make sure you keep these switched on," Gus reminded, holding up his radio.

The men gave each other a nod as they split off into their teams.

Moments later, the mood had become quite different in the two tunnels. Among the five men who separated from Quinlan, fear was beginning to set in. They imagined scenarios of what they could encounter in these depths, and it became apparent that they were vulnerable without Quinlan. Quinlan's eyes were more useful in the dark than their torches, his senses could not be matched by any man, and he was more effective in battle than five men with guns. Without him, even the bravest of warriors would feel a sense of trepidation in a place like this. To these five men, it seemed as though they had taken the darker and more foreboding route.

A few hundred meters in, Quinlan and his group reached a wide part of the tunnel, where further ahead there was a large open space where the tracks split into three different directions. That part of the tunnel was close to the surface of the city, as there was an opening in the ceiling and a single beam of light shined down from the world above – a dim glow from the natural light of the night sky. Quinlan stopped and looked towards the light in the distance. The other men stopped beside him.

"Turn off your lights," Quinlan commanded.

"What are you…" Gus began, but Quinlan raised his hand sharply, motioning for immediate silence.

All three men looked towards the direction that Quinlan was looking, as he appeared to be staring transfixed on something ahead. At first, they could not see anything. Then, a single strigoi stumbled into the beam of light like an actor walking into the spotlight. The creature moved in a rigid and jerky manner. Its pale white body twitched as it made a soft gurgling sound. Then, it moved into the darkness again and the men could no longer see it. However, they could still hear its noises echoing through the silence. A moment later, it moved into the light again. This time, it stood there, looking up the beam of light towards the world above. Its head twitched as it tilted, staring into the light as if it was seeing God. Its body was gaunt and its bony fingers were locked in a claw-like position. Unaware of human presence, the creature was almost in a trance. It was rare to see one just standing there and not attacking. In that moment, the creature almost looked frail and vulnerable.

One of the hunters, who carried a scoped rifle, quietly raised his gun and took aim, looking down the scope. The crosshairs were right on the creature's head; he would've had the perfect shot, but Quinlan put his hand on the rifle and lowered it. He shook his head, indicating not to shoot. The man looked at Quinlan and saw an intense expression on his face as he continued to stare towards the creature. The expression on his face was as if he was seeing something that was deeply troubling. Indeed, Quinlan was not looking at this creature; he was looking behind it, further into the dark, where only he could see the disturbing sight of what lay ahead - an entire horde of strigoi was lurking in the darkness, all standing in that trance-like state. There were about thirty that Quinlan could see, but who knew how many more were down the dark tunnel. The slightest sound or movement would wake them and then the devastating horde would be unleashed.

The five men in the other tunnel had not made as much progress navigating through the dark. The light from their head torches provided no clear view of what lay ahead or around them. They were beginning to feel as though the walls were closing in, but it was just the darkness engulfing them that was bringing about a sense of claustrophobia. Nerves were tense as the men walked slowly and hesitantly. Suddenly, they heard a sound behind them, as if one of the rocks on the ground had been kicked. The men spun around, their fingers trembling over their triggers. The rays of light from their torches moved with them, revealing a different piece of the darkness each time they turned. Just as the tension was close to breaking point, one of the men turned and looked straight into the face of a creature with its stinger already emerged from its mouth. Before he could react, the stinger shot out and latched onto the man's neck as he let out a scream. In a moment of panic, without thinking or remember Quinlan's words, all the men opened fire. Their bullets hit the man as well as the creature, but it made no difference; he was gone anyway. The loud sounds of their guns echoed through the tunnels.

The creature that stood before Quinlan and his group suddenly came to life; its whole body jerked as it woke from its trance. Now alert, it was trying to sense its surroundings. The men held their breaths and stayed motionless. Their hearts were beating fast. Their muscles were tense and spring-loaded, ready to react. The moment seemed like an eternity; frozen in time, until suddenly, it snapped. More gunfire sounded from down the tunnel, louder this time. The creature spun around and looked right at Quinlan and his men. It let out a loud shriek, and then there was a rumbling sound from behind the creature. Gus squinted as he looked into the darkness; he thought he could see something very large moving in the shadows. All the men saw it.

"Get out of here," Quinlan whispered.

As the men turned on their head torches, their lights revealed a sea of strigoi standing behind the one in the front, all waking from their slumber. It was like looking into a crowd at a concert; there were that many. Simultaneously, all the creatures' heads snapped towards the men. They postured up… and then they charged!

"Run!" Quinlan bellowed.

Frozen in fear and awe, it took a moment for their bodies to respond. Once they did, the men turned and sprinted as fast as they could. Quinlan stood where he was, with his sword in his hand. He needed to kill as many of them as he could for his men to have a chance. The sea of strigoi was upon him like a wave, engulfing him. He moved through them, swinging his sword. He went straight for their necks, for decapitation – one swing for one head, clean and swift. He had to keep moving otherwise they all be upon him at once, but even then, it was getting difficult; claws were grabbing him, trying to drag him down. He shook them off, then holstered his sword, and started to run himself. He needed to be cautious; not even he could fight that many.

He quickly caught up to his men. The creatures were close behind them. The men didn't turn around, but they could tell they were close from the sound of their shrieks. Quinlan fired his guns behind him as he ran, killing off the closest ones to buy themselves more distance.

They reached the part of the tunnel that forked in two directions, where the team had split up. Just ahead, on the side of the tunnel, there was a small door. Quinlan ran towards it.

"Over here," Quinlan called. The door was locked. He rammed it open with his shoulder and then stood to the side to let his men through. One by one, they ran through the door. Quinlan looked towards where the tunnel split; he could see the creatures about to break through the tunnel on the left. Then suddenly, he noticed movement in the tunnel on the right, and the sound of gunfire. Out of the darkness, four men from the other group emerged, running. Quinlan realized at this rate, they would intersect the horde of strigoi coming from the other tunnel.

"Move!" he shouted. "Faster!"

Do not fail!

With just a split second's difference, the four men ran out of the tunnel, followed by a few strigoi behind them, and then the large horde exploded out from the other tunnel.

The men turned their heads and looked behind them. Even though it slowed them down, they couldn't not look at the staggering sight.

"What the fuck…" said one of the men.

"Shit!"

They all sprinted faster towards the door. Quinlan tried his best to shoot the ones that were getting close to them. The three smaller men were fast and quickly got ahead of the horde, reaching the door. However, the large African-American man, with his enormous size, was struggling to get ahead. Even though he was almost at the door, so were the strigoi.

"Come on," Quinlan urged through grit teeth. He would only hold the door open so much longer, otherwise he would jeopardise the rest of the team. But the decision was soon made for him, when a strigoi launched itself at the man, tackling him to the ground. Before Quinlan could see anything else, a group of them crowded over the man. Quinlan could only hear his screams.

Quinlan turned and walked through the door, slamming it behind him just as the first few strigoi lunged at him. He stood with his back to the door, using all his strength to hold it closed as bodies slammed against it on the other side. He looked around; there was nothing that he could put in front of the door. He knew there was only one option; he had to hold it. He looked up towards the ladder on the wall; it went a long way up, with a hatch at the top that was open. His team had made it through; they were safe, or so he hoped.

His muscles were beginning to ache. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His mind drowned out the sound of the banging against the door and loud shrieks of the creatures. He ignored the door pushing into his back every time a creature rammed into it. And he overcame the feeling of pain and weakness in his body as he strained to hold the door in place. He didn't know how long he stood there for, but eventually the creatures gave up, and everything became quiet.

The night was long and the battle was lost. And for two more hunters, it was the last battle they would ever fight. Now the group was down to six. It was inevitable, Quinlan thought. Just as it is inevitable that those creatures would eventually find their way into the city through these tunnels. They needed to be stopped.

Chapter Text

How long has it been since I've been outside? Five days? Six? I can still hear the guns and the screams… I guess this is how it begins – the beginning of the end. When the time comes, I don't want to be here within these walls. I want to be somewhere far, far away…

Mia lay on her couch, staring at the glow that she could see from the afternoon sun shining through her window. Caesar was whining at her side, begging to be fed. But Mia felt too weak to get up.

"Mia!" Somewhere far away, someone was calling her name. "Mia!"

Mia sat up, wondering if she'd dreamt it. No, the voice was coming from the window. She pushed herself up from the couch; her legs felt weak. She walked over to the window and pushed up the heavy frame to open it.

"Down here!" A voice called from the street below.

Mia recognised his voice. "Eph? What are you doing here?"

"Can I come up?"

"Hang on." Mia reached for her keys sitting on the table beside the radio, and then carefully dropped them out of the window. "Here."

Ephraim caught the keys in his hands.

"Forth floor, last door on the right," she called down to him.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Mia brushed the hair off her face and straightened her clothes before opening it.

"I thought I'd still knock to be polite," Ephraim smiled, handing Mia the keys. "I heard about what's been happening here. I thought I'd come back to see if you were ok."

Mia appreciated his concern. She led him into the living room, and then she turned and stood in the middle of the room; she tried to remember the appropriate thing to do when a guest comes to your home. "Can I get you something to drink? I suppose I only really have water," she tried to smile.

Ephraim looked at her; she looked thin and tired, as if she hadn't eaten or slept in days. Her face was pale and gaunt with dark shadows under her eyes, and the look in her eyes appeared distant and troubled.

"You should save whatever food and water you have. Times are going to get tougher," Ephraim sighed. "I don't know what they're gonna do about the rations."

"They can't just starve us."

"Yeah well who knows? With everything that's been happening out there, it's too risky for them to open their doors. We might not get rations for weeks… That's why I brought you this." Ephraim handed her two plastic bags full of items.

Mia took the bags from his hands, then set them down on the dining table and rummaged through them. She could tell it was all food; more than what you would get in a week's worth of rations. "Where did you get all this?!" She exclaimed, her face lighting up.

Ephraim smiled to see some life return to her. "Well let's just say Fet has some connections…"

Mia looked up. "Connections… You mean Nemesis?" She had heard on the radio about the posters that started all this chaos. She knew there were only two groups that had the food - that was either the military or Nemesis, and she knew this didn't come from the military.

Ephraim felt guilty in admitting his connection to the group, even though he never had any contact with them himself. "We… we're not part of the group…"

"It's ok," Mia reassured. "We do what we have to to survive. And thank you for this."

"Well, I'm glad you're ok. Or, are you ok?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"Well you look kinda tired. Oh I'm not saying that you look bad," Ephraim quickly corrected himself. "I mean… just a little tired, but you still look fine… you still look… nice." Ephraim blushed as he felt like a bumbling fool who didn't know what he was trying to say. And seeing Mia smile made him blush even more.

"Of course you're ok," he muttered with slight embarrassment. "Well, I should probably go. I gotta get back to the warehouse; Fet and Quinlan are probably waiting for me to…"

"Take me with you!" Mia suddenly blurted, almost stumbling towards him. "Please. I really need to get out of here."

Ephraim chuckled at her sudden strong reaction. "Ok, but please will you eat something first?"

They arrived at the warehouse in Brooklyn, outside of the residential zone, not far from the industrial area where Gus and the other hunters dwelled. It was a long walk from Mia's apartment, but luckily a quiet walk, as the majority of riots were occurring near the town hall, which was in the opposite direction. The walk had Mia exhausted. It would have been less than five minutes in a car; however, personal vehicles were not permitted, and being seen in one would have you arrested.

Ephraim led Mia into the warehouse through a small metal door around the side of the building. The warehouse was a large brick building where the inside was partitioned in two separate areas. The front of the building, which maintained the purpose of a workshop, was a large open space with steel columns that ran from the ground up to a network of steel beams across the high ceiling. The back section of the warehouse had been converted into a living space, with a kitchen and lounge area, minimally furnished with old and broken furniture. Next to the wall that partitioned the front and back was a large metal staircase that led to a second level, where there were four small bedrooms that had once been offices.

As Ephraim led Mia through the warehouse, Mia could sense a vastness around her that seemed cold and barren. She was able to tell from the way light hit the walls and the way sounds echoed. There were unfamiliar sounds all around her; sounds that she would never hear in the small room of her apartment. There was the wailing of the wind through the large open space, the clashing of a loose sheet of metal on the roof, flapping in the wind, and the occasional creak from the slightest movements in the steel structures within the building. Then, Mia heard another sound - a large metal roller-door opening at the front end of the warehouse. Soon after, a vehicle drove in, parked and turned off its engine, and the roller-door shut again. Mia wondered where the vehicle had just been; it would have been a big risk driving anywhere with the military patrolling the streets. The door of the van slammed shut and Mia heard heavy footsteps stomp towards her.

"What the hell is she doing here?" that man's voice exclaimed.

Ephraim quickly rushed up to Vasiliy, grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Come on, just let it go," he hushed. He then returned to Mia and took her arm and escorted her into the back section of the warehouse. "Here, make yourself at home," he said, as he ushered her onto the couch. "I just gotta sort out a few things."

As Ephraim walked out of the room, Mia could hear Vasiliy say to him, "I told you, she's trouble."

"She's not trouble; she was in trouble and she needed our help."

They spoke about her as if she could not hear, but Mia heard every word. The conversation then turned to something about a strigoi outbreak outside of the city, or something of the sort. Mia had stopped listening. Whatever it was, it sounded serious, but at least it was no longer about her. Then, her attention suddenly piqued again when she heard Quinlan's voice. The conversation was now further away, and she could not quite hear the words. She stood up and found her way across the room, and stood at the doorway of the partition, facing into the workshop. She could hear Quinlan's voice, but she didn't know where he was. She wondered if he had seen her. She felt a sudden anxiety, like a strange feeling of both excitement and apprehension. Since that night, she often imagined what she would say to him if she saw him again. But in her imagination, she was always speechless, doubting if he ever really wanted anything to do with her. But at that moment, for some reason, Mia expected him to walk over and greet her, and say… something. Anything. But he didn't; instead, he stood talking to Ephraim and Vasiliy. Mia listened to their conversation.

"Are you sure there were that many?" Ephraim exclaimed.

"There were hundreds, if not more," said Quinlan. "If we don't seal that tunnel, they will eventually find their way into the city."

"We're not sealing the tunnel," Vasiliy argued. "The whole point was to clear it out so Nemesis can move their cargo in and out of the city."

"Tell them to find another way," Quinlan asserted, losing patience, "or clear it out themselves."

"Goddamn it! I told them we'd get it done."

"No, you tell them," Quinlan snapped, pointing his finger at Vasiliy, "that if we do not seal that tunnel, hundreds of infected will flood the city. They will reach your friends first, and their little settlement will be nothing but a slaughterhouse," Quinlan hissed menacingly. "We seal the tunnel in two nights. If anyone objects, I will personally take them down there and show them what is coming." He left Vasiliy his final words and walked away without giving him a chance to respond.

Vasiliy and Ephraim looked at each other in silence. The look on Vasiliy's face told that he was unimpressed. Quinlan knew that Vasiliy wanted a different outcome, but it was one that would have devastating consequences. But then, Quinlan found himself wondering why he even cared. The strigoi outbreak at the borders, the riots, the famine, the inevitable war between man and himself – it was all foretelling of the end, but none of it made any difference to Quinlan. Perhaps it was only the human part of him that felt compelled to defend the illusion of civilisation.

As Quinlan walked around the side of the van, he suddenly paused when he saw Mia standing across the room. He did not expect to see her there; the sight of her caught him unguarded and he was suddenly locked in his gaze, unable to turn away. It was the first time he had seen her in daylight. Although it was dark inside the warehouse, shadowed by the tall walls, a ray of sunlight had fallen in through a window high above and landed upon Mia's face. The sight of her standing there, with the warm glow on her cheeks, her soft hair flowing down the sides of her face, and her small figure wrapped in her large red coat, was such a stark contrast to the harsh, grey industrial surrounding. Somehow, it made her look ever so vulnerable. As Quinlan looked at her, a surge of emotions tried to force their way to the surface. For a moment, for only a brief moment, he allowed those feelings to take form. What he felt, as he looked at her, was beauty, ever so pure, accompanied by a deep hopelessness. The beauty that he felt was not in the way she looked, but in her humanity – in the frailty of her mortal life, her human experiences of love and pain, and joy and sorrow, and her kindness and compassion that she extended to him even though she knew what he was. But the feeling of hopelessness that eclipsed that beauty was perhaps because Quinlan knew that he could never belong in her world, no matter how much her smile made him forget.

Quinlan quietly walked away. Mia had sensed him from across the room, and she somehow felt it when his eyes were upon her. But she didn't turn around to face him until after she heard the metal door close behind him.

After Quinlan had gone, the conversation continued between Vasiliy and Ephraim.

"Look, if you ask me, I think he's got a point," said Ephraim.

Vasiliy shook his head. "Our job was to clear the tunnel; not block it. It's not just Nemesis who needs that tunnel; it's gonna affect us too. Where do you think we get our supplies? Our guns, ammo, food… and your booze?"

Ephraim considered the implications. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying we find a way to clear 'em out."

"You think Quinlan would've mentioned that if he thought it was possible?"

"Since when did we start putting our hopes in the hands of that half breed?! What does he care if our supply chain gets cut off? It's not like he's gonna die without the food. We are his food!"

"Come on…" Ephraim sighed at Vasiliy's dramatization.

"That half breed… You mean Quinlan," Mia suddenly interjected, as she had found her way across the room. "Is it so hard to say his name, or do you dehumanise him because you feel threatened? Is that what they teach you as a soldier?" Mia's words were cold and bitter.

It stunned Vasiliy for a moment, and then he laughed. "Dehumanize? I hate to break it to you, but he's not human."

"And how do you define that? Those gangs out there, raping and killing… is that what you call human?" Mia tried to supress her rage.

"Oh, you wanna get all philosophical about this?!" Vasiliy threw his arms up in frustration.

"Look, Quinlan is trying to prevent a disaster from happening here," Mia pleaded, with equal frustration in her voice. "You haven't seen what's down there; he has. Maybe you should listen to him."

"Since when did she become involved in this?!" Vasiliy exclaimed.

"Alright, alright. Guys…" Ephraim sighed. He took Mia's arm and led her away before things became more heated. "Maybe give him some space to cool off," he whispered to her as he led her back towards the living area.

"We can't ignore Quinlan's warning. You're risking the whole city for the sake of…"

"I know," Ephraim cut in. "Look, just take a seat here," he sighed as he ushered her onto the couch once again. "I think it's probably best if I talk to him. You know what he's like. Just… wait here. I'll be back."

Before Mia could say anything, Ephraim walked away. Anger and frustration brewed inside her as she felt she had just been dismissed and excluded. But what bothered her the most was how easily they disregarded Quinlan's advice. She could tell they did not accept him as one of their own. Vasiliy wore his distaste outwardly. But even Ephraim, who has never expressed his opinion overtly, still showed a cynicism towards Quinlan that Mia was able to sense. She was beginning to understand Quinlan's hesitation on the subject of his humanity.

Suddenly a voice spoke from next to her. Mia jumped as she didn't realise there was someone else sitting on the couch beside her.

"You cause trouble again?" Malaika sneered.

Despite her vindictiveness towards Mia from the very beginning, Mia somehow did not dislike her. Perhaps it was since learning that she was merely a girl, that her spiteful acts always had a sense of childishness that begged to be understood.

"It seems to be what I do," Mia smiled. "Although, I'm not going to stay quiet when I think someone's about to make a very bad decision."

"That man is a fool!" Malaika muttered in her heavy African accent.

"Looks like you and I have something in common – we both don't like that guy."

"We have nothing in common."

Mia smiled at her tenacity. "Well, we better start finding some common ground, otherwise we'll both be sitting here while the men out there decide the fate of the city. You know Quinlan's right about sealing the tunnel; why didn't you say something?"

Malaika laughed. "You want me to help you argue with them?"

"No, to make sure they do the right thing. Tell me, what do you think they should do?"

"I do not care what they do."

"Then what do you care about? Do you care about Quinlan?" Mia wanted to understand their relationship, however, Malaika scowled as she mentioned Quinlan's name. She did not answer.

"It sounds like he put himself in a dangerous situation the other night," Mia continued, "for a man who has never shown him any respect."

"All people are the same. They do not respect a monster – they fear; they hate!" There was a deep-seated anger in her voice.

Mia shook her head, cringing at the word. "He's not a monster…"

"You do not know him!" Malaika suddenly snapped, jumping to her feet. "Do not speak like you know him. You will never know him!"

Mia was taken aback by her sudden outburst – there was so much rage in her voice. Before Mia could say anything, Malaika stormed out of the room.

"Malaika, wait…" Mia called. But she had already gone. I just want to… understand.

Chapter Text

The sun was beginning to set. Ephraim had left Mia at the warehouse as he and Vasiliy had urgent matters to attend to. He didn't tell her what exactly it was, but he promised her he would take her home when he returned. An hour passed, then two, and then God knows how long. Mia was becoming increasingly angry that he had left her alone in this unfamiliar place, and the darker it became, the more anxious she felt. She saw the final glow of sunlight from the windows fade into darkness; it was now night time. Mia stood up from the couch and paced aimlessly into the kitchen; it was the only path in the warehouse she had learned to walk. The rest of the building was an unknowable place to her.

There was food left out for her on the kitchen bench. "Have as much of it as you want," Ephraim had told her. What am I, a child? A dog? Left behind with a bowl of food and a pat on the back for sitting here like a good girl. Mia paced back towards the couch and sat down again. She listened to the sound of the howling wind blowing through the openings of the building, and clanking of the loose sheets of metal on the roof. Amidst all that, there was suddenly a sound that stood out from the rest. It was faint; barely audible, but it caught Mia's attention because it was unlike the natural sounds of the warehouse. It was… human – the opening of a door, quiet footsteps, the rustling of clothes on a moving body… Mia jumped up from the couch and turned around. Is there someone there? Nothing; the sounds she had sensed had fallen silent.

Quinlan stood still, surprised that she had sensed him. It always intrigued him that she was able to notice things that even those with their sight were not able to detect. Or perhaps she was only able to do so because she could not rely on sight. He stood and watched her for a moment. There was a certain intimacy about observing a person when they're not aware of it; a certain… nakedness. Intrigued by the ability of her senses, Quinlan deliberately walked slowly and silently across the room, observing her reaction. Indeed, her head turned and followed his movement. And when he stood still again, she fell still. He could tell she was tense, listening for every sound, uncertain of whether or not her senses were tricking her. He could hear her heart start to pound harder and faster, and he could start to smell… fear; she was afraid. Quinlan immediately stopped this silent game he was playing with her.

"It's only me," he said softly.

Mia breathed a loud sigh of relief, and her body visibly collapsed a little as her tension eased.

"You scared me," she panted.

"I apologize."

As her heartbeat settled, she was met with a feeling of awkwardness, of not knowing what to say. Their last conversation had been uncomfortable, and she did not know where to go from there.

"I… didn't know you lived here…" she faltered.

"Live? That would imply this is a home," said Quinlan. "I'm simply staying here… for now."

"Well, I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all. Stay as long as you like." The politeness in his tone only magnified the distance that was growing between them.

She could not stand this feeling. She thought she was beginning to find something in him – comfort, trust, understanding, perhaps even a connection. But suddenly, it was gone. She desperately wanted those feelings back. She knew he had become distant after she revealed to him that she knew what he was; that he was not human. Somehow, it changed something in him, and she could imagine a million different reasons why. But none of those reasons mattered to her. For her, nothing had changed; she knew what he was from the beginning, and it did not matter to her.

"Did the others tell you where they were going?" Quinlan asked.

"No," she shook her head.

Quinlan sighed. "There's only one place they could be," he muttered to himself. "Wait here until they come back. It's safe here; you have nothing to be afraid of."

He started to walk away. Mia listened to his footsteps sound further and further away, and her anxiety started to boil. No. Don't let him walk away. This might be the only chance. Say something!

"Don't go!"

Quinlan stopped; he turned and looked at her. The look in her eyes pleaded him to stay. Quinlan stared at her, confused.

Mia slowly walked back towards the couch and sat down, resting her hands on her lap and turning her face slightly away from him. Quinlan waited for her to speak.

"I know why Doctor Price didn't kill them," she said softly.

"Kill who?"

"The test subjects. I know why he didn't kill them after they turned."

Quinlan walked back into the room and stood by the kitchen bench across from the couch where she sat. He looked at her; he could tell there was much on her mind, and much that she wanted to say. He relaxed his stance as he prepared to listen.

"His wife was infected a little over a year ago," she began. "He knew what that meant. So he sat by her bed with a gun in his hand. He sat there for three days, and waited. And when she finally turned, he couldn't pull the trigger... he just couldn't do it. All he could do was walk away and lock the door. He said, the day he'd open that door again will be the day he finds a cure. He believed that the person he loved was still in there somewhere, and one day he would bring her back to him. He always held onto that hope. That's why he couldn't kill those people after they turned."

Quinlan's eyes lowered. A sombre look washed over his face as he was suddenly reminded of a distant memory; a memory from his past that he had buried in a deep grave, never to be uncovered. But somehow, the pain always lingered. To lose a loved one…

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable the other night," she said, waking him from his thoughts. "I only wanted answers. It's just that this virus has destroyed so much… and I'm tired..." her voice was shaky. She exhaled a long and exhausted breath. "I'm tired of not knowing. I'm tired of all this chaos, and the constant struggle every single day…" Her brows furrowed and she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened her eyes and looked up. "I'm tired of losing people I love."

The 'tiredness' that she spoke of Quinlan knew all too well, and he felt a strange feeling of relief when she said it, as if a burden had been lifted; a burden that he had carried on his own for far too long. Quinlan left the side of the bench and walked towards the couch, and sat down quietly beside her. He sat there, silent for a moment, and then took a deep breath and began to talk.

"The virus comes from an ancient bloodline," he explained, "beings that existed alongside man since ancient days."

"You mean those creatures out there?"

"No, not the infected; they were something completely different. These beings were never human, they were never infected, but they were born. They fed on the blood of man, and by doing so, they passed on their DNA. Like the process of reproduction – they plant their seed inside the host, and new life forms. Except the new life isn't born out of the host, but the host itself changes into something else. And the old life is destroyed."

"Like all those stories about vampires," she smiled.

Quinlan snickered softly. "All legends must come from somewhere," he pointed out. "These beings have been called many different things throughout the ages – vampires, demons, angels, the first men, the children of God… the Ancients. Every culture's mythology refers to them differently. But unlike romantic notions of humans turning into vampires, humans that are infected by the strain do not simply become like the Ancients. The Romans called the infected 'strigoi' – they are nothing more than rabid animals without any sentience, as you have seen."

"So these ancient beings… this is their way of wiping out humanity? Is that what they're doing now?"

"No, this is not their doing. As far as I know, the last of the Ancients died years ago."

"Then how did this happen?"

"This is the legacy of an evil I thought I had destroyed."

"What evil?" she asked, desperately trying to understand.

Quinlan leaned back onto the couch. The look in his eyes became distant, as if retreating into a memory; a memory filled with disdain. "My father," he sneered. "The thing that made me what I am."

A look of horror spread across Mia's face.

"The Ancients never allowed the turning of humans," Quinlan continued. "They always killed their prey after they fed – that was their code. But then, one of them, for no other reason than the desire for chaos, broke the code and infected a woman who was carrying a child. He did not kill her, and he did not kill the unborn child, but instead he let her turn. He enjoyed his creation; it became a sickness. He would go on to infect many more, but it all began with her…"

"Your mother..." she uttered, the horror on her face turning into sadness.

"Yes. It began with her and it should have ended with her. What I am should never have happened," Quinlan seethed with resentment. "The Ancients should have killed us both."

Mia shook her head, her brows furrowed. "Don't say that..."

"They saw infected humans as an abomination; an insult to their bloodline… and that is exactly what I am."

"No, you're different!" she cried. "You're not like those things out there. You didn't turn like they did. Maybe what you have is a gift..."

"A gift?" Quinlan sputtered, feeling his anger rising. "You call this a gift?"

"Look at everyone that gets infected; they all turn into those things. But not you. Don't you think that's incredible? You're infected but you're still… you. Somehow you've retained all the things that make you human."

"Do not make the mistake of thinking there is anything human about me," he threatened, biting down on his rage with a clenched jaw.

Sorrow filled her eyes. "You're more human than most people I've met," she said softly, as she reached over and touched his arm. But as soon as he felt her touch, he abruptly snatched his arm back and stood to his feet.

"Let me tell you what I am," he snarled. He could feel a rage burning within him, and he was afraid that if she kept pushing, she would become the outlet for his anger. "I am a predator; I hunt and I kill, and I have a thirst for human blood. That is the truth of what I am. Perhaps you feel some sentiment towards me because I saved your life, so you choose not to see the truth. You choose to look the other way."

"I'm not looking the other way!" She stood up in front of him, infuriated. Nothing angered her more than people making assumptions about her. "I might be blind but I see exactly what you are, and I accept it. It's you who don't! You kill to survive and you think that makes you the worst thing out there?! There are so called 'humans' out there that kill for fun… for pleasure! There are humans out there that do worse things than kill…" She stopped as she choked on her emotions, unable to speak. Her eyes quivered as tears welled up inside them, and she quickly turned away from him.

The intensity of her emotions somewhat stunned Quinlan, and it woke him from his selfish indulgence in his own sufferings. When he looked at her, he realized her words and her pain had come from experiences that were all too real; experiences that were her own, of the horrors that humans are capable of. Perhaps just like that night in the alleyway... with those men... those animals.

"I get it..." she said, "you're not like us... you're different. But that doesn't mean you're the only one who feels like they don't belong... like a stranger wandering aimlessly in a world they can never be a part of. Believe me, being human doesn't save you from those feelings."

"Do you feel like a stranger in this world?" he asked, studying her inquisitively. "Like you don't belong?"

"All the time..."

"Because of your eyes?"

"No..." she turned to face him again. Her emotions had calmed, and she gave him a faint smile. "I felt that way long before I lost my sight. It's only now that I've come to realize... I don't need to feel like I belong. Maybe it's easier not to - you're not bound; you're free to find your own place... your own purpose."

"Well I have found my purpose," Quinlan murmured, "and that is to rid the world of this disease. I spent my entire life looking for the monster that made me what I am. I made his death my purpose. I hunted him my whole life, following the trail of destruction he left behind. And when I finally killed him, I thought it would end…" his voice trailed off.

"It only ends when you choose for it to end." The softness in her voice calmed the rage within him.

Quinlan sighed. "But now a new war is beginning. It never ends."

"No," Mia stepped towards him, "I mean in here." She pressed the palm of her hand against her chest. "You choose when the war ends in here."

For a moment, Quinlan was perplexed. But as he suddenly understood what she meant, he felt an intense feeling that both confounded him and enlightened him. She was talking about the war within himself, that only he could choose to end. As he looked at her hand, pressed against her heart, he could feel his own heart pounding against his chest. He turned and walked away from her; he had to. He wandered across the room to the large wooden table. He slowly took off his coat and folded it over the back of one of the chairs. Then he unmounted the sword from his back and carefully laid it across the table, followed by his two guns. He stood leaning over the table, immersed in his thoughts, as his eyes gazed vacantly over his weapons laid out in front of him - the instruments of his war. Then he closed his eyes.

What is she doing to me?

He took a deep breath.

The roller-door at the front of the warehouse started to open, creaking and clanking loudly. The sound echoed through the quiet darkness of the warehouse, followed by the rumble of the engine of the van. Quinlan opened his eyes.

Chapter Text

She felt his body against hers; his naked chest pressed hard against her back. His arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, while his other hand reached up and grabbed her breast and squeezed firmly. She moaned, giving in to her desire. She wanted to feel him… all of him. She pressed her hips back into him and felt his desire for her in return. She tilted her head back, resting it upon his shoulder, as his tongue glided down her neck, and then he opened his mouth and took her flesh and sunk his teeth in. She let out a yelp of pain, but he didn't stop; she didn't want him to stop. He forcefully pushed her forward onto the bed; she fell onto her hands and knees, and he positioned himself behind her. He pulled her underwear down to her knees, and then proceeded to undo the buckle of his belt. He purposely took his time; he could tell she was impatient, and the more she longed for him, the more he made her wait. She felt the cold air on the most sensitive parts of her naked skin, and the sensation further stimulated her. She pressed back towards him but he held her hips in place; he was in control, not her. And when he decided she had waited long enough, he thrust himself into her. She moaned loudly. His trusts were hard and aggressive. He reached forward and grabbed a handful of her hair, and forcefully pushed her head down. He pressed her face into the pillow and held her head down as he continued to thrust. She could not breathe; she gasped for air but his firm grip did not give way. The lack of oxygen was beginning to make her feel lightheaded, almost like a high. She could felt her head spinning out of control. And just before she thought she could not take any more, he pulled her head up by her hair and grunted like an animal as he finished. He let her go and she collapsed onto the bed.

He pulled up his pants and fastened his belt, then sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing a sigh of release. He reached for the pack of cigarettes lying on the bedside table, and tapped the box to tip out the final cigarette. He put it between his lips and struck a match to light it. Dutch somehow loved the dirty smell of sweat and smoke after their every session of intimacy, if you could call it that. She lay on the bed, still panting, breathing in that foul smell of debauchery.

"Mmm I've missed this," said Dutch, sitting up behind him and throwing her arms around him.

He didn't show any response. She reached over and took the cigarette from his hand and puffed it as she lay back down on the bed. Des was silent, sitting with his back to her.

"I don't really see you anymore," Dutch mentioned again.

"Come on baby, don't give me this," Des sighed. "I got responsibilities. You knew that when you chose to be with me. You knew what you were getting yourself into."

"Yeah…" Dutch muttered with disappointment.

"I always knew if anyone was gonna understand, it would be you. A lot of people don't appreciate what I'm trying to do here. But when I met you, I knew straight away that you were the kinda girl that would share my vision," he turned his head and smiled at her. "You still do, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Dutch exclaimed, sitting up again.

"Good!" he smiled. "Now I got a very important job for you. I need you to intercept the radio broadcast. I want you to go on air, and I want you to read this out," he handed her a folded sheet of paper. "Make sure the whole damn city hears this." He took the remaining half of the cigarette back from Dutch and stood up, adjusting his belt.

Dutch felt a sick feeling inside her stomach. She stood up from the bed and wrapped her large coat around her naked body.

"That's why you came here tonight, isn't it?" she scowled with anger and injury. "I don't see you for weeks, and you come here pretending to want me, just to ask me to do another fucking job!"

Des walked over to her and cupped her face with his hands, affectionately hushing her. But Dutch angrily pushed him away.

"Come on Dutch," he said softly and gently, "I need you. You're the only one who can do this. This was our dream, remember? To rebuild this city from the ashes; to lead the world into a new age… an age of freedom."

She stared at him; his eyes were intense and passionate, and within them was a dream – a dream that reminded her why she gave herself to him, body and soul.

"I know it's hard now," he comforted, "but believe me, when all this is over, it's just gonna be you and me... I promise! And when that time comes, we'll be able to look around us and say, we built this!" He stared deeply into her eyes.

Dutch looked down. "Alright…" she sighed.

"That's my girl," Des grinned as he tilted up her chin to make her look at him.

Dutch pulled away and walked back to the bed, sitting down on the edge. She unfolded the piece of paper in her hands and silently read what was written on the page. A look of apprehension spread across her face, and after she finished reading, she continued to stare at the words on the page.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" She looked up at Des nervously.

"This is exactly what we need," Des affirmed. "We just lost a major supply route; we're gonna rot down here if we can't find another one."

"And how exactly does this help us?" Dutch asked with confusion, waving the sheet of paper in her hands.

Des looked at her with his narrow, piercing eyes as he breathed out a puff of smoke from his cigarette. And as the smoke cleared, it revealed a wicked grin on his face.

One by one, the bright ceiling lights of the warehouse turned on, revealing a world that was very different to the one when it was dark.

"Sorry I took so long," Ephraim called out to Mia from across the warehouse as he stepped out of the van.

"Where were you?" Quinlan asked sharply.

"Hey, easy with the attitude." Vasiliy walked around from the other side of the van. "You'll be happy to know, our friends have agreed to seal off the tunnel. You win, Quinlan."

"This is not a game, Mr Fet," Quinlan reprimanded.

"It seems like your friends have better judgement than you," Mia chimed in as she walked from the doorway towards the middle of the warehouse and stood next to Quinlan. Quinlan smiled at her remark.

Vasiliy briefly frowned, then quickly shook it off. "They took a vote," he said. "In favor of majority, we seal that tunnel." He pushed open the sliding door of the van and then stepped aside like a magician revealing what is inside the box. "Now, there's enough dynamite in the back of this van to level a building. You're gonna need help setting that up, so when this happens, I'm coming with you."

Quinlan smirked. "I hope you are ready for what is down there, Mr. Fet."

There was a tone of smugness in Quinlan's taunt and Mia found it to be strangely attractive. She looked up at him standing next to her, and she could see the silhouette of his large, imposing figure against the lit-up background of the warehouse. He stood bold and confident, and he must have had a look on his face to match, she thought, whatever his face looked like; whatever devilish beauty his inhuman form possessed. Really, Mia could only see very little, but perhaps her imagination filled in the rest. She blushed ever so slightly, although her conscious mind would never know why.

She turned to Quinlan with a contented smile. "They made the right decision to seal the tunnel," she said to him.

"It reveals a person's fears," Quinlan noted.

"What do you mean?"

"What a person chooses – to sacrifice their provisions or risk their lives. It reveals which is the greater fear – the fear of deprivation, or the fear of death. Sometimes greed can be more powerful than the desire for survival."

Chapter Text

Later that night, Ephraim drove Mia back to her apartment as he promised, and then he returned to the research facility. For the next two days, Quinlan and Vasiliy discussed the plans for sealing the tunnel. It was decided that they would take out the section of tunnel closest to the safe zone, in case the Strigoi had already moved further in. They had to make sure they seal the tunnel with the Strigoi on the other side; otherwise they could very well be sealing them in, rather than out.

On the second night, it was time for them to make their move. Vasiliy did a final check of the equipment in the back of the van, and then nodded to Quinlan to say everything is in order. Once again, the heavy metal roller-door of the warehouse clattered as it opened, churning on rusty hinges, and Vasiliy reversed the van out with Quinlan in the passenger seat beside him and Malaika in the back.

It was snowing again that night, and the air was particularly cold. They drove down the desolate streets of the industrial area, where the city looked like the belly of a decaying mechanical beast, and the old buildings and factories with their steel frames, pipes and chimneys were once the working parts of this colossal machine. Snowflakes drifted weightlessly through the air like ashes, and a thin layer of smog had settled above the pavement.

Ahead on the street corner, a young man was waiting alone, shivering in the cold. He had collected a thin dusting of snow on his shoulders. The van pulled up beside him, and without wasting a moment, he slid open the door and jumped in.

"Alright, let's do this," Gus emboldened as he huddled up in the back seat and breathed warm air onto his hands.

Vasiliy turned to Quinlan with a look of surprise on his face. "Just him?"

"I told the others to stay behind," Quinlan answered. "We are not going there to fight. We want to draw as little attention as possible."

Vasiliy sighed but did not say what he was thinking.

The van stopped in front of the entrance to the subway, two stations before the one that Quinlan and the hunters had arrived at on the previous occasion. The memory of what lay beneath, and how close he had come to death that night, was still vivid in Gus' mind, and the thought of going down the black hole once again terrified him. But he knew that if men did not fight, then mankind would simply be waiting for Death's cold embrace.

Vasiliy and Gus carefully unloaded the bags of dynamite from the back of the van.

"This stuff ain't gonna explode on me, right?" Gus asked, as he cautiously pulled the strap of the bag over his shoulder.

"Well, it can be set off by the smallest amount of impact, so don't bump it," Vasiliy warned. And as he saw Gus suddenly suspended in horror, looking down at the bag of dynamite strapped to him, a wide grin spread across Vasiliy's face.

Gus quickly caught on. "That ain't funny man."

Quinlan leaned in through the open door of the van. "[Take the van and drive it somewhere out of sight]," he told Malaika in her native tongue. "[But stay close by. Meet us back here in exactly twenty minutes]."

Malaika climbed into the driver's seat from the back of the van, and after Quinlan closed the door, she slowly drove off down the street, disappearing as she turned a corner into a small, dark street between two rows of large buildings.

"Alright, let's get this shit done," said Gus as he took the lead down the stairs. Quinlan and Vasiliy followed close behind.

In the darkness below, it was deathly silent. But as they had witnessed before, the silence can very quickly turn on them without even a moment's warning. It was obvious that Vasiliy had not witnessed the horrors of that night, as he hopped down onto the tracks and walked boldly down the tunnel without hesitation.

"This way," Vasiliy called to Gus, who was standing at the edge of the platform, cautiously scanning the tunnel with his flashlight. "We'll walk a bit further down, find a structural weak point, and set the explosives there," Vasiliy explained. "Quinlan!" He shined his light in Quinlan's face. "Are you even listening?"

Quinlan appeared distracted as his attention was focused on something at the other end of the tunnel, only to snap back when the light in his face irritated him. He let out a growl as he turned his head and put his arm up in front of him.

"Do not point that light in my face," Quinlan growled.

If it was anyone else, Vasiliy would have found pleasure in continuing to annoy them with the light, but when it came to Quinlan, he was more apprehensive, especially with that tone in his warning. Vasiliy disappointedly removed his light from Quinlan's face and continued walking down the tunnel. "Come on, we haven't got all night," he grumbled.

"Mr Elizalde, you go with him," said Quinlan, still distracted as he jumped down onto the tracks and started walking in the other direction.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Gus called to him. Quinlan did not answer. He walked hurriedly down the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness. Gus tried to track him with his flashlight but he was already out of sight. "Shit!" Gus muttered to himself as he rushed to catch up to Vasiliy. "What the hell do we do now?"

"We set the bombs and get the hell outta here, that's what we do."

Quinlan did not know what he was sensing, but it was strong. He could feel it, and it made his skin crawl and his adrenaline pump. Something was close by; something out of the ordinary. Quinlan stopped walking and stood still. He listened. And there it was – quiet footsteps echoing down the tunnel; each step was slow and drawn out, as if purposely taking its time, taunting him. Tap… tap… tap… the footsteps sounded. Then there was a faint echo of laughter. Again, it appeared to be mocking him. Quinlan felt an unsettling familiarity in all of this, but he could not be sure. He continued cautiously down the tunnel, further and further into the darkness. And then he saw a dark, hazy figure far ahead. Quinlan slowed his steps. He tilted his head and focused his eyes as if to make sure it was not an illusion. It was not. The dark figure was walking towards him. It was not one of those senseless creatures; the figure walked tall and upright, with a sense of dignity, and each step was slow and deliberate – tap… tap… tap… taunting Quinlan as if it had him trapped right where it wanted. As the distance closed, the figure revealed itself, vague at first, and then the details began to fill in.

He was a pale creature, with sunken cheeks, a thin, pointed nose, and cold blue eyes that stared out from the hollow depths of his face. The creature's human-like appearance was uncanny, as he had covered his death-like skin with makeup, and wore a hairpiece that matched his golden hair from when he was human, parted at the side and slicked down with wax. He wore a heavy wool greatcoat, with two rows of silver buttons, that came down past his knees, revealing only his black jackboots underneath. He looked as if he was frozen in time, in 1940s Germany, where he was a soldier before the war was lost – a proud Aryan.

"You…" Quinlan sneered as he stared at the creature before him with loathing.

"Quinlan," the German grinned, his thin mouth stretching wide across his face. "It's been a long time."

"Not long enough," Quinlan muttered.

"How's the family? Oh, that's right... I forgot!" he grinned from ear to ear. "Please forgive me."

Quinlan seethed. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach for his sword. He envisioned the satisfaction of slicing his grinning head right off his neck.

"When we last met, the world was a very different place. What do you think of this new world we live in?" The German raised his arms up as if presenting the world to an audience. "Quite a change, is it not?" He spoke slowly with a heavy German accent, and his voice carried a hissing sound.

"I had a feeling you were the one behind all this."

"No, no, no. Not me…" he smiled, "You. All of this… is because of you, and you don't even know it!" He laughed.

Quinlan scoffed at the ridiculousness of his remark. "I fail to see how I had a hand in creating this madness."

"Ah, but you did!" The German slowly paced around Quinlan in a circle, still with that sadistic grin on his face. "You see, I created this just for you – it's a gift; an offering. Are you not grateful?"

"Grateful for what? Death? Chaos and destruction?" Quinlan scorned.

"No, the world! Served to you on a platter; that… is what I'm offering you!" he exclaimed. "Are you not sick of hiding in the shadows, and feeding in secrecy? Are you not ready to claim your place in this world?"

"You and I have no place in this world."

The German laughed. "Who filled your head with that nonsense? Humans?" He stopped pacing and stood in front of Quinlan, looking him up and down. "Look at you… pathetic," he spat. "You have the gift of being able to walk in daylight and yet you shroud yourself in darkness. What a waste," he sputtered, shaking his head. "Oh what I would give to be able to see the sunlight again." He sighed as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes as if he was dreaming of the warm rays of the sun upon his face.

"If you wish to see the sunlight, I will happily to show it to you," Quinlan sneered.

The German opened his eyes and stared coldly at Quinlan. Then after a moment, he began to laugh. "You are too predictable, Quinlan. That is why you walked right into the trap. You see, I searched for you for many years, but you were very good at hiding. Then, I thought to myself, why search the far corners of the world when I can simply make you come to me."

The German watched the expression on Quinlan's face change as he started to put it all together. He saw the realization in Quinlan's eyes and he grinned with satisfaction. "Yes, I bought the world to its knees for you. What a romantic notion! But I'm afraid this is not an offering. All of this was simply… bait – to lure the beast into the cage." His grin stretched across his face, revealing his perfect, white porcelain dentures. "And here you are…"

Quinlan's blood was boiling. His mouth pursed with contempt and his eyes were burning with rage. Then in a swift action, Quinlan drew his sword and pointed the tip of the blade to the German's throat. "Then what are you waiting for?" Quinlan snarled.

Their eyes were locked intensely, as they stood suspended, waiting for the other to make a move. The moment was drawn out, and even the air felt as though it was tense. Then suddenly, the German pushed Quinlan's blade to the side and lunged at him. Quinlan stepped back, raising his sword above him and cutting down in a swift motion. The German evaded the cut and stepped to the side, smiling as if it was all a game to him. Quinlan charged at him, swinging his sword, forcing him to retreat until he was backed up against the wall with nowhere to go. Quinlan raised his sword again. But this time, the German caught Quinlan's hand and twisted it to the side, cranking his wrist. Quinlan felt his bones crack. He lost grip of the sword and it fell from his hand onto the ground, clinking as it hit the metal tracks. With his other hand, Quinlan grabbed the German by the throat and slammed him hard against the wall, pinning him. Quinlan could feel his hand crushing the stinger within his neck; he squeezed harder. The German let out a growl of pain. His hands desperately pulled at Quinlan's grip around his neck. As he finally broke free, he thrust his foot into Quinlan's chest and kicked as hard as he could. The kick sent Quinlan flying back, hitting the wall on the other side of the tunnel and then falling to the ground.

Quinlan stood back to his feet and they faced each other once again, as if right back to the start. It was pointless; they were as fast as each other, and as strong as each other. It would have been a long and tiring duel with an uncertain outcome. Although Quinlan would have kept fighting until his last breath, the German was smart enough to know not to continue.

"Unfortunately, I haven't got all night to play," said the German as he walked across the tracks, brushing the rubble off his shoulder. He stood in the middle of the tunnel and smiled. Slowly, he raised his arms up beside him, standing in a crucifix-like position. He tilted his head back and began to laugh maniacally.

Quinlan stared at him, perplexed. Then, he heard a rumbling sound, soft at first, but then it grew louder and louder, like a tremor rattling every loose stone on the tracks. The force moved closer and closer, and then out of the darkness behind the German, standing in his God-like pose, an army of Strigoi emerged, gathering behind their master. Quinlan picked up his sword from the ground and clutched it tightly in his hand.

The German slowly brought his arms together in front of him, and then in a sharp motion, he pointed at Quinlan. On command, the horde charged from behind him as he stood like a rock in a river and the Strigoi flowed like water around him. Quinlan's eyes widened. For a moment, he contemplated fighting, but then he realized it was impossible. He turned and ran.

Vasiliy and Gus had already set the explosives and were waiting on the platform where they first arrived.

Vasiliy looked at his watch. "Two more minutes and we're going back up."

Gus paced back and forth anxiously. "Somethin' ain't right, I'm telling you. It ain't like him to just take off like that."

"Are you kidding me? He always does that!"

"Yeah but there's always a reason."

"Look, in two minutes, whether he's back or not, I'm going up there and I'm blowing this tunnel straight to hell. Now you can either come with me, or you can…" Vasiliy stopped.

"Or I can what?"

Vasiliy's eyes were suddenly wide open, staring down the tunnel. "What the hell is that?"

Gus turned and looked in the direction Vasiliy was looking. They could hear the rumble echoing through the tunnel. They walked to the edge of the platform and shined their lights into the darkness.

Quinlan saw their lights in the distance. "Move!" he roared.

"Quinlan?" Gus called, squinting to see into the dark.

"Get out of here! Now!"

Quinlan's words were muffled by a cacophony of sounds echoing through the tunnel. As Gus and Vasiliy looked into the darkness, Quinlan suddenly came into view of their lights. He was running towards them at full speed, and behind him was a dark shadow, washing through the tunnel like a wave. Gus was suddenly met with an intense feeling of dread; he had seen this before, and he knew exactly what it was.

"Shit! We gotta move!" He grabbed Vasiliy's arm to pull him away. Vasiliy was still standing there, trying to figure out what this shadow was. But as it came closer and fell within the light, Vasiliy's eyes widened with horror. It was just as Quinlan described; there were hundreds of them. Even though Vasiliy had been warned, nothing could have prepared him for this sight.

"Come on!" Gus grabbed Vasiliy's shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. Vasiliy pried his eyes from the unbelievable spectacle before him and turned and ran across the platform towards the stairs on the other side.

Quinlan watched Gus and Vasiliy run up the stairs. He knew he could not follow. It was him that the Strigoi were after, and if he were to run up those stairs, he would bring them all with him. He had no choice but to keep running down the tunnel. He knew this direction was where the explosives were planted.

I hope you stick to the plan, Mr Fet... regardless of where I am. Of course he will.

Malaika, I'm sorry...

Mia...

For some reason, her face entered his mind.

Quinlan stopped running. He turned and faced the sea of evil, washing towards him, hundreds of claws ready to rip him apart. He stood and raised his sword, and smiled.

Up on the surface, the van was parked across the street and Malaika was waiting beside it. Gus and Vasiliy sprinted towards the van.

"Come on, let's go! Let's go!" Vasiliy jumped into the driver's seat and Gus ran around to the passenger side.

Malaika looked back towards the entrance. "Where's Quinlan?"

"We don't have time. Get in the van!"

"No, we are not leaving without Quinlan!"

"Malaika, get inside the van!" Vasiliy shouted, losing his temper.

Malaika shook her head. Panic spread across her face as she realized something was very wrong. She ran towards the subway entrance.

"Shit!" Vasiliy jumped out and ran after her. As he caught up to her, he grabbed her around the waist, lifting her light body off the ground.

Malaika kicked and thrashed. "No! Let me go!"

Vasiliy dragged her back to the van, gritting his teeth as he wore her hard elbows in his ribs. He threw her into the back of the van and slammed the door shut. But as soon as he sat back into the driver's seat, Malaika opened the door and ran for the subway entrance again.

Vasiliy punched the steering wheel in frustration. His chest heaved as he looked out the window, shaking his head. "I'm gonna have to blow the tunnel."

"But Quinlan's still down there," Gus stared at him.

Vasiliy pulled the detonator from his bag. He sighed, staring at it in his hands. Then he looked at Gus. "I'm sorry…"

Vasiliy flicked the switch.

Malaika was close to the entrance of the subway when suddenly she was blown back by an enormous force as the ground in front of her exploded in an gigantic cloud of dust and rubble. The earth shook violently and the roaring sound was deafening. Malaika lay curled up on the ground, shielding her head with her arms as the rubble fell upon her. It was as if the world around her was turning upside down. She shut her eyes tightly, waiting for it to end. Then after a while, the loud roar quietened, and the ground ceased its shaking. Malaika climbed to her feet. Still stunned, she looked around her, disorientated as she stood in the cloud of dust. But as the dust started to settled, she saw that the entire street in front of her had caved in, leaving behind a gigantic crater filled with rubble. Malaika desperately looked around, but the subway entrance was nowhere to be seen. Nothing in the tunnel beneath could have survived.

Malaika dropped to her knees, her body trembling and her eyes wide in shock. She felt as though her heart had stopped.

"Quinlan..." she uttered in a broken voice. She stared into the dust that lay before her. At that moment, her world turned dark.

Chapter Text

"Authorities now have evidence that the explosion at the northern borders was another attack by the Nemesis group. Their target was in fact the St Agnes Catholic Church, which was at the center of the explosion, and was the last remaining place of worship in New York City. The church now lay in ruins and we, the people, have to wonder: what was the message here? The church was a symbol of hope for many; a place of spirituality, tradition, and remnants of a culture that many of us are trying to save. But clearly, Nemesis want to destroy every last foundation of civilisation, so they can bring in a new order of chaos. We have to realize, the group is dangerous…"

Mia turned the radio off. She frowned in anger and disbelief, as she knew it was Quinlan and Fet who set off the explosion, and they did it in order to protect the city.

Are the Authorities actually trying to pin this on Nemesis?! And the church… it must have been destroyed by accident, and now they're using it as propaganda! Saying it was a deliberate attack to convey some sort of message… Unbelievable!

Mia wondered what other lies the Authorities had been feeding the people. If she had not known the truth, she might have believed them like she did in the past. The thought of it made her furious. She felt angry at the world; angry that humanity continued to disappoint her, again and again. She threw herself down onto the couch and sighed.

"Come here, Caesar." She tapped the couch beside her and the dog jumped up. "At least I still have you."

The small electric heater beside her suddenly buzzed loudly, and then it turned off. Mia reached over with her foot and kicked it. It was broken. Again, she sighed. She pulled Caesar into her arms and took the small blanket folded over the back of the couch and wrapped it tightly around both of them. It was going to be a long, cold winter.

The days passed like the spokes of a wheel, turning and turning, just simply going through the motions. Ephraim continued to stay at the research facility. He buried himself in his work day and night. On some nights, he felt he had made progress, and he would be manically driven, working all through the night, forgetting to eat and forgetting to sleep. Then, on other nights, he would come to a dead end, and so he would drink himself senseless while wandering through the empty facility, calling out to his wife and son, chasing their ghosts down the empty hallways. Mia had not heard from him for days. Several times she thought to pick up the phone he gave her and call him, but something always distracted her. As for Vasiliy, he spent his nights alone at the warehouse, as Malaika never returned after that night. After the explosion, she ran out into the streets and they never saw her again. Vasiliy occasionally wondered if she was still alive. Can anyone survive out there on those streets? The violence was rising; the city was falling apart. But somehow, the wheel just keeps turning and turning.

"Quinlan…" a woman's voice echoed softly from a place far, far away. "Get up, my love. You must get up." The voice was familiar to him… but for some reason, he just couldn't remember. He tried to reach her… but she drifted further and further away. "Quinlan…" She was fading. He was afraid to let her go, but he couldn't hold on. She was slipping away, as his own mind started to fade to black…

"Quinlan!" Suddenly, another voice shouted at him. This time it was Mia's voice. He heard it loudly, as if she was right in front of him. "Get up!"

Quinlan opened his eyes. There was darkness all around him. For a moment, he thought he had left the world, and he was strangely relieved. But then he felt the pain; the intense agony, and the world suddenly became real again. He felt the crushing weight on top of him, like a ton of bricks pinning his every limb. He tried to move, but the pain was so intense that he let out a loud growl and was left gasping for air. But his chest was compressed; he could hardly breathe. He looked around – complete blackness. For a moment, he could not tell which way was up, but then he saw a tiny speck of light through a crack. He took a deep breath and pulled his arm with all his strength, freeing it from the weight on top. His arm was now in a small gap and he could just move it. He reached for the speck of light above him. He stuck his fingers through the gap, and the loose rubble around the tiny hole collapsed and fell to the side, forming a larger hole. Quinlan started to dig at the hole, pushing the rubble aside. Each movement sent a jolt of pain through his body, but he endured it, and kept digging until he cleared the space above his head. He looked up and saw the glow of the moon behind a cloud. It was another night of snowfall, and snowflakes started to drift onto his face. He breathed in the cool, fresh air, and it brought some life back into him.

With his free hand, he pushed at the large slab of concrete that lay across his chest. He was gasping in pain, but he did not stop. He could feel the concrete moving. Just a little more… one more push… Quinlan mustered all his energy and let out a loud roar that shook through the night. Finally, he was free. He pulled his legs out from under the rubble and turned onto his knees. His arms trembled beneath him as they held his body up. His hands clawed into the cold snow. Quinlan scrambled to his feet, wheezing with short and shallow breaths. Once he was up, he tried to observe the sensations through his body as he moved each joint and each muscle, trying to determine the extent of the damage. Despite the pain, he was still in one piece.

How is that possible? Unless I had already healed. If so, how long was I buried for?

Then Quinlan felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder – it had slipped out of the socket. He stumbled down the street towards a metal wire fence that encircled an old school building. He gripped the pole of the fence and stretched out his shoulder, then twisted his body, hard. He let out a grunt as he felt the bone click back into place. Then he fell, leaning against the fence, panting.

"Hey man, you ok?" A voice from behind him caught him by surprise. At the corner of his eye, he saw two men approaching.

"He don't look too good," one man said to the other.

"Hey bro, you need some help there?"

Quinlan pulled himself up by the fence. As he turned and faced the men, they stopped dead in their tracks. Their faces suddenly froze in fear as they looked at Quinlan.

"What the… fuck…"

One of the men dropped the large bag he was carrying and bolted away as fast as he could, sprinting down the street. The other man froze for just a second longer before he intended to make the same escape. However, in that one second, Quinlan pounced on him, throwing him back against the wire fence and pinning him.

"No, please!" the man begged.

At this point, Quinlan had no control over his actions. His body moved on its own, desperately trying to heal itself. It sensed human blood, and it reacted to it. His stinger rattled as it woke from its slumber. Involuntarily, Quinlan's mouth opened to let out the beast from within. The man's eyes were filled with terror and his body was shaking. Then there was that humiliating response to fear – urine started to soak through the man's pants, dripping down his leg and melting the snow on the ground as it formed a puddle. Quinlan's primal instincts were ferociously aroused by the smell of fear, blood and urine. Before he was even aware, his stinger was already nestled in the man's neck, its teeth embedded deep in the flesh, and the warm blood was transferring from the man's body to his. With this sustenance, Quinlan was starting to awaken again, both his body and his mind. He was starting to become aware. Then suddenly, Quinlan saw himself.

What are you doing? Stop.

That is enough.

Quinlan clasped the man's shoulders, trying to tear himself away. But he only found himself pulling in closer.

That is enough!

He could not stop; he could not control his thirst. In that moment, he felt the most intense feeling of both horror and pleasure. He could hear the man's heartbeat slowing. Quinlan closed his eyes. His face wrenched in disgust as he listened to the sound of his greedy grunts as he drained the life from the helpless prey in his claws.

Do you see now, Mia? Do you see what I am?!

He shut his eyes tightly, furrowing his brows. There is no repentance now. He had no choice but to give in to the pleasure.

The man's body fell limp in his hands. Quinlan could no longer hear his heartbeat, and there was not a single drop of blood left in the limp sack of flesh he held in his hands. He retracted his stinger and the beast returned to the depths. He released his grip and the lifeless body collapsed onto the snow-covered ground. As Quinlan stood over the pale corpse, his hand clutching the wire fence beside him, he felt a strange feeling; he felt… nothing. But for some reason, all he could see was Mia's face.

There is no repentance now.

Quinlan stood tall and pulled his hood over his head. He looked up at the moon, partially hidden behind the clouds, and he watched the tiny specks of white snow drift across the black backdrop of the night's sky. He held out his hands in front of him; they were covered in blood. It was not his own blood. He stared at the crimson red on his white skin. But then, he found his eyes drawn to a tiny snowflake, hovering for a moment in the air, before landing upon his blood-covered hand. A single snowflake, unique in its design. There was no other snowflake like this one, and yet this one landed upon him, unflinching of the blood on his hands. Perfect… pure… and fragile.

Quinlan knew he should return to the warehouse, but for some reason, his legs carried him somewhere else. And a little while later, he found himself looking up at the apartment building.

Chapter Text

Rushing through thirty
Getting older every day by two
Drawing pictures of innocent times
Can you add colour inside these lines
I want you to lead me
Take me somewhere
Don't want to live in a dream one more day

Music… the only thing she had to pass time through the long, endless nights when she couldn't sleep. She hummed along to the words of the song, but they made her feel empty and despondent. Her voice faded, and she just listened instead. There were tears in her eyes. She closed them, hoping that sleep would find her soon.

Eventually, Mia started to drift off. The CD in her player turned to a stop as the last remaining battery was drained. She started to dream of a sunrise, and in her dream she could see it. She gazed at it, entranced by its beauty. She watched the sun spread its golden wings across the earth as it slowly emerged from beneath the horizon. It's golden rays drew closer and closer. She waited for the light to fall upon her. Then suddenly, it disappeared and she found herself staring into blackness. A bark from Caesar woke her up. She sat up on the couch and took the silent earphones out from her ears. Caesar barked again. The lock on her front door clicked and she heard the doorknob slowly turn.

She immediately reached for the gun under the cushion of her couch. She stood up. Her heart was racing. She clutched the gun tightly, pointing it towards the door. The door creaked open and soft footsteps entered the room.

"Stop right there!" she warned, her voice shaking.

The footsteps fell silent. The intruder stood still, and she could feel eyes watching her from across the room. The silence made her more anxious.

"Put the gun away," a voice finally spoke.

"Jesus Christ, Quinlan! What the hell were you thinking?!" she scolded angrily, lowering her gun.

"I did not think you would be awake."

"And that makes it ok to break into my apartment?!"

Quinlan did not reply. He felt no shame in being there; not that night. That night, he felt no shame and no reserve.

"Having trouble sleeping?" he asked as he slowly walked towards her, trying to hide the fact that every step was agonizing as he felt the injuries through his body.

"I've never been very good at sleeping," she muttered, falling back onto the couch.

Quinlan could barely keep himself from stumbling as he found his way across the room and slumped down on the couch beside her. Mia's eyes suddenly widened as she felt the weight of his body hit the couch, heavy and uncontrolled, as if he had simply collapsed. And she heard a soft grunt of pain escape from his lips.

"You're hurt," she gasped, wide-eyed.

Quinlan was surprised at her perceptiveness, but more surprised at how much it appeared to concern her.

"I'll heal," he muttered.

"Should I call Ephraim to have a look at it?"

"No."

"How bad is it?" She was visibly anxious.

"I did not expect to survive..." His voice was weak. His words terrified her.

She leaped up from the couch. "I'm going to call Eph," she said with resolve.

But as she went to walk away, Quinlan suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her back. Mia let out a gasp of surprise at his unexpected touch, and also at the firmness of it. She pulled against him, but he did not let go.

"Sit down," Quinlan gently instructed. "Please."

There was a firmness in his tone that made her comply. Slowly and reluctantly, Mia sat back down. He let go of her hand and she pulled it back, holding it close to her body.

"I did not come here because I am in need of assistance."

Her posture was stiff as she sat on the edge of the couch with her hands in her lap. She did not know what his intentions were. She waited for him to speak, but he stayed silent. After a while, she could not stand it anymore.

"So why did you come here?"

"I should have died that night… in the explosion," Quinlan muttered, ignoring her question. "But this body of mine, it carries on living. It keeps fighting to restore itself…" His voice was soft, and his breaths were short and shallow. Mia could tell he was weak. "I killed a man tonight. He did nothing wrong; my body simply needed his blood. But instead of taking only what I needed, I drained him dry. The whole time, I could smell he fear; he was terrified… and he begged me for his life… but I showed no mercy." His tone was chillingly emotionless. It made Mia furious.

Her brows furrowed as she irritably stood up from the couch once again. "Did you come here to try to scare me? Try to convince me what a monster you are? I've seen real monsters, Quinlan. I've lived with them!" She turned away as she quietened from her anger, and she stood silent for a moment. "You're nothing like them," she said softly. "I'll never be scared of you."

Quinlan looked up at her, standing before him. The sight of her dissolved his will. Quinlan had almost seen Death that night, but he was surprised to find himself still here. And now, weak and injured, he had no resolve. His gaze shifted down to her hand by her side. Her fingers fidgeted nervously. That night, he felt no shame and no reserve. He reached out and took her hand again. But this time it was different. This time, he held her hand in his, and his touch was gentle. Mia's heart suddenly jumped. She turned towards him. Quinlan saw the confusion in her face, but he did not care. His ice blue eyes shimmered in the dark as they looked up at her.

"I never want you to be afraid of me, Mia" he whispered.

He gently pulled her back towards the couch again. This time, he was met with no resistance as she sat back down next to him. Again, he let go of her hand, only now she was not as adamant in taking her hand back. She stared towards him, her cheeks slightly blushed, and her face still confused.

"The other night, you said you were tired of all this. I am too," Quinlan murmured softly.

She had never heard him sound so weak; she did not like it at all. It didn't matter if he reassured her, she was still worried about the extent of his injuries.

"Why do you keep fighting?" she asked.

"The same reason you do."

"No, I fight to survive. But you don't have to; you could just stop…"

"I cannot stop," he said. "It is hatred that fuels me. Hatred for my father, for everything he destroyed. Killing him was not enough. I will not stop until I destroy everything he left behind; every trace of his existence."

"But you're destroying yourself…"

"It will not end any other way." There was resignation in his voice.

Mia's eyes glimmered with the wetness of tears that didn't fall. "I know how it feels, Quinlan. Believe me… I understand," her brows furrowed. "I know the hatred you feel…"

Quinlan looked at her curiously.

She went to speak, but then hesitated. Her hand nervously fidgeted with the sleeve of her jacket, tugging at the seam. Then finally, words formed in her mouth. "When I was seventeen years old… I killed my father. I shot him."

Quinlan's eyes widened with surprise as he looked at her. He could never have imagined those words coming from her. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know her; to understand the mystery that he always saw in her eyes – the untold story.

"What happened?" he asked.

She looked straight ahead, staring vacantly into the darkness.

"I put sixteen bullets in him," she said frankly, without any emotion. "Sixteen bullets… That's not self-defense; that's plain murder. I emptied the whole clip into him. Every single bullet. And even after I knew he was dead, I kept pulling the trigger. I wanted to feel the satisfaction of every bullet," she clenched her jaw. "I wanted to kill him again, and again, and again..."

For the first time, Quinlan heard pure hatred in her voice, and it stunned him.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, studying her face. Her expression told him the answer, and suddenly he felt an inexplicable rage.

Mia looked away. She had never spoken about this to anyone, and she had already told Quinlan more than she ever thought she could. But that question, she could not answer. It brought back too many memories; memories that she could not face. Memories that took her to a very dark place. She turned her thoughts away.

"He hurt a lot of people," she answered elusively.

Quinlan saw the pain beneath her stoic surface. His heart felt heavy for her. He had lived through centuries of horror himself, yet in her short mortal life, she had already experienced horrors that he could never know. Quinlan knew not to ask any more questions. He would not make her confront those memories for his own selfish curiosity.

There was a slight glimmer of a tear in her eyes, but she blinked it away. "My father was the devil himself," she muttered.

"Are you sure we don't have the same father?" Quinlan attempted to jest, although his mood was not as light-hearted as his comment.

But she turned to him and smiled. "Maybe we're not so different after all – we're both spawns of the devil."

"Hnn," he smiled at the irony. "What an endearing thing to have in common. Our father…"

"Who art in hell..." She leaned back onto the couch and rested her head back. For a moment, she stared up towards the ceiling, and then she turned her head towards him. "Did you imagine it would feel different? When you killed him… did you imagine the hatred would die with him?"

"Yes, I thought it would..."

"But it didn't, did it?"

"No," Quinlan said softly, also leaning back onto the couch, resting his head on the cushion beside hers. "And you?"

She shook her head. "The hatred never dies. The pain never goes away."

"Hatred is what turns people into monsters."

"Well then, we must both be monsters..." she murmured without conviction.

Quinlan turned his head towards her and found her face close to his. He stared at her, his eyes flickering across her features, absorbing them. No, you could never be a monster.

As he looked at her, he found his mind tormented by what she had told him, but more by what she did not tell. His mood was dark, however Mia's had already lightened, as over the years she had become very good at turning her mind away from dark thoughts. She noticed Quinlan's uncomfortable silence and she smiled and gave his arm a little nudge, like a gentle reminder to stay awake when someone is drifting away into a dream.

"See, just like you," she said, "my father made me what I am today."

"And what is that?" Quinlan frowned, thinking he knew the answer. But a smile formed across her face.

"A fighter," she said boldly.

It was not the response Quinlan expected. She never ceased to surprise him. He suddenly found himself smiling back.

Their bodies started to relax, sinking deeper into the couch, as if they finally managed to find some comfort – with themselves, with each other, and perhaps with existence, at least in that moment.

"Do you think this will pass," Mia asked.

"Every plague eventually passes," Quinlan replied. "I remember the time of the Black Death, humanity thought it would not survive, and yet here you are."

"You remember the Black Death?!" she exclaimed, sitting up. "How old are you?"

"I stopped counting after five hundred."

"Five hundred?!" Mia was taken aback. She knew he was not human, but she had no idea how removed he was from mortal existence. Suddenly, she felt so small and insignificant. Her mere thirty years must make her seem like an infant to him. All of a sudden, he felt unattainable to her. Although she wasn't sure what exactly it was she wished to attain.

"Human life must seem so trivial to you," Mia muttered, slumping back onto the couch.

"No," said Quinlan, his gaze not leaving her, "the briefness and frailty of human life make it anything but trivial."

"The frailty of human life…" Mia repeated. "Do you see me as being frail?" she baited, grinning.

Quinlan snickered softly. He knew she had facetiously used his words against him, and he wasn't going to take the bait. He smiled but did not answer.

"Why did you help me that night in the alleyway?" she suddenly asked.

"You want the truth?"

She nodded.

"Because I needed to feed," he replied nonchalantly, "and those men provided a good opportunity."

She tilted her head, biting her lip and giving him an inquisitive look that had a touch of cheekiness. "I don't believe you," she challenged. "You could've just left me there. You could've walked away. But you didn't."

"But I didn't..." he echoed, as he wondered himself why he didn't walk away that night. "Perhaps I should have," he jested.

She heard the playful taunt in his voice despite his serious tone, and she let out somewhat of a giggle. It was the first time he had seen that expression on her face, and it made him smile. He diverted his eyes from her and glanced around the room. He suddenly noticed a pile of books sitting on the floor against the wall beside the couch.

"Did you used to read?" he asked, "...before you lost your sight."

"I used to love reading," her eyes sparked. "I used to sit there and read for days on end. I'd forget time even existed because I'd be completely lost in the stories. Sometimes I'd almost forget which world was real," she laughed, thinking back to the fond memories. "After I lost my sight, I just couldn't throw away the books. I know I'll never be able to read them again, but somehow, having them there makes me feel… happy."

Quinlan stood up. His legs no longer felt weak under him. He walked over to the books, crouched down and picked one up – the third book in the pile. Ah yes, I remember this one.

He walked back to the couch and sat down again, this time slightly closer to her. He delicately turned the pages of the book. The wisping sounds of the thin sheets of paper brought her back to a time of happiness.

"I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline," Quinlan started to read. "Particularly when one cannot see the details. Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them."

His deep voice was soft like velvet, and the words purred from his mouth. Mia tucked her legs up on the couch and curled up. Slowly, her eyes started to close. She felt a deep sense of peace that she had not felt in a long time. Perhaps even happiness. She started to drift off, this time, not to the sight of a sunrise but to something more beautiful – the sound of his voice.

Quinlan continued to read. "People tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the Hudson, look and kneel. When I see the city from my window – no, I do not feel how small I am – but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body."

Mia was fast asleep beside him. Her head had fallen slightly to the side and was almost resting upon his shoulder. Quinlan closed the book and looked at her. Her sleeping face was so serene, as if the pain he always saw in her eyes never existed. He suddenly felt an urge to reach across and touch her face; to gently brush her hair from her cheeks. But he did not dare. His blood pumped restlessness, propelling him to his feet. He stood before her and looked down at her curled up on the couch like a delicate kitten.

The world had been cruel to you.

He studied the details of her face - her soft skin, her small pointed nose, and her large hazel eyes that now lay closed behind a veil of dark lashes. Then, Quinlan found his eyes wandering to her lips - two soft pink petals that would draw the eyes of human men. And men of other sorts. As Quinlan found himself fixated on her lips, something started to stir within him. He felt...

No! He jumped at the realization. Not those thoughts. He quickly backed away from the couch. A startling consciousness suddenly returned to his eyes, as if he had been dreaming the whole time before. What am I doing here? This was a mistake.

He looked towards the door. The night called to him.

Mia woke up in the morning and found herself lying comfortably on the couch. She had slept through the night, which was a rarity for her. There were no nightmares, no constant waking, and no stirring thoughts – just pure sleep. She couldn't remember the last time she slept like that. As she sat up hazily, she noticed a blanket had been placed over her - it had kept her warm through the cold, harsh night. She ran her hand across the thick material, and felt its finely woven threads and slightly coarse texture under her fingers. But then, when she explored the outline of the fabric, she realized it wasn't a blanket, but a coat... his coat. She clutched it close to her, pulling it to her chin, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. She could smell his scent – it was unlike a human's. Or perhaps he had no scent of his own, but it was a collection of scented memories from the places he had been. None the less, the smell was familiar to her, and somehow comforting. She cuddled into its warmth... and she found herself smiling.

Chapter Text

That morning, the sunrise came with a cloaked figure whose name was Death. Death had come to claim a life that morning, and she was cold and merciless. She stood before the tall, leering building of the warehouse, silhouetted against the dim, misty glow of the dawn sky. In her hand was a gun with only a single bullet. Death had written a name on that bullet, and the man who possessed that name had no idea Death was coming for him that morning.

Inside the warehouse, Vasiliy was fast asleep on the couch, still wearing his clothes and shoes. On the floor beside him was a half eaten plate of buttered potatoes, and on the kitchen bench, the radio was humming with white noise as it had been left on the previous night.

The lock on the metal door at the side of the warehouse slowly turned and clicked, and the door opened ever so quietly. The cloaked figure walked in and closed the door behind her without a sound. Then her quiet footsteps walked slowly and carefully across the concrete floor, finding her way through the dark before the first light of the sun peeked in through the windows. Her hands were starting to sweat with anticipation of the life she was about to take. This was his fate. It was Death's plan. But who would have thought that Death's heart would be filled with so much pain and sorrow. With the back of her hand that held the gun, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She followed the sound of the radio, and as she neared, she could hear the sound of his sleeping breaths. One of these breaths would be his last, and it would be by her hands. She would not be scared, she told herself. She would not hesitate. This man took everything from her and she swore to the gods that she would send them his soul. As she approached the couch, her heart started to beat faster. Her anticipation grew. She stood at the end of the couch and looked upon the sleeping man who lay helpless and unaware in his slumber. She pointed her gun at him.

Is it fair to end him like this?

It does not matter. What matters is that I end him… for what he did…

Her hand started shaking profusely. Her nerves tingled with restlessness, and the tips of her fingers throbbed with each pounding beat of her heart. She reached up with her other hand and gripped the gun tightly with both hands, but it did not help the shaking.

Do it you coward!

She stared at his face. She wanted one last look at the face that destroyed her world. She was ready.

"Goooood morning New York!" the radio suddenly blared, causing her to jump from already tense nerves. "Rise and shine! You are listening to the seven AM broadcast."

Vasiliy's eyes wearily opened as he grunted out of annoyance at the loud noise that woke him. Then suddenly, his eyes came into focus at the sight of the cloaked figure standing at the end of the couch with a gun pointed at him.

"Woah!" he sprung up, sitting on the couch, holding his hands up in front of him as if they could somehow shield him. He looked at the dark figure. "Malaika?!" he squinted, staring at her face under the cloak. He went to stand up.

"Sit down!" she screamed, thrusting forward with the gun. Vasiliy immediately complied. He saw her shaking hands and he recognized that look of madness in her eyes. He knew a person was most dangerous and unpredictable in that state.

"Alright, calm down," he said, holding his hands up in the air.

"You…" she sneered, her face twisted in rage. "You killed him."

Vasiliy came to a startling realization. So that's what this is – revenge.

"Malaika, I'm sorry. I had no choice…"

"No!" she cried. "There is always a choice. You chose… that switch… it was you!" Tears fell from her frenzied eyes.

Her finger twitched at the trigger, and every twitch could have been the one to seal his fate. Vasiliy now realized his life hung on a very thin thread and he was desperate. "Look, you didn't see what was down there! If I didn't blow that tunnel…"

"Why did you not wait? Why? Why?!"

"I couldn't!" Vasiliy's breaths were getting heavier as his panic grew. "Look, just put the gun down."

"No," she shook her head. "You made your choice. I made mine. A life for a life…"

"Ok, you're right! I did make a choice, and I chose to save the city! I chose the lives of everyone here over the life of one person... who isn't even a goddamn person!"

The pain in Malaika's eyes suddenly turned into a cold hatred. Her hesitation was replaced with a strong resolve. She only needed one more reason to pull the trigger and Vasiliy just gave it to her.

Shit! Why the hell did I just say that?!

"A life for a life…" Malaika repeated. Her finger tightened around the trigger.

"You wanna kill me?!" Vasiliy yelled, standing to his feet. "Do it!" His adrenaline was surging. He realized she was going to pull the trigger. This was it. And if this was his last moment, he would not die cowering or begging. "Come on! What are you waiting for, huh? Do it!"

Malaika tightly shut her eyes and clench her jaw.

Vasiliy closed his eyes.

Malaika let out a loud cry as she squeezed the trigger.

For Quinlan…

The deafening sound of the gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

Then all was silent. Eyes were closed. There was only the sound of heavy breaths.

Vasiliy clutched the side of his head at his temple. He could feel the pain and the wetness. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand – blood. He frantically patted the side of his head.

I'm still here... I'm still here... he panted. It's just a graze. She missed.

Vasiliy looked at Malaika. His eyes were wide with fear of the life he thought he had just lost. But then, Vasiliy saw his saviour, standing beside Malaika, holding her hands and steering the gun away. Malaika turned and looked upon the face of the man who changed Death's will. Her eyes grew wide and suddenly a debilitating weakness swept over her body.

"Quin… lan…" she dropped to her knees.

"Holy shit," Vasiliy uttered. "You're alive…"

"Yes, I am alive," said Quinlan.

"[I thought… I thought you were dead…]" Malaika's voice trembled in her native tongue. She looked up at him and saw in his eyes a look of disapproval. She hung her head down in shame.

Quinlan looked down at her, kneeling before him. "Stand up," he told her.

Malaika slowly climbed to her feet, her legs still shaking from the adrenaline. Her head remained lowered.

"Never turn your gun on those doing the right thing, do you understanding?" Quinlan reprimanded. She did not answer. "Do you understand?" Quinlan repeated in a firmer tone.

Malaika nodded without looking up. Quinlan held out her gun in his hand and offered it back to her. She quickly snatched it back and ran out of the room. Quinlan then turned his eyes to Vasiliy, and immediately, Vasiliy lowered his head.

"I… uh… I had to…"

Quinlan raised his hand to stop Vasiliy in his words. "I understand," he said.

Vasiliy briefly glanced at Quinlan from the corner of his eyes. "So did we get 'em?"

"Many of them were crushed beneath the rocks. Many still live. But the tunnel is sealed."

Vasiliy nodded. "Good. It wasn't all for nothing then." He still did not look at Quinlan, nor did he know what else to say. After all, what do you say to a man whose life you had attempted to sacrifice?

Quinlan paced across the room. "How long was I gone?" he asked with slight apprehension.

"Over a week," Vasiliy replied. "Where were you?"

"In my grave."

Vasiliy stood in front of a mirror on the wall beside the couch, examining the wound on the side of his head. It was not deep; the bullet just grazed the side of his head. He had never felt so lucky to be alive. He wiped the blood with an old rag that he had boiled on the stove.

The radio on the kitchen bench played several songs, as it always did at seven AM, and then the news broadcast followed. It informed citizens that in the following week, rations would commence again. They knew they couldn't go on starving the people. However a new system of distribution would be in place. Instead of all citizens collecting their rations on the Thursday, citizens would now be divided into groups based on the number on their ration cards. Each group would be allocated a certain hour of a certain day to collect their rations.

"Smart," Vasiliy noted. "They can control us better in smaller groups. Make sure the whole city doesn't just storm the supply room as soon as they open their doors."

"A temporary solution…" Quinlan muttered.

Suddenly, the radio started to buzz loudly with noises of static, intermittently returning to the broadcast, then buzzing again.

"Goddamnit, don't tell me that thing's broken," Vasiliy grumbled to himself. "Will you turn it off?" He called out to Quinlan from across the room.

Quinlan let a slight sneer slip on his face as he did not like being told what to do. But none-the-less, he walked over to the radio to turn it off.

"Woah, wait a second," Vasiliy suddenly blurted as Quinlan's hand reached for the radio. Quinlan stopped. Vasiliy hurried over to the kitchen bench.

In between the sounds of static, the man on the live broadcast could be heard in the background saying, "What the hell is going on here?"

"Did you hear that?" Vasiliy leaned in, staring intently at the radio. "It's coming from their end. Someone's interfering with their signal."

Suddenly, the static stopped. It was silent for a moment, and then a woman's voice began to speak calmly and clearly.

"Citizens of New York, you are listening to voice of Nemesis. We have stayed silent for too long, but now we speak. We are not the enemy. The real enemy are those who have been lying to you. We want to show you the truth.

They tell us food is scarce. But that's a lie. There was always enough food. They tried to blame us, saying it was Nemesis who took the food from you. But let us show you our true intentions. Today, you will notice several white trucks parked around the city marked with the symbol of peace. Open their doors and you will find all the food returned to you. Food that they have been hiding from you. We were the ones who stole them back… for you. For the people. Remember the hand that fed you. It was Nemesis.

They tell us we can't leave the city, that Manhattan is a dead zone. They guard the bridges and the roads, and they tell us we can't pass. But let me tell you something – Manhattan is secure. Do you hear me? It's all a lie. Manhattan is secure. Not only that, once a month there's a midnight train that leaves from Pennsylvania Station for Washington. But only those with the right papers can board the train – doctors, lawyers, politicians, anyone with connections, while the rest of us are left here to rot. But we will not die here. We will take back Manhattan! And anyone who wishes to leave will have their seat on that train. Remember the hand that freed you. It was Nemesis. Join us!"

The radio returned to static. Not a single person moved. At that moment, the whole city stayed frozen in front of their radios, eyes wide and mouths agape. While bodies were frozen, minds were awakened and charged with restlessness. For the citizens, that restlessness was hope. For the military, it was fear. And for everyone, it was anger.

Quinlan's burning eyes turned towards Vasiliy. "Your friends are getting out of control," he scolded. "This is too reckless!"

"I know that!" Vasiliy snapped. His eyes darted around the room as his mind churned through thoughts. "Those weren't her words," he mumbled to himself. "He must have made her do this…"

"Did you know about this?" Quinlan asked, glaring at Vasiliy.

"No! Of course not!" Vasiliy leaned over the bench on his elbows and rubbed his face with his hands. "I had no idea."

Quinlan knew he was telling the truth. The shock on Vasiliy's face was genuine, as well as the dread in his eyes. Quinlan sighed as he finally reached over and turned off the buzzing radio. Their ears had become accustomed to the sound of static, and suddenly, the silence was awfully confronting. It was almost deafening. Not a single noise could be heard, as if the whole world had suddenly fallen silent.

Quinlan paced across the room, his footsteps echoing louder than usual. "I think you know what this means, Mr. Fet," he spoke softly. "War is coming."

Chapter Text

Machine guns blazed in the distance. People had heard the word, and they were out on the streets, searching for the trucks that Nemesis had promised them. Indeed, there were trucks filled with food left around the city. But the scene around those trucks turned into a bloodbath. The military tried to secure some of those sites, but civilians fought back relentlessly. People were becoming more fearless than ever before. Then at the trucks that were unguarded by the military, people fought each other savagely for the food that was inside. Looking upon the scene, the people looked no different to the infected creatures, gathered in a frenzied crowd, thrashing and clawing. The savagery of human nature was in full display. By the end of the day, bodies lay strewn across the roads – shot, stabbed, and bludgeoned. And when it rained, the gutters ran red.

That day, the military saw the power of the people, and they were afraid. They were afraid because they knew this was only the beginning. And they realised they were no longer the only ones who were effectively armed. An increasing number of civilians had guns, explosives, and destructive tools created by some crooked inventor in a dark and seedy workshop in some basement. Some of the guns on the streets were the military's own, from shipments that had been stolen and then sold in the black market to any man, woman or child that had anything worth trading. The rotten underbelly of the city was booming, and the military were losing control. One by the one, the great cities fell, not to the infection but to a virus far more deadly – human nature.

On one of the following nights, Vasiliy approached Quinlan in the upstairs of the warehouse. The door to Quinlan's room was open for the first time, and Vasiliy peeked inside, expecting to see secrets and unusual items – a collection of mankind's history through the ages and the places that Quinlan had seen. But instead, Vasiliy saw nothing but bare walls, a bed, which Quinlan hardly ever slept in, and a plain old dresser with three drawers and whatever that was inside them; perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps the only thing hidden in that room were his thoughts and memories. That was enough of a reason to keep anyone out. Quinlan had no belongings. He had come to this city with nothing but the clothes on his back, the weapons in his hands, and a young African girl who was as much of a mystery herself. Just like all the places before this, Quinlan would come with nothing, and leave with nothing; a drifter with no attachments, only temporary solaces that he would always eventually leave behind.

Although Quinlan's back was turned as he sat on the bed, running a whetstone down the blade of his sword, he was aware of Vasiliy standing at the door. He stopped his action and turned his head slightly. Vasiliy knew his presence was noted.

"Hey… uh… you haven't heard from Eph, have you?" Vasiliy asked, standing in the open doorway.

"Why would I have heard from Ephraim?" Quinlan asked, as he continued to the glide the fine stone down the length of his blade.

"I don't know, you go out there sometimes, don't you?" Vasiliy shrugged. "Anyway, he's not answering his phone. I haven't been able to get onto him for days."

"I have not heard from him."

There was a look of worry on Vasiliy's face, but then he suddenly lit up. "Oh! Maybe ask his new sweetheart. She might know something."

"Who?" Quinlan perplexed, standing up with the blade in his hand and turning to face Vasiliy.

"You know, the blind girl… Mia. The one he's so crazy about. She's the one that got him into this mess anyway. What a man wouldn't do for a pretty girl, eh?" Vasiliy started to run his mouth again. "Maybe he's with her. Maybe that's why he's not answering his phone, if you know what I mean," Vasiliy winked at Quinlan.

Quinlan stared at him blankly.

"I guess you don't know what I mean," Vasiliy sighed, feeling like he was talking to a brick wall. He suddenly realized how much he missed human company.

Although Quinlan's expression was blank, his thoughts were not. Vasiliy's words somehow rang a loud bell in his head, and he suddenly found himself fixated on the idea of Doctor Goodweather's affections for Mia. It was a strange thing for Quinlan to ponder, but more strange that it bothered him in a way that he could not rationalise. And still, the more troubling thought that pursued was that perhaps she returned those affections. After all, their purposes were entwined by their work, and through that, they perhaps shared more than just ideas, but also sentiments. The smallest expression of irritation showed on Quinlan's face for just a brief second.

"I will ask her," said Quinlan, equipping his weapons before pushing past Vasiliy and walking out of the room.

Malaika heard Quinlan approaching and she quickly picked up the book on the pillow beside her, turning to a random page and holding the book over her as she lay on her back. She paid no attention to Quinlan as he entered the room and walked towards her.

"Come on, let's go," said Quinlan, standing over her bed.

Malaika ignored him. Quinlan reached down and snatched the book from her hands. That got her attention. She frowned.

"I said let's go," Quinlan repeated.

"I am not going anywhere," Malaika grumbled.

"Alright then, give me the keys." Quinlan held out his hand.

Malaika rolled over on the bed and turned her back to him. Quinlan knew she was angry with him. It was not her fault – she did not know how to express fear or grief; only anger. It was her way of coping. It always had been. Quinlan sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He did not speak. He knew if he waited long enough, she would eventually give in. He looked down at the book in his hands that he took from her; it was a bible, written in Swahili. Its pages were yellow and crumpled, and the leather cover was faded and torn around the edges. It was the same book she had carried with her since she was a child. Quinlan aimlessly flipped through the pages and then gently tossed the book onto the bed.

"I really thought you were gone this time," Malaika finally said without turning around.

"And what if I was?"

"Then I would have killed him!"

"Foolish child," Quinlan murmured. "One of these days, I will be gone. And you will suddenly find yourself alone. But it will be your choice, just like the choice you made the other day. Let me tell you something – those who fight alongside you now are all that you will have left when I am gone. Do not forget that."

Quinlan stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. Malaika still did not turn, but he could hear the silent workings of her mind. He knew her all too well. Quinlan paused in the doorway. "Are you coming or not?"

It was two hours after sunset when Quinlan arrived at Mia's apartment. She opened the door with a cheerful smile. Something about her seemed different now. She seemed… alive.

"You decided to knock this time," she teased.

"I figured it is less effort," Quinlan replied.

She stepped aside as in invitation for him to come in, and Quinlan obliged without a second thought. He knew he had broken his vow to stay away from her. He already did that night when his injuries weakened his will and he found himself at her door. And then somehow he found himself by her side, for a long time without a single protest from his mind. He learned something about her that night; something that he felt reluctantly drawn to. She shared with him a glimpse of her heart and the pain it carried, and Quinlan didn't even realize that it was now impossible to stay away. Anyhow, he told himself he was there for a different reason this time. He needed to see her for an important matter; it was simply duty, nothing more.

He followed her into the kitchen where she picked up a mug of hot soup from the bench. She wrapped her hands tightly around the mug for warmth, as she stood leaning her back against the bench.

"Your injuries have healed," she noted, sipping from the mug in her hands.

"Yes."

"You know, you really scared me that night," she grouched.

"I apologize," said Quinlan. "I should not have come into your home."

"No, I mean your injuries. You sounded pretty bad... It scared me…" The cold sent a shiver down her spine. She took another sip of the warm liquid and felt its heat disperse through her body. "You don't have to apologize for coming here. I'm glad you did," she smiled.

Before Quinlan's loss for words became apparent, Mia suddenly remembered something. "Oh," she put down the mug and hurried out of the room. A moment later she returned with a black trench coat folded over her arm. "You left this the other night," she blushed at the memory of his kind gesture. "I guess that's why you're here?"

"No, I came here to ask about Doctor Goodweather," said Quinlan, taking the coat from her.

"What about him?" Mia puzzled.

"Have you heard from him recently?"

A look of concern swept across Mia's face. "No, I was going to ask you the same thing. He hasn't been answering his phone. I just assumed he was with you guys, you know, dealing with everything that's been happening around here."

"He has not returned from the facility since the time you saw him."

"What?" Mia gasped with sudden dread.

Quinlan's mind processed the possibilities. "Looks like we are going for a drive," he sighed.

The nights were no longer silent. Out on the streets, vandals and rioters indulged in their appetite for destruction, while gangs conducted their shady dealings on street corners, and the more desperate criminals would go as far as to kill any man they see for the clothes on his back.

"[This is just like home]," Malaika muttered as she looked out the window.

Mia could hear the sounds outside – sounds of the night, awake with violence. She sat nervously on the edge of the seat, leaning forward through the middle of the car. Without realising, her hand was clutching the back of Quinlan's seat, and her fingers had nestled themselves behind Quinlan's shoulder and the seatback. She could feel the weight of his body against her hand, and the familiar fabric of his coat. Without her sight, the slightest touch provided a source of comfort.

As Quinlan looked out the window, something in the side mirror caught his attention. He noticed another car some distance behind them, driving quietly with its lights off, and its black colour camouflaged in the darkness of the night. He watched this car as they continued to drive, and it soon became apparent that it was following them, turning all the same corners.

"We're being followed," said Quinlan.

"Soldiers?" Mia asked.

"No. It is not a military vehicle."

If Quinlan had been by himself, he would have stopped the car simply out of curiosity. If someone was following him with ill intentions, then let them come forth with those intentions. It would only be their bad luck. But that night, he would not take the risk.

"[What shall I do?]"

"Keep driving," Quinlan instructed.

As they started to speed up, so did the car behind them. Malaika grew anxious. Her foot pressed down on the gas pedal. The car behind them seemed to realize it had been detected and it altogether gave up on subtlety as it suddenly blared its engine and quickly closed the distance. It was now riding right on their tail. Malaika continued to press down on the gas, her eyes darting back and forth between the road and the rear-view mirror.

Mia could tell they were now picking up a lot of speed. She was afraid, but she remained calm. "If it's not the military then it has to be street thugs, right? Do you think they just want the car?"

"Are they not in a car of their own?" Quinlan countered somewhat sarcastically.

"Well look how many cars you guys have!" Mia retorted.

Suddenly, the wheels screeched as the car turned a tight corner at full speed, throwing Quinlan and Mia hard against the doors beside them. Mia let out a cry as her body slammed into the door. She quickly sat back in the seat and reached for the seatbelt, her hands fumbling clumsily from the adrenaline. The car behind them reacted swiftly and took the same corner without losing any distance.

"Do not be reckless," Quinlan told Malaika. "They will not slow."

"How many of them are there?" Mia asked.

"I do not have a clear view."

"Maybe we can take them," Mia suggested.

Quinlan did not expect her to say such a thing. "We?"

Mia took her gun out of her pocket to show Quinlan that she was ready to fight if it came down to it. The same idea had crossed Quinlan's mind – to simply stop the car and face whoever was inside, except there was never a 'we' – only him. However, he soon dismissed the idea as he feared the possibility that it was him inside that car – the German. And if he ever got his hands on the two that were with Quinlan... Quinlan clenched his fists.

Malaika continued to weave through the smaller streets in hopes of losing the other car, however one wrong turn would find her in a dead end street that lead right to the brick wall of a large building. She slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt.

"Kuma nina!" she growled under her breath in a guttural tone.

There was no way out. The other car followed them into the street and slowed to a calm stop just behind them. The car turned off its engine and sat there, silent and still. There was no movement from the car. It appeared to just stare at them, watching and waiting.

"Stay inside the car, both of you." Quinlan instructed, as he opened his door to get out.

Mia put her hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop and turn to her. "Be careful," she whispered, before letting him go.

Quinlan looked at her for a moment, and then turned to Malaika. "[At the first sign of trouble, I want you to take the car and drive away from here, do you understand?]"

"[I can stay and fight...]"

Quinlan grabbed her arm forcefully. "[It is not just your own life you are putting in danger because of your foolish recklessness!]" he spat with sudden infuriation, pulling her in and forcing her to look upon his intense face. "[Do as I say!]"

Malaika was startled by his reaction. She nodded speechlessly in compliance, however her brows were furrowed and she was displeased with him for yet another reason. Quinlan released her arm. His eyes darted briefly at Mia before he proceeded to get out of the car.

Quinlan stepped out onto the dark street and pulled his hood over his head. He walked towards the mysterious black car with the dark windows, and stood in front of it. The misty vapors from his warm breaths could be seen in the cold air, evaporating from the shadows beneath his hood. And behind the mist was a pair of glowing eyes that showed intent to kill. His hands were by his side, ready to reach for his guns. Then, one of the rear doors of the mysterious car slowly opened.

Chapter Text

From behind the car door, a pair of black leather shoes could be seen stepping out of the car, followed by the silver tip of a walking cane, clinking as it tapped down on the asphalt. Then a feeble body struggled to follow its feet out of the car. A fedora hat on top of a hunched figure poked above the door, and then finally, the figure stood straight, showing his old frail face, whose stern expression appeared frozen in the chilling air.

"What is the meaning of this?" Quinlan raged.

The old man closed the door and approached Quinlan. "I'm sorry but this was the only way to get your attention. It seems like getting a word with you is difficult these days."

From inside the car, Malaika heard what she thought was a familiar voice. She crawled into the back seat and kneeled beside Mia, looking out the back window. She wiped the fog with her sleeve and made a small clearing on the misty window, then pressed her face to the glass. She could see Quinlan standing directly behind the car, and in front of him was a figure that aroused a sense of familiarity. Malaika stared at the old man and gradually made out his face beneath his hat.

"Setrakian!" she suddenly exclaimed, reaching for the car door.

"Malaika… wait…" Mia started.

It was too late. Malaika was already out of the car as Mia heard the door slam shut behind her. Quinlan scowled at her disobedience, but before he could say anything, the old man called out to her.

"Malaika?" his old voice croaked. His eyes battled his aging vision, squinting as he stared at her. "You've grown up. You were just a child when I last saw you."

"Now I am old enough to be a hunter," Malaika grinned proudly. "I have already killed three..."

"That's enough," Quinlan said softly. Immediately, Malaika's smile faded as she lowered her head and remained silent.

Alone in the car, Mia was becoming restless. It may have been dangerous outside, but being in the car provided no sense of safety, only isolation. Even if there was danger, she would rather be with the others. She reached for the door, then paused. Quinlan said to stay in the car. She hesitated, pulling her hand back. But Malaika's already out there. What difference does it make now? She reached for the door again and opened it.

"And who is this?" the old man asked, looking past Quinlan.

Quinlan followed the old man's gaze and turned around to see Mia getting out of the car. Quinlan was frustrated that the situation had ensued against his instructions.

"I told you both to stay in the car," he growled softy.

Mia ignored Quinlan's reproach and instead followed the sound of his voice. She walked towards him with slow and careful steps and searching hands, until she felt a familiar touch on her fingertips. Her hands patted his arm as she found his position, and she stood beside him. Her hand reached up and found the bottom of his coat sleeve, and she gently gripped the seam between her thumb and her index finger. Quinlan could tell she was nervous and that she was seeking a sense of security with this small gesture. He shifted across and positioned himself slightly in front of her.

"Who are you?" the old man asked again. His words were blunt, but he meant no rudeness. He glanced at Mia's hand, holding Quinlan's sleeve, and his eyes briefly showed a fleeting thought.

Before Mia could answer, Quinlan interjected. "Perhaps you should tell me first who your friends are." Quinlan nodded towards the black car with the dark windows. He could see two silhouettes inside – one in the driver's seat, and the other in the front passenger seat.

The old man contemplated for a moment, and then turned to the car and nodded at whoever was inside. Following the prompt, the two front doors of the car slowly opened, and two mysterious figures stepped out, dressed to match in all black. They wore reinforced vests over hooded jackets, combat pants equipped with an assortment of weapon holsters, and black boots and gloves to match. Their heads were lowered beneath their hoods and their faces were hidden in the dark. Quinlan sensed an ominous presence from the two figures.

"Show yourselves," Quinlan demanded.

The two figures stood unmoving. Quinlan sneered at their non-compliance, his hands twitching at the guns by his side.

"Oh for heaven's sake, we're on the same side!" the old man grumbled, sensing the growing tension. "Show your faces," he waved his arm at the two figures.

Slowly and reluctantly, the figures tilted up their heads. Before Quinlan could see their faces, he saw a shimmer of eyes beneath their hoods. Suddenly, a surge of adrenaline rushed through him as he immediately drew his gun and stepped in front of Mia, at the same time pushing her back behind him. He stood taller and broader, flaring his chest and his shoulders, forming a barrier in front of her with his body. Mia was startled by Quinlan's abrupt movement. She could hear that deep growl rattling from the base of his throat near his chest; the same sound that told her the very first night that he was not human. Quinlan's reaction suggested there was danger.

"What is it?" Mia pressed forward anxiously, but Quinlan placed his arm across her and held her back behind him.

Malaika watched nervously, but she did not draw her gun. Her eyes darted back and forth between Quinlan and Abraham.

"Quinlan, put down your gun," the old man insisted.

The two figures in black proceeded to remove their hoods, revealing their hairless heads and pale white skin, with an intricate pattern of blue veins weaving beneath the skin. Their ears were pointed likes elves of fantasies, and their mouths were pursed with thin lips that led to gashes in the corners that allowed the mouth to open wider than normal. Their blood-red eyes were buried deep beneath their hairless brows and burned with a predatory glare. The creatures were fierce-looking and distinctly non-human, but not grotesque like the infected. Apart from the colour of the eyes, the two creatures were not dissimilar to Quinlan in appearance.

"Sun Hunters…" Quinlan muttered. "I thought there were none of you left." Quinlan slowly lowered his gun, but the fury remained in his eyes.

"Sorry to disappoint," one of them smirked.

"We are not the enemy, Quinlan," said the other. "I know we've had our differences, but have we not always shared a common goal?"

"The enemy of my enemy is not my friend," said Quinlan.

"But perhaps it is time to work together," Abraham interjected. "The matter has become more serious. We know he found you, Quinlan."

Quinlan's face suddenly changed. His anger appeared to simmer down, or was at least it was redirected, as his eyes glanced to the side, indicating a thought.

"Do you know why he so desperately wanted to find you?" Abraham asked.

"I assume it's because he wants me dead."

Mia's face twisted in confusion as she stepped forward beside Quinlan. This time he did not push her back. She took hold of his arm and pulled herself close to him. "What is he talking about?" she whispered.

Quinlan did not answer.

"You really have no idea," the old man muttered. "I will explain everything, but I need you to come with me."

"This better be worth my while," Quinlan sneered.

"Believe me, it is."

"Alright, but under one condition – you come with me."

The old man nodded. He turned back towards the two figures and gave them a nod, before letting Malaika take his arm and help him with his struggling steps towards the car. The two creatures exchanged a glance with each other before turning to make leave. One of them stopped before getting into the car and looked at Quinlan. "It's good to see you again… brother," he smirked, and then disappeared into car. Quinlan watched as the black car reversed down the narrow street and then drove out of sight.

The old man, hunched over his cane, hobbled slowly. With each step, his cane would come down first, followed by his shuffling feet. Malaika opened the door for him, and with much effort, the old man sat into the back seat of the car. Quinlan helped Mia to the car, but as he tried to escort her into the back seat, she turned and pushed against him.

"Who is that man?" she asked apprehensively.

Quinlan could tell she did not want to get into the car with the stranger. "It's alright, he is not a threat," Quinlan reassured. He tried again to gently push her into the car. But again, she pushed against him, her brows furrowed.

Quinlan stopped. "I promise," he whispered, letting her go and taking a step back. He did not like feeling her struggle against him; it made him feel like a brute. And even if he was, he did not want to feel that way; not with her. After a moment, Mia turned and got into the car, reluctantly, however on her own accord. If Quinlan promised, then it was good enough for her.

As the car drove through the streets of the decaying city, the old man sat stiffly in the back, his hands clutching his cane across his lap. His face held the same wrinkled expression as he looked out the window at the once glorious city that was now almost unrecognisable.

"You still carry that old cane," Quinlan noted, as if he could see it in his hands without looking back.

"These days, it's not so much the memories, but I can barely walk without it," Abraham groaned, tightening his grip around the stick. But it was a lie – the significance of the cane was always in the memories. "You know, Quinlan, your grudge against the Ancients has gone on for long enough. It's time to put that aside."

"The Ancients?" Mia perplexed, as she sat pressed against the door, distancing herself as much as possible from the stranger beside her. "Quinlan said they were all dead."

"Yes. And I will only believe otherwise when I see it with my own eyes," said Quinlan.

"And what are Sun Hunters?" asked Mia.

"Soldiers, guardians and servants of the Ancients," Quinlan replied. "It seems now they are nothing more than trained animals."

"You trained many of these so-called animals," Abraham reminded.

"I did not train them to hunt humans like wild rabbits; to kill the weak and innocent without mercy, and then hide like cowards in the face of danger."

"Ah yes, killing the innocent – you see that as being the point of difference between them and yourself. But tell me, who gets to judge whether or not someone is innocent; whether or not a person has the right to live? You?"

Quinlan did not reply. Mia knew the question would have bothered him. It was not Quinlan's choice to feed on humans, and he did what he could to lessen his guilt. Preying on those who have done wrong was all he could offer the world as compensation for his existence. The last thing he needed was for his already frail morality to be challenged for simply being what he is.

Mia frowned irritably at the old man's question. "We all judge; we all play God in our own minds," she said, staring solemnly ahead. "How many times have you looked at a person and thought the world would better off without them? Most of the time it's just a thought. But then when you realize the evil that humans are capable of, you suddenly wish more people judged with a gun than with their heads."

Abraham's brows raised slightly in surprise. It was only a small change in expression, but for a man with an unchanging face, it meant something significant. Then the old man let out a single chuckle that sounded more like a cough. "I like her," he commented. "Excuse me for not introducing myself. My name is Abraham Setrakian. Quinlan and I once… worked together." He struggled to define their relationship. "And you are?"

"Mia," she replied aloofly.

The old man looked at her, noting her body language. "You don't need to be afraid of me, child. If you could see me, you'd know I'm far too old to hurt anybody."

"As long as a person is breathing, he can still hurt someone," she muttered. Her words seemed cold and bitter.

The old man was now studying her, intrigued, just as Quinlan had found himself staring at her reflection in the wing mirror. She sat leaning her elbow against the window and resting her little heart-shaped face in her hand. Her long, wavy brown hair draped down her sides, contrasted against her pale skin that had lost its colour from the cold. And her captivatingly introverted eyes, holding all her secrets, stared vacantly straight ahead. But once again, it was her words that captured Quinlan more than anything else. They had a way of steering his thoughts and feelings, but he could not explain how or why. Quinlan wondered why he ever allowed her to become a distraction.

"Turn left here!" the old man suddenly exclaimed, breaking a long silence in the car. Malaika turned abruptly, following his instructions.

"Where are we going?" Quinlan questioned.

"You said you want to see with your own eyes. So I'll show you."

Chapter Text

Following Abraham's directions, the car arrived outside an old hotel just on the eastern border of the safe zone. It was an old, six-storey brick building next to a railway overpass, which even in its best days, the hotel would not have been a place of luxury. But now, the building was just another desolate ruin standing like a monument in a ghost city. And just like all the other abandoned buildings, most of the windows were broken, forming gaping black holes, and the white curtains of the rooms fluttered in the wind like ghostly apparitions dancing under the moonlight.

"This is the place," said the old man, looking up at the building from the window of the car.

"And what am I expecting to find in there?" asked Quinlan.

"Answers," said Abraham, opening the door, and as slowly as before, he struggled to hoist himself out of the car.

Quinlan looked at Mia, and then at Malaika. "This time… stay in the car."

Quinlan followed Abraham through the broken glass doors at the front of the building and entered the dark space inside. Minimal light from the outside was able to make its way into the building. The old man's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness before he continued walking. The broken glass crunched beneath their feet at each step, and the old man's cane echoed in the hollow of the building as it tapped on the cracked stone floor. He led the way through the lobby, past the reception desk, past the crumbling staircase and the empty elevator shafts, towards a doorway at the back where the sign above read: "Restaurant". Before walking through the doorway, Quinlan found himself looking back towards the car outside. The old man seemed to notice this.

"How long do you think you can go on protecting the girl?" he asked Quinlan.

"She is old enough to protect herself."

"I'm not talking about Malaika."

Quinlan paused for a moment and looked at the old man. But Abraham either didn't notice or deliberately chose not acknowledge the look Quinlan was giving him, as he continued walking ahead. Quinlan picked up his pace again. They walked down a dark hallway, passing bathroom doors on the side, and into the old restaurant at the end of the hallway. The large room, filled with empty tables and chairs, was illuminated by the natural light coming in through the large windows, revealing a thick layer of dust on all the tabletops. The room looked grey, as did everything in it.

"In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you give a damn about anyone," Abraham continued. "Even Malaika – you just let her wander these wretched streets by herself. She may not be a little girl anymore, but she's still a child."

"She is not my responsibility," said Quinlan. "I made that very clear to her when she chose to follow me." Quinlan ran his finger along the top of a table as he passed, making a line in the dust. Then he rubbed his thumb and index finger together, feeling the soft, powdery texture of the fine substance. "I never asked for a child," he muttered.

"And she never asked for her parents to be killed," said Abraham. He looked back at Quinlan, who had stopped following him and was standing, distracted, looking around the room. Abraham motioned to Quinlan with a tilt of his head, signalling for Quinlan to keep up. The old man sighed as he continued walking, "A man who cares about nothing but his own vengeance. Yet strangely, when the Sun Hunters revealed themselves, the blind girl was your first concern."

"The Sun Hunters are desperate these days, like hungry dogs," said Quinlan, appearing to show no emotional reaction to Abraham's words. "They will prey on any human they can get their hands on."

"Yes, it's an unfortunate time to be human," Abraham muttered. "Everything out there wants to kill us… including ourselves. You know, blindness is a weakness, and in this world, weakness is a death sentence. Tell me, Quinlan, how long do you think you can keep her alive?"

Quinlan glanced at the old man from the corner of his eyes as he walked beside him. His words were the harsh truth that he had been trying to ignore. Hearing it spoken aloud made him seethe in anger. But his anger was only towards himself.

The old man glanced back at Quinlan. "Have you not offered her…?"

"No," Quinlan sharply interjected before Abraham could finish his sentence.

"She doesn't even know, does she?" said Abraham, studying Quinlan's face.

Quinlan was silent and his face showed no emotion.

"I was mistaken," Abraham croaked in his old, weary voice. "I thought her safety was important to you."

"And what about you? Were you so important to the Ancients that they kept you alive all these years?" Quinlan sneered. "Look at you now. Without their blood, you are dying. How much time do you have left, Professor?" There was a hint of hostility in Quinlan's tone.

The old man stopped and turned to Quinlan. "It was my choice to stop taking their blood." He stared at Quinlan with his narrow eyes, encircled by deep wrinkles. His eyes engaged Quinlan's intensely for a moment, and then he turned dismissively as if he was done with the conversation. He looked across the room. "Open that door, will you?" he pointed with his cane to a small wooden door, only about a meter in height, hidden in the wall.

They had walked into the kitchen area of the hotel, with white tiled walls that were now dirty and brown and cracked. The fluorescent lights above were broken and half hanging out of the ceiling, and other ceiling panels had fallen down completely, lying scattered across the floor and on the metal benchtops, along with other pots, pans and utensils. The empty refrigerator on the side of the room had been tipped over, and behind it, the tiles had been smashed to reveal the wooden panels of the wall. And in these wooden panels was where the small door was hidden. The building had originally been built in the early 1900s, and like many buildings of that time, there were hidden doors that lead to secret cellars for keeping alcohol during the Prohibition, as well as an intricate network of underground smuggle routes for illegal substances.

As Quinlan pried open the heavy door, the old man picked up a candle that was sitting on the floor beside the door, and lit it with a lighter he found on the benchtop. It looked as if the candle had just recently been used, probably by Abraham; his familiarity with the place told that it was not his first time there. Behind the small wooden door were dark stairs that descended deep underground. Quinlan looked down the small narrow space, and then turned to the old man.

"Yes, through there," Abraham answered before Quinlan asked the question.

Quinlan hoped this would not be a waste of his time. He sighed silently as he crouched down and crawled into the small space, descending down the damp stone steps. The old man followed behind him, slowly and carefully, half relying on his cane, and half leaning on the wall beside him as he let the light of the candle guide him.

When they arrived at the bottom, they found themselves in a dark, empty space with raw earth beneath their feet, stone walls, and a low stone ceiling. Quinlan could smell the damp, musty air laced with the stench of human blood. Then, on the other side of the room, a heavy wooden door creaked open and two figures came out bearing bright flame torches. It was the two Sun Hunters from earlier in the night. They had no need for the torches themselves, but it was a gesture of politeness for the human; for Abraham.

"This way," said the Sun Hunter who had previously smirked at Quinlan. He stood aside and motioned for them to walk through the door. The other Sun Hunter led the way, and Abraham proceeded to follow, and then Quinlan. As Quinlan walked past the Sun Hunter standing by the door, Quinlan turned and looked upon his face. He was the one with the wider mouth, where the slits of his mouth ran right across his cheek as if someone had taken a knife to the corners of his mouth. And the slits curled slightly upwards, making it appear as if he had a wicked grin. His face was bony, with a pointed nose, and his eyes were deep and large, blood-red in colour. His pointed elf-like ears were larger compared to Quinlan's and the other Sun Hunter's. He was an impish looking creature.

He smiled at Quinlan as Quinlan stared at him. "What's the matter? You don't remember me?"

"I would never forget you, Vaun," Quinlan showed a slight hint of a smile.

Mia waited patiently in the car, while Malaika was becoming bored and restless. She repeatedly flicked the blade of her pocket knife in and out. The clicking sound was driving Mia crazy.

"So what's your story? How did you end up in New York?" Mia attempted to make conversation.

"We drove," Malaika muttered.

"From where?"

"Boston."

"You were in Boston?" Mia uttered with surprise, leaning forward through the middle of the car. "Were you there when the city went down?"

"Yes. We watched the city burn," Malaika replied, still flicking the knife in her hand.

"What happened there?"

"You ask a lot of questions." Malaika was becoming irritated. She looked out the window for something to steal her attention, but she saw nothing but the dark street and empty buildings.

Mia ignored her comment. "We all heard about what happened. They said Nemesis blew up the power plant, the city went into total blackout, and the infected got in."

"Something like that…"

"Is everyone there dead?"

"Yes. Now can you please stop talking?" Malaika rudely intoned, dreading the thought of spending the next few moments alone with Mia and listening to her attempts at making conversation.

"Would you rather we sit here in silence?" Mia asked with slight sarcasm.

"Yes. Silence would be much better."

"Then stop clicking that damn knife," Mia snapped, finally letting her frustration get the better of her.

The sound immediately stopped. Malaika was slightly taken aback by Mia's retort. She looked at Mia's reflection in the mirror, and although there was a grimace on Malaika's face, she could not hide the slight intrigue in her eyes as she stared at Mia. A times, Malaika even felt a little sympathy for her and her situation, and under different circumstances, she might not have hated her so much. Perhaps she didn't even hate her now, but she could not distinguish the feeling of hatred with the feeling of fear.

Mia slumped back in the seat and sighed. "Look, I know you don't like me for whatever reason. If I've done something to upset you…"

"I know you will cause trouble," said Malaika, still looking at her in the mirror.

"We're living with a virus that's wiping out humanity and we're on the brink of a civil war. You think I'm the one causing trouble?"

Malaika turned her head and looked out the window. There was a slight sadness in her eyes as she gazed out into the night. "You will cause trouble… for Quinlan," she murmured.

Mia's face suddenly changed as her eyes seemed to awaken with startling thoughts. She did not quite understand what Malaika meant, but her words left her with a strange and uncomfortable feeling, and many questions that she could not bring herself to ask. Mia lowered her gaze and her mind retreated into her inner world. There was suddenly a dead silence in the car.

Quinlan and Abraham followed the Sun Hunter into another room in the underground labyrinth. The smell of human blood was much stronger in this room. It was a larger room, long and narrow in shape, with a high arched ceiling. Two rows of candles were set on the ground, running along the length of the stone wall on both sides of the room, forming what looked like a walkway. At the end of this walkway, on the far side of the room, were three seated figures, blurred in the dim light.

Quinlan's eyes widened. He turned and looked at Abraham, who gave him a nod, as if to say, "yes, it is what you think."

The Sun Hunter, who appeared younger than the one named Vaun, turned to Quinlan. "Please remove your weapons."

"I will keep my weapons," Quinlan boldly told him, as he began to walk forward towards the three figures.

The young Sun Hunter went draw his gun, but Vaun put his hand over the gun. "Let him go, Lar. He won't do anything."

As Quinlan approached, he noticed the figures were cloaked in old rags of a dusty grey colour that shrouded them from head to toe. They sat motionless across a large wooden bench, and at their feet were candles, sitting in the blood-stained earth. They had been feeding right where they were sitting, and the ground beneath their feet were stained deep red. The smell was foul. Quinlan's face twisted in disgust as he watched them sit in the filth of their barbarism. He stopped a few paces in front of the figures, whose faces were partially hidden beneath their hooded cloaks, revealing only a glimpse of white skin, and their lips with the slit corners, just like Quinlan's and the Sun Hunter's.

"So the Ancients still live," said Quinlan, "although I would hardly call this living."

The three figures remained silent and motionless. Quinlan looked at them, waiting for a response, but they sat like stone statues without any life.

"Did you summon me here for a touching moment of silence?" Quinlan was beginning to lose his patience.

Then the one sitting in the middle raised his hand ever so slowly, as if it really was a stone statue coming to life. The small movement of raising his hand seemed more effort to this ancient creature than for a man to move mountains. Quinlan almost felt pity for the creature.

"Our time here is coming to an end," the Ancient spoke just as slowly as he moved. His voice was soft, like a whisper of the wind. His mouth hardly moved as he spoke, and it was as if the sound did not come from him but merely an echo carried by the wind. The sound would have been barely audible to the human ear, but Quinlan had no trouble hearing it.

"What a shame," Quinlan jeered.

"It was never our wish to spend our final years hiding in the dark."

"You have no one to blame but yourselves."

"We have watched the world change for thousands of years," the wind murmured. "We have watched our own kind slowly disappear from the earth, as humans became its new masters. But now, humans will watch the same thing happen to their kind. But unlike us, they still have a chance."

"Death is an inevitable part of life," said Quinlan. "Perhaps you should embrace it."

"If death is so insignificant, then what set you on this path of vengeance?"

"Life," Quinlan replied. "The life he created when he made me what I am."

"Is that the real reason? Or was it the life he took from you? Her life…"

"You have no right to speak of her!" Quinlan suddenly roared with a rage in his eyes like never before. His nostrils flared like an animal's, as his lips pursed in a scowl. "Her blood is on your hands," he spat, clenching his jaw. "You could have stopped him, but you did nothing. Just as you do nothing now while his progeny destroys the world."

The other two Ancients began to twitch, as if reacting to Quinlan's anger with small, involuntary convulsions of their muscles. They let out a soft murmur like a thin breath escaping from their constricted throats. Their heads turned ever so slowly towards the Ancient in the middle. Then the one in the middle began to speak again. "Do you see your rage, Quinlan? Death is never inconsequential. Her blood is indeed on our hands. But the blood of millions may be on yours."

Quinlan's face twisted in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"The progeny – Eichhorst." The mention of this name caused another twitch in the two Ancients sitting on the side.

"What about him?"

"He has found a way to re-engineer the strain; to change the very nature of its genetics. It will reverse the only advantage humans have to win this war." The Ancient paused and tilted his head up slightly. The light of the candles reflected off his eyes briefly. They shimmered a crystal white-blue colour, just like Quinlan's, and unlike the red colour of the Sun Hunters and all the infected creatures. "Sunlight," the Ancient whispered. "He has discovered the key that will allow him to walk in the sun. And that key lies within the blood of a sun-walker; a pureblood."

Quinlan's eyes were wide with surprise. He had never listened so intently to the Ancients speak, but this time, he listened, and he gave them all his attention.

"If he succeeds," the Ancient continued, "not only will he walk in the sun, but also those that he goes on to infect, and those that they infect. A new virus will be born, and thousands of Strigoi will walk in the light. They will rule both the day and the night, and humanity will fall. We hide because we cannot risk him finding us. He must not obtain our blood. He searched for us for many years, until he finally believed we were dead, and we thought his madness would come to an end. But then he realized there is one more pureblood out there…" the Ancient slowly raised his trembling hand, holding out his long, spindly finger as he pointed at Quinlan. "You – the born."

Chapter Text

Quinlan stared at the stone-like figure before him, skin like white marble, shrouded in rags that looked at old as the Ancient himself. His bony finger extended out from under the cloth draping over his hand, pointing towards Quinlan as he spoke the words – the Born.

Quinlan stared at the Ancient with a cautious scepticism. "How do you know what he's trying to do is even possible?" asked Quinlan.

The Ancient slowly retracted his hand and placed it on his lap with the other hand. He leaned forward and looked up at Quinlan from beneath his hood. The shimmer in his eyes flickered with the light of the candles. His mouth slowly opened to a thin gap, and a soft, raspy breath carried his words. "Because it has been done before."

A look of disbelief appeared on Quinlan's face. He glanced back towards Abraham for some sort of validation, but the old man showed no reaction. Quinlan turned back to the Ancients, his brows furrowed in perplexity.

"We were not always like this, our kind," the Ancient's voice softly resonated through the air. "We were once architects and engineers. We built cities and monuments that have stood through the times. We charted the lands and the seas, and mapped the stars in the sky before the Palaeolithic age of humanity," he articulated his words slowly and rhythmically, like poetry. "And we knew how to manipulate the genome before man carved his first words into stone. And so we experimented with our DNA, and with human DNA. But the experiments did not always bear the results we wanted..."

Quinlan stood speechless with his mouth slightly agape. His eyes briefly lowered as a thought went through his head, and then he looked up with intensity in his eyes. "Are you telling me this virus was… created?"

The Ancient remained silent. The other two Ancients on the side slowly turned their heads towards the one in the middle, who sat back in his seat and lowered his head. Perhaps his silence reflected his guilt and remorse for what his kind had done.

"All these centuries… I was never told…" Quinlan uttered in disbelief, realizing that everything he had known about the infection had been wrong. Or rather, he had known nothing at all. He did not even know the truth about the very thing that was the reason for his existence and his suffering. Quinlan stood dazed yet furious.

"We tried to destroy what we could," said the Ancient. "But the details of such experiments, we kept hidden in a place we thought no one would find. But ten years ago, the documents were stolen."

"Eicchorst…"

"Yes. Those documents contain every detail one would need to replicate the experiments. So Eicchorst already has one half of the key. The other half is your blood."

"I don't understand," said Quinlan. "Why would the Ancients experiment with the strain if they detested the idea of infecting humans?"

"When we first began, we had no idea what it would become. We have tried to fix our mistake..." the Ancient's voice trailed off as it started to carry a subtle emotion that weighed on his ability to utter his words.

"It makes me overjoyed to know I am simply your mistake," Quinlan sneered. "I have heard enough. Do not expect me to hide in some dark hole and wait out the rest of my years like you. I will not hide, but I will find those documents… and I will burn them." Quinlan clenched his fists and stepped forward towards the Ancients. "I will find every last remnant of your history and burn it to the ground."

The silence in the car heightened the noises outside. Mia could hear the wind rustling through the trees and dead leaves scraping across the pavement. In the background, far away, there was the sound of gunshots blazing through the night. The sound was no longer startling, but it had become a common instrument in the songs of the city, just like in depictions of war-torn places that used to appear on television – Aleppo, Baghdad, Kabul. Such places always seemed so unfathomable to those who lived in the illusion of safety on American soil. But now, the war was at home, and our own streets had become like those nightmarish scenes on television.

"Was this how it began in Boston?" Mia murmured, leaning her head against the cold glass of the car window. "The riots, the killings, and the spread of the infection. The same thing's happening here, isn't it?"

Malaika lay reclined in the seat with her feet up on the dashboard. "The same thing will happen everywhere. Only a matter of time," she muttered as she picked the dirt under her fingernails with the blade of her knife.

"When the time comes, will you and Quinlan leave?" There was a loneliness in Mia's voice, and Malaika noticed this. She felt sad for her for a moment, but then she remembered why she must not let her compassion cloud her mind.

"We always leave," said Malaika, "every place..."

Mia suddenly sprung up in her seat. "Shhh…" She tilted her head and listened. "Do you hear that?"

"I do not hear anything."

"No, listen. It's a car."

Malaika sat up and listened. She didn't hear anything at first, but then she heard the soft hum of an engine. A moment later, a silver pickup truck came into view, driving slowly with its lights off, approaching from the other side of the road. Malaika quickly ducked down. "Put your head down," she said to Mia.

The truck stopped a few yards in front of them on the other side of the road. The sound of its engine simmered to a silence. Malaika poked her head up and peeked from behind the steering wheel. She saw three men getting out of the truck, looking around suspiciously. As their eyes darted across the street, she quickly ducked down again. They did not seem to notice her or the car, as they were clearly distracted by more important things.

"You sure it's safe here?" one of the men asked the other, his words clearly audible in the quiet night.

"Look we're just keeping the guns here for a little while until Des can get us a clear path out of the city," the other man replied as he threw the tarp off the back of the truck and unlatched the tail. "I checked this place out," he nodded towards the old diner that they were parked in front of. "It's a shithole; no one would go in there. There's a storeroom in the back. We'll stash the guns in there until we can move 'em."

"Alright," the younger man sighed. "If you say so."

Malaika watched as the three men each picked up a crate from the back of the truck and carried them into the old diner. A few minutes later, they returned and each picked up another crate. Malaika's observed them intently; she noticed that when they carried the crates into the building, it took a few minutes for them to return to the truck – this was a window of opportunity. She grew restless as she watched them disappear into the old building once again. She wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her pants as she wriggled restlessly in her seat. Then, her impulse finally took over and she reached for the car door.

"Stay here," she said to Mia as if giving a command to a dog.

"You're not going out there, are you?" Mia fretted as she heard Malaika open her door. "Malaika, wait… Quinlan told us to…"

"You say nothing to Quinlan!" she snapped as she stepped out of the car.

"Malaika…" Mia pleaded nervously. She knew this was a very bad idea and she had a deep feeling of dread. But it was too late; again, Malaika had disappeared out of the car. "Damn it!" Mia muttered to herself. What the hell is she doing?!

Malaika crept up to the pickup truck and climbed up onto the back. It was loaded with wooden crates that were painted camo green with a symbol of a white star on top. She looked back towards the diner; the men were nowhere in sight. She then proceeded to unclip the metal latch on one of the crates and open the lid. Her eyes lit up when she saw what was inside – five M16s stacked neatly next to each other. The weapons were magnificent! A single gun would have fetched a high price on the black market, and Malaika was staring down at five of them within her grasp. She could take one and no one would notice until the crate was next opened. And based on the men's conversation, it would not be any time soon.

Malaika reached in with her sweaty hands and grabbed one of the rifles. The weight of it surprised her; it was much heavier than any gun she had handled. She tucked the weapon under her arm and closed the lid of the crate, fastening the latches as she had found them. She went to turn back to the car, but then she looked down at the other crates. The curiosity of what could be inside them was far too exciting for her to turn away. She looked towards the old diner again; there was no sign of the men. Just one more…

She picked a smaller crate this time. Perhaps it contained smaller weapons; ones that she would find more useful. But as she opened the lid, her eyes widened at what was inside. She was looking down at several green, metallic bulbs lined up neatly in a row. They were hand grenades. her heart pounded. She reached in and softly brushed her fingers across the surface of one, too afraid of its power to pick it up, but too enticed by its power to leave it.

"Hey!" a man's voice suddenly yelled out aggressively.

Malaika spun around to see three men running out of the building towards her. She jumped to her feet and turned towards the rear of the truck, but one of the men had already begun to climb up the back. With the large rifle under her arm, she hopped over the side of the truck and stumbled as she landed on the ground, dropping the gun. As she stood to her feet, large arms grabbed around her waist from behind. She grunted as she struggled against the strong arms, but it was no use; she couldn't move.

"You tryin' to steal from us, you little bitch?!" A middle aged man wearing a grey cap stepped in front of her and swung a hard punch at her jaw.

Malaika cried out as her body went limp in the arms of the man behind her. The man released his grip and she dropped to the ground. She fell onto her hands and knees. She saw blood dripping onto the ground beneath her. She could taste it in her mouth. She spat onto the ground and the red colour splattered on the pavement.

"Didn't your momma ever tell you not to touch what ain't yours?" the man with the grey cap grunted as he belted his foot into her stomach, kicking her like a football.

Oomph! The kick forced a loud breath of air out of her as she collapsed onto the ground.

"Thieving little bitch," he spat on her.

The other men watched with sadistic smiles on their faces. "Yeah, teach her a lesson man!" one of them encouraged.

"Let her go!" a stern voice suddenly shouted.

The men turned around to this voice, shifting their attention away from Malaika, who lay wincing on the ground.

Mia stood with her gun pointed towards the sound of their voices, and a sickening feeling grew in her stomach. She tried to hold her breath so that they would not see her trembling. She was afraid... she was terrified. Keep your eyes on them, Mia. Don't let them see you're blind. Don't let them see your weakness.

"Well well well… what do we have here?"

Mia quickly shifted her gun to the voice that spoke.

"Is this your little friend here?" the man with the grey cap pulled Malaika up from the ground and held her in front of him with a gun to her head.

"Don't shoot me..." Malaika pleaded. Whether it was intentional or not, she had let Mia know that the men were armed.

"Look, we don't want any trouble," Mia reasoned amicably. "Please... just let her go."

"Let her go?" the man chuckled. "She tried to take something that belonged to us."

"And now you have it back…"

"Oh it ain't that simple, sweetheart. You see, now that you two know the location of these guns... we can't just let you go."

The knot in Mia's stomach tightened and her heart pounded so heavily that she wondered if they could see it pulsating through her chest. "Please… don't kill us…" she could hear the fear in her own voice and she quickly tried to swallow it. "We won't tell anyone what we saw here."

"You think I'm fucking stupid? I ain't taking that risk."

"Then take your guns somewhere else!" she exclaimed, the desperation in her voice came out in a commanding tone.

The men laughed. The one with the cap, who appeared to be the leader of the group, smiled at her boldness. "And what compensation do you have to offer for the inconvenience, huh? Maybe we'll cut off your friend's hand... do it the old fashioned way, like how they used to treat thieves." He smirked as he pulled out a large knife from behind him and ran the blade across Malaika's cheek. "Hey Tommy, hold out her hand."

"No!" Mia halted him. "Not her... We'll work this out between you and me. Let her go and then we can talk about the compensation."

Malaika stared at Mia, puzzled. Her heart suddenly felt heavy and she wanted to cry out to Mia - Why?! Why would you risk your life for mine?! She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She was scared, but more than that, she was ashamed.

"What do you think, boys?" the leader of group asked.

"Well, this one's prettier," the third man smirked as he looked at Mia. He started to walk towards her, and as she heard his footsteps, she shifted her gun towards him, pretending to follow him with her eyes. The men seemed oblivious to her secret.

"Don't move!" Mia panted, her chest now visibly heaving up and down. The man stopped just in front her. Although he stopped at her threat, he smiled tauntingly.

As the men turned their attention towards Mia, Malaika took the opportunity to act. She kicked the man in front of her as hard as she could between his legs. He dropped to the ground and she bolted for the car. The sound of the commotion distracted Mia for a moment, and the man in front of her lunged at her, grabbing the gun in her hands. He tried to wrestle it away from her, but she held on as tightly as she could.

Recovering from the kick, the man ran after Malaika. He caught up to her just as she reached the car. He pushed her up against the door and wrapped his hands around her throat. He began to choke her. She scratched at his face. The man grunted with irritation and rammed his forehead into her face with a hard headbutt. Her arms fell limp to her sides as blood poured from her nose. He squeezed her neck tighter. Her vision started to blur and her legs began to feel weak. She could no longer fight back. Her eyes started to roll into the back of her head.

Then suddenly, the pressure around her neck eased. Blood rushed back into her head and she gasped for air. The blackness around her turned back into colour, and when her vision focused, she found herself looking right into Quinlan's face. The man who had been choking her now lay dead at his feet. Without wasting a moment, Quinlan turned and raced towards Mia, who was struggling against the other two men.

The man with the cap stood in front of her with a gun under her chin, while the other stood behind, one arm wrapped around her throat and the other hand grabbing a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. She was fighting back viciously, and the men were struggling to control her.

"Put her in the car," said the man with the cap.

"Nah, man... let's just shoot her!" the other said, as he wore her elbows in his stomach.

"I can think of other things we can do before we kill her," the man with the cap grinned as he tilted his head and looked her up and down with hungry eyes.

Quinlan heard him speak those words, and those became the words that sealed his fate. If he had not said it then perhaps he would have only suffered a quick death, but now, the rage within Quinlan was out of control. He grabbed the man by his collar and hurled him onto the bonnet of the truck. Quinlan marched towards him with fire in his eyes, his nostrils flared and lips curled, revealing the jagged edges of his teeth. His powerful hands gripped the man's skull and slammed his face onto the hard metal of the truck. If he had used all his strength, he would have killed him instantly... but he didn't. The impact broke the man's nose into pieces. Quinlan pulled his head up and slammed it down again, smearing his nose across his face, splitting his lips and sending loose teeth flying out of his bloodied mouth. Quinlan slammed his head down again, and again, and again, until the man had no face left, and the bonnet of the truck was left with a stain of blood, skin and cartilage.

Mia broke free from the man holding her, and she turned and punched him solid in the jaw. He stumbled back, and within a split second, Quinlan was there to end him with a swift twist of his neck. Quinlan dropped the body to the ground and rushed towards Mia. As she heard the eager footsteps coming towards her, she threw another punch at the approaching figure. Quinlan caught her arm, barely escaping the blow, but this only made her more frantic as she desperately lashed out at him. He had no choice but to secure her wrists and spin her around. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her still.

"It's me," he whispered. But amidst the adrenaline, she didn't hear him, and she continued to struggle relentlessly. He could feel her terror as she writhed in his arms. It was not something he ever wanted to feel. "It's alright, it's me," he whispered again, his lips close to her ear and his cheek pressed against her temple. He closed his eyes and held her tightly against him, waiting for her to calm. He could feel her heart pounding through her back as it pressed firmly against his chest. His own heart was beating fast. "Calm down..." he hushed. Slowly, she stopped fighting, but her body remained rigid, and her hands clawed tightly at his forearms that were wrapped around her.

Quinlan took a deep breath, and in the air he noticed the faint scent of her hair; it smelled like the rain. With his eyes still closed, he found himself turning his face towards her and burying his nose in her soft, damp hair. He stayed like this for a moment. A part of him wanted to savour something in this moment, but a part of him wanted nothing more than for the moment to end. Her heartbeat started to slow, and then finally she was still. Her rigid body softened and she sank into his arms.

"Quinlan…" she uttered softly.

Quinlan's eyes sprung open as if her voice suddenly woke him from a dream. He let her go and staggered back. He looked down at his arms that had just embraced her for the first time, and he stared at them, confused, as if they were not his own limbs.

She turned to him. There was a slight tremble in her lip. "Quinlan..." The fear in her eyes softened. "I'm s..."

"Quinlan!" Malaika's voice shattered the moment as she scrambled towards him, limping and wiping the blood from her face.

As he looked at her, he felt his anger returning. "You!" he growled, grabbing Malaika's arm so hard that she let out a cry. "You disobey me for the last time!"

"No, you don't understand!" Malaika cried. "They have guns. Look!"

"Get in the car!" Quinlan dragged her towards the car by her arm.

"Ow! Let me go!"

"Quinlan, stop..." Mia called, her voice still trembling. "It was my fault. I was the one that got out of the car. I… I had to use the bathroom… but then those guys showed up…"

Quinlan looked at Mia for a moment, and then let go of Malaika's arm and turned away.

Again, Malaika was staring at Mia with confusion. But then she shook it off and turned back to Quinlan. "Look in those boxes," she tried again, pointing to the truck. "We should…"

"Get in the car." Quinlan only had to speak softly this time, and Malaika complied without any protest.

Quinlan watched as Malaika walked back to the car, with her head hung down and limping from her injuries. Foolish child! He waited for her to get into the car and close the door before he approached Mia.

"You covered for her," he said.

"You knew?" Mia asked, surprised that he so easily saw through the falsity. Quinlan didn't reply. "It's not her fault," said Mia. "She's just a child."

"If she wants to survive in this world, she will learn to grow up," he growled, the anger lingering in his voice.

"Who is she to you anyway? You've never mentioned…"

"That is none of your concern," Quinlan snapped.

Mia's face changed with his sudden cold and dismissive remark. She looked somewhat annoyed, like she wanted to retort. But she didn't. Again, Quinlan immediately regretted his words.

"We should get to the lab," she said, her tone now equally as dismissive. She turned her back and started to make her way towards the car.

"Mia," Quinlan called, before he knew what he wanted to say. She stopped and turned to him. As he looked at her, he suddenly realized how close she had been to danger just now, and he might not have been there in time. The old man's words suddenly played in his mind: How long do you think you can keep her alive?

"What is it?" Mia asked, confused at Quinlan's silence after he had called to her.

Quinlan wanted to ask her if she was alright. He phrased the words in his mind – Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you? But it all sounded too… human; too emotionally driven. He could not ask her. Instead, he looked her up and down until he was reassured that she was not hurt.

"Next time, do not follow her into danger."

Chapter Text

There was a soft scraping sound that came from a glass test tube rolling slowly across the resin surface of the bench. The tube produced a soft, crystalline chime as it rolled over the edge and fell like a drop of rain, silently breaking through the air. Then a loud, sharp ring ruptured the silence as the glass tube hit the concrete floor and shattered into tiny shards. The noise woke Ephraim and he jumped, startled. He had drifted out of consciousness, with his head on his forearm, sprawled across the benchtop. He wearily sat up, wiping the saliva from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his vision was still hazy. On the bench beneath his arm were sheets of paper where he had written his notes. He hung his heavy head down, rubbing his forehead with his hand as he stared at the paper, trying to remember the last thing he was working on. But the words on the page looked like alien symbols. He knew the letters formed words, but somehow his mind could not string them together to make the words. The more he stared at it, the more his mind became noisy and clouded, like a hundred voices shouting in his head in various foreign languages. In a sudden moment of frustration, Ephraim violently grabbed the sheets of paper and scrunched them in his hands, then angrily hurled them across the room as he cried out in enragement. He then brusquely swept his arm across the benchtop, hitting the items in front of him onto the floor. Pens, papers, equipment and samples went flying off the bench. In the process, he knocked over the bottle of whiskey that was sitting on the bench.

"No no no no no!" he cried, springing to his feet and clumsily reaching for the tipped over bottle. He sat the bottle back upright, but half of its contents had already spewed onto the benchtop. Ephraim clenched his fists and his jaw, and for a moment he looked as though he was about to scream, with his fists pressed to his forehead and eyes clasped shut. But his frustration did not find release. He opened his eyes again. The room was spinning and his head felt as heavy as a bag of sand. He leaned his hands on the bench for stability and stared down at the puddle of yellow liquid on the white benchtop. Then, unable to control himself, he bent over and put his lips to the bench and slurped at the liquid.

Look at you. You're pathetic! Lapping up your drug off the table like some savage animal. Where's your goddamn dignity?!

As he tried to suck the last drop of whiskey off the bench, his eyes were suddenly drawn across the room to a figure standing at the window in the corridor outside. Ephraim's heart jumped as he lifted his head from the bench. The broken fluorescent light in the corridor was still flickering, and the image of a woman stood like a hallucination in the trickery of the flashing light. Her skin was as white as a sheet, with dark brown hair falling in front of her, hiding her face in its shadow. She was dressed in a floral summer dress despite the chilling cold. She stood stiff like a corpse, arms by her side, her head slightly tilted and her face close to the window as she peered into the room, watching him; watching his shame. Ephraim rubbed his eyes and stared, squinting, at the ghostly apparition. She stood silent and unmoving.

Suddenly, the lights in the building turned off. There was a power failure, not surprisingly due to the poor maintenance of the facility, and Ephraim was surrounded by complete darkness.

"Kelly?" he called out. He tried to look around the room, and before his mind could process the fact that he was in pitch blackness, the backup generator kicked in and the dim, yellow emergency lights around the facility buzzed to a soft glow. Ephraim immediately looked towards the window where he had seen her, but she was already gone. He stumbled across the room, holding onto the bench as he walked. He could not control his legs and the room was spinning. He reached for the door handle and almost lost his balance as he grabbed it. He pulled open the door and stumbled into the hallway. The emergency lights illuminated the long, eerie corridor, with its rows of windows along the wall, looking into dark laboratories.

Ephraim did not notice how loud his breaths were in the dead silence of the building. He looked down one end of the corridor – nothing but an empty void that seemed to stretch into oblivion. Since when was this hallway so damn long? Then he looked down the other end, and suddenly, there she was, standing like a ghostly figure, looming silent and motionless at the end of the long walkway, as if she was just waiting, and watching.

Ephraim slowly approached her, dragging his feet as he walked. He suddenly noticed that she was covered in blood. He could have sworn there was no blood on her just a moment ago. The red liquid seeped from the side of her neck and covered the front of her dress in a large red stain.

"K… Kelly…" Ephraim slurred. "There's blood on you. Wh… what happened?"

He stumbled down the hallway towards her. But no matter how many steps he took, she remained the same distance in front of him. He just could not get close to her. He hastened his pace to panicked steps, stumbling even more as he pulled himself along the wall. She simply stood staring at him, eyes like hollow black holes as the details of her face remained hidden in the shadows. Her skin lacked colour and had a coldness about it that seemed deathly. The chilling sight would have frightened the life out of Ephraim if he had any rationality left intact. But at that moment, although he felt a vague sense of fear, he also felt a deep longing.

"Where… where's Zack?" Ephraim asked the woman.

Without ever seeing her move, the woman was now standing with her arm stretched out in front of her, pointing her rigid finger towards Ephraim.

"What?" Ephraim perplexed, tilting his head as he looked at her. "You pointing at me?" He pointed to himself, poking his finger at his chest as he collapsed, leaning against the wall.

"Behind you," a voice in Ephraim's head whispered.

Ephraim spun around. Then, his mouth fell agape and his heart twisted in a knot. At the other end of the hallway stood a boy, about ten years of age. His appearance was obscured by the dimness of the light, but Ephraim recognised his silhouette – the shape of his hair, the size of his shoulders, his height and his posture as he stood.

"Zack?" Ephraim cried out as tears flowed uncontrollably from his eyes. What he would give to be able to see his son again – just one more time. His heart pounded. He pushed himself off the wall and ran towards the boy. But just like before, the corridor seemed to stretch longer and longer, and no matter how much he ran, he could not reach the boy.

"Zack, I'm coming! Wait for me, Zack! Wait for me…" Ephraim cried as tears welled in his blurry eyes. The boy reached out his arms to him. The pain in Ephraim's heart was immense. He would have walked to the edge of the world just to be able to see his son again. It was all he ever wanted; to look into the face of his child once more, for all the times he didn't look because his head was buried in his work. For all the times he muttered short replies without even turning his head to the boy beside him, who was trying to speak to his father. It was too late to regret the things he had taken for granted. Ephraim ran as fast as he could. He was no longer stumbling. He was determined. I'll be there this time. I won't fail you. I promise I won't fail you this time!

Then suddenly, Ephraim found himself running towards an empty corridor. There was nothing in front of him. He stopped and looked around, panicked. But each time he turned his head, hallway turned with him. The whole building turned with him. And no matter which direction he looked, he would always find himself staring down an empty corridor.

"No!" he wailed, collapsing onto the floor, slamming his fists on the ground. He buried his head in his hands, sobbing through gritted teeth in pain and frustration. He let his body collapse freely onto the cold concrete floor as he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. His chest heaved up and down. Slowly, he began closed his eyes. In this position, he was starting to find a solemn comfort. It felt like dying, or what he imagined dying would feel like. He was ready to give up. But then he heard footsteps echo softly down the empty hallway. He tilted his head back and looked behind him as he lay on his back. Everything was upside down. He could not tell if he was upside down, or if the world itself was upside down.

In the distance, he saw the figure of the woman and the boy walking away, hand in hand, down the never-ending corridor.

"No Kelly, please…" Ephraim pleaded. "Please don't take him away from me again." He struggled as he rolled over onto his stomach. He stretched out his arm on the floor in front of him, reaching towards the two figures as they walked further and further away. "I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he cried, desperate. "Just let me see his face…"

Weak, useless piece of shit! Get up! Don't let them walk away.

"Zach," he called out. The boy suddenly stopped. He stood under one of the dim lights that illuminated the hallway. The light revealed his brown hair, cut in the same style that Ephraim remembered, and his checkered shirt that he wore the last time Ephraim saw him. Slowly, the boy began to turn his head. Ephraim's heart stopped and the moment seemed to pause in time. His eyes quivered as he tried not to blink. He didn't want to miss a single second. But just before the moment happened, the woman gave the boy's hand a tug, and the boy turned back and continued to walk away.

Ephraim felt his soul tear apart. He clenched his fists and grunted through his teeth before his voice allowed words to form. "Let me see his face, Kelly!" Ephraim screamed, spitting from his mouth. "Let me see my son!" He knew he could never fix the mistakes he had made, but all he wanted now was the chance to say goodbye. He never got to say goodbye. "Just one last time… let me see his…"

The two figures faded into the darkness and Ephraim's eyes fell shut.

Chapter Text

"Great! You got it!" Mia exclaimed as she looked up at the glow of lights around the building. "Maybe Eph didn't know where to find the switchboard so he couldn't get the power back up." She tugged at Quinlan's arm. "Come on," she hurried, pulling him away from the switchboard. "Let's get inside."

Quinlan couldn't help but notice how comfortable she seemed around him. Was she always like this? he thought to himself. He supposed she was – always reaching for his hand, always wrapping herself around his arm when she was scared, and turning to him for reference like he was her true north; always so certain that he would not hurt her – the sort of trust that no one ever placed in his hands. He let her pull him wherever she wanted to go, even though he was supposed to be the one leading her. He only took the lead again when she gave him the subtle signal – a slow of her steps, a turn of her face towards him, and that submissive look in her eyes that told him she relied on him. Quinlan suddenly found his hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the dark space outside the building. He had always been more comfortable with his hand placed chastely at her arm behind the elbow. But this time, he did not stop to think about it too much, and she didn't seem to mind.

As they approached the small door at the side of the building, Mia suddenly slowed and took a deep breath. This scene was all too familiar to her – she remembered the last time she walked through that door to look for a friend. Her stomach turned. Quinlan saw the nervousness on her face, but there was nothing he could have said. He was not going to give her words of comfort, such as "I'm sure he's fine", because it was likely to be untrue, and they both knew it.

She slowed for only a moment, but then she released the breath that she had been holding, and that look of determination, which Quinlan had come to grow rather fond of, appeared on her face again. She suppressed her fears and doubts and marched forward through the door. Quinlan watched the subtle changes in her face that revealed so much of what was going on inside her. One could only read her if they really tried, and Quinlan enjoyed doing so. Malaika followed behind them, and it was Quinlan that she was watching and observing. When she saw the way he looked at Mia, she did not make any snide remarks in her native tongue like she normally would. This time, she felt a strange feeling in her chest and she stayed quiet.

Inside the building, they walked the same familiar path down the eerie hallway where Mia and Quinlan first encountered the infected, and then into the grand lobby, taking the elevator to the third floor.

Quinlan pushed open the swinging doors into the East Wing, and as he looked down the long, white hallway, his eyes immediately fell upon an unconscious body lying on the cold, concrete floor. It was Doctor Goodweather. He was lying on his stomach with one arm stretched out in front of him and the other tucked under his chest, and his legs were randomly thrown out behind him as if no thought had been given to their placement.

Quinlan discerned the ominous situation. "Wait here," he said, letting go of Mia as he slowly approached the scene.

"What is it?" Mia asked anxiously.

Quinlan did not reply. There was no point in alarming her if the doctor was in fact alive. And if he was dead... well, Quinlan wasn't sure what then. Perhaps he dreaded Mia's reaction more than he dreaded the actual death of Doctor Goodweather. Not that the doctor's death wouldn't have some sort of effect on Quinlan, in some way. He would have given it some thought, perhaps a deep, long sigh, and some brief ceremony of farewell in his mind. But in the end, it would've been just another day.

"[Is he alive?]" asked Malaika, thankfully in her native language so Mia was still unaware of the sight in front of her.

As Quinlan approached, he heard the doctor's heart beating softly and steadily. Quinlan felt somewhat relieved.

"He is alive," said Quinlan. "But I am unsure of his condition."

"Where is he?" Mia rushed forward. She would have landed right on top of the unconscious doctor if Quinlan had not stepped in front of her and almost caught her in his arms.

"He is in front of you," Quinlan replied, holding her back. "On the floor."

A look of worry flushed over Mia's face as she quickly crouched down and scanned the scene with her hands. She found Ephraim's leg and used it as reference to crawl up to where his head lay. She kneeled beside him and bent down, lowering her face to his. She could hear his soft breaths and feel the warm puffs of air on her cheek at his every exhale. Then she turned her face towards his and paused for a moment. Quinlan watched her, perplexed, wondering what she was doing.

"Oh god," Mia muttered, pulling her head up. She let out a deep sigh, and then chuckled. "He's drunk."

"How do you know?" Quinlan asked.

"He reeks of alcohol – it's all over him. Can't you smell it?" she tilted her head at Quinlan, almost confused as to why he was not able to detect it.

"Perhaps I am used to him smelling this way," Quinlan muttered.

Mia gave Quinlan a quizzical look that indicated a question, which she then chose not to pursue. "Come on, let's get him somewhere comfortable," she said, pulling at Ephraim's arm and not really succeeding in moving him at all. "Help me get him up."

"He looks comfortable enough where he is," Quinlan scoffed as he stood unmoving.

"Quinlan," Mia intoned with a frown that showed her annoyance. She began to say something, but a grunt from Ephraim turned her attention back to him. The doctor was beginning to come to consciousness as he rolled onto his back, grunting and gurgling.

"Kelly?" Ephraim murmured softly.

Mia opened her mouth to reply, but her sudden speechlessness turned into a slight gasp. With merely a mention of a name, it revealed an untold tale about a man. And somehow, Mia sensed that this tale was full of tragedy.

"It's me, Mia," she said. But Ephraim appeared to drift out of consciousness again. Mia struggled as she pushed his torso into an upright position, leaning his weight against her body as he swayed like a tree in the wind. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and tried to hoist him up, but he was far too heavy. For some reason, Quinlan found himself simply watching her struggle with the endeavour rather than going to help. But then, much to his surprise, Malaika walked over to Mia and kneeled down beside her. She pulled Ephraim's other arm over her shoulder and started pulling him up. Quinlan watched, somewhat bemused, as together they managed to get Ephraim onto his feet. The doctor started to wake again. His legs peddled beneath him as he tried to find his feet.

"Come on Eph, try to stand up," Mia struggled.

A thought trailed off in Quinlan's mind before he finally moved forward to help. He gently nudged Mia out of the way and took hold of the doctor. With Quinlan bearing most of his weight, they were able to move him with ease, also helped by the fact that Ephraim was now attempting to take steps himself. They helped him into the lounge area of the West Wing, which Ephraim had made into his own living quarters, and Quinlan coarsely dumped him onto the couch like a pile of rags.

"Easy there," Mia gently reprimanded. "He's gonna wake up pretty rough as it is – let's not make it any worse for him."

Ephraim grunted as he opened his eyes and scanned the three figures standing over him. His eyes stopped at Mia. "Hey…" he mumbled in half consciousness.

"Hey…" Mia smiled, sitting down on the edge of the couch beside him. Her hands patted the couch around her as if she was searching for something. "Quinlan, see if you can find something to put over him," she instructed. "He'll freeze like this." She placed her hand on his forehead to feel his temperature. His skin was cold, but only as cold as her own hand.

Quinlan showed a slight reluctance on his face, like any time someone told him to do something. Perhaps it was a habitual response, untrue to the fact that he really didn't mind, at least not this time.

Mia felt a large plush pile drop onto her lap. "Thanks," she muttered as she unfolded the large blanket and pulled it over Ephraim. She made sure it covered him entirely, up to his chin, tucking in all the edges around him. "Here you go," she whispered softly.

Quinlan stood watching her, almost analysing her every action. She was kind and gentle – perhaps more so than usual. Is this simply a display of human compassion? Quinlan found himself wondering, despite the fact that he normally regarded himself as being indifferent to such human affairs. But somehow, he was unable to remove the seed that Vasiliy had planted in his head earlier that night. Perhaps the seed had already taken deep roots.

Ephraim's vision began to focus on Mia's face as she sat beside him, staring down at him with her big eyes that always looked so worried. She looked like a painting, framed by her long, brown hair that highlighted the femininity of her features. Ephraim stared up at her with weary eyes.

"Is that an angel I see before me?" he mumbled.

"No, it's just me," she laughed softly in a way that was both endearing and somewhat pitying.

Ephraim reached up and cupped her face with his hand. Mia froze at his unexpected touch.

"God you're so beautiful," he whispered, almost breathless as if he was experiencing a moment of divinity. Mia, startled and speechless, turned her head away from Ephraim's hand and blushed profusely.

Quinlan captured her every expression in that moment, and he turned away in discomfort. Suddenly, he felt like an outsider looking in through someone's window and seeing the delicate moments between two people; between a man and a woman.

Has it really been so long that I've forgotten what it's like?

Quinlan lowered his gaze. He felt as though his presence was nothing more than an intrusion in their world. He looked towards Malaika, hoping to find some way out of this moment. But something else had already captured Malaika's attention – she had found a television in the corner of the room, and a DVD player that was still working. She had flicked through the many DVDs that were on a nearby shelf, and had chosen one to play. The cover looked interesting to her – a man with pale skin and scars on his face, with wiry black hair, and scissors for hands. Malaika's eyes were completely captivated by what was on the screen.

Quinlan sighed as he turned and walked out of the room, walking slowly as if his thoughts weighed down on him. He found his way back into the laboratory. He paced around the room, stepping over the items on the floor, and looking at random objects on the shelves and benches. But he looked at things without really seeing them at all; his mind was elsewhere.

Mia took Ephraim's hand and gently lowered it, tucking it back underneath the blanket. Her cheeks were still blushed. "Just get some sleep, ok?" She dismissed his drunken behaviour. "I'm gonna stay here tonight, so just call out if you need anything."

Ephraim was silent. Mia waited a while before realizing he was already fast asleep. She stood up and smiled to herself, hearing the comforting sound of the TV in this otherwise lifeless place, and knowing that her friends – if she could call them that – were close by. And she was relieved that, for once, tonight's outcome was not an awful one. She found her way out of the room and back into the laboratory in the East Wing.

"It seems like you have no trouble finding your way," Quinlan commented as he watched her walk into the room.

Somehow, she knew he would be there, and she smiled when she found that she was right. "It's easy when you know the layout of a place," she said. "You just follow the walls." Though immediately after saying that, she kicked a glass bottle that was on the floor and stumbled a little. She stopped and looked around the room like the motion was habit, even though she could not see. "So what's the status in here?"

"This place looks worse than when we first found it," Quinlan snickered a little.

Mia sighed as she found her way to Quinlan, who was standing by the bench where Ephraim had been working. She searched for a stool that she knew would be nearby, and as she found it, she sat upon it and rested her elbow on the bench, and her cheek in her hand. She could smell a strong scent of liquor under her nose. Her other hand did not have to wander far to find the bottle of whiskey in front of her. She brought the bottle to her nose and took in the smell – it was sweet and warm. She set the bottle back on the bench and delicately traced the rim with her finger, round and around in circles. She closed her eyes for a moment – she was tired and it had been a long night.

"Where are you?" she murmured, opening her sleepy eyes as she listened to the silence around her, unable to hear him.

"Right here," Quinlan spoke softly from beside her, much closer than she had expected.

She relaxed a little more upon hearing the closeness of his voice. It always had a way of making her feel safe. She let out a deep breath that she felt as though she had been holding for a long time. "Well, here we are… And who would've thought this would be the least exciting part of the night."

"Were you hoping for a more exciting conclusion to the night than finding Doctor Goodweather simply drunk and incapacitated?"

Mia chuckled. "No, I'm just glad he's alright." She let out a yawn and rubbed her eyes. "So what happened tonight with that old man? What did he want you to see?"

"The Ancients," Quinlan replied. "They are alive after all."

Mia mused for a moment. "Will they help us?"

"No," Quinlan answered frankly.

"Hm…" That was the extent of Mia's response. Normally she would have followed up with questions, but she was tired, and there were other thoughts that weighed more on her mind than whatever it was about these so-called Ancients. "You saved my life again tonight," she changed the topic. "You must be getting real sick of it."

"Awfully," Quinlan smiled.

"You know… one day, I just might return the favour," Mia grinned, her head tilted as it rested in her hand, looking up towards him.

"You already did."

"What do you mean?" she puzzled.

"The man you killed in the alleyway – he was holding a knife, and he was coming towards me. My back was turned and somehow I did not realise… until I heard your gun."

Mia looked up. Her eyes were suddenly awake, and she sat up, more attentive than before. "Could he have killed you?"

"Only if the knife penetrated my heart"

"Oh..." she muttered as her shoulders slumped forward a little. She took the bottle of whiskey into her hands again, senselessly fiddling with object.

"Why the doleful reaction?" Quinlan asked as he stared at her analytically.

"No, I was just thinking," she adjusted her posture, suddenly aware of her reaction. "You've lived for hundreds of years, and survived so many battles... yet all it would've taken was some thug on the street..." she shook her head. "It doesn't seem fair."

"Well, I am still here," Quinlan said softly in a way that sounded reassuring.

"Yeah..." she looked up and smiled.

"I have taken many blades through my body. Fortunately, most humans seem to attack with passion rather than precision."

Mia smiled, biting her lip. It made her appear somewhat shy, in a charming way, and it made Quinlan unable to look away. She raised the bottle of whiskey in front of her. "Well, here's to passion," she toasted. She brought the bottle to her lips, tilted her head back and let a generous amount of the smooth liquid flow into her mouth and down her throat, warming every inch of her along the way. She coughed a little as she tilted her head back down and laughed somewhat girlishly as she wiped a stray droplet of whiskey from her chin. "I haven't had a drink in about six years!" She coughed again and crinkled her face. "This stuff is so much stronger than I remember."

Without even realising, Quinlan was smiling as he watched her. At that moment, he wanted nothing from her, not even to share the moment with her, but he was perfectly happy to simply be a spectator; to simply watch her and see her smile. Her liveliness not only brought him amusement, but the smallest ray of light in this dark world. It was not much, but anyone who has been in the dark knows how bright the smallest light can shine.

Mia set the bottle back down on the bench. "I would offer you some, but I'm not sure if you drink…"

"There's only one thing in this room I can drink," he purred softly.

Mia puzzled for a moment before she realized what he meant. "Oh!" she blushed, looking down shyly. She couldn't help but feel as though the comment may have been somewhat flirtatious in nature. She suddenly found herself excited at the possibility.

That's absurd! She quickly shook the thought from her head. Though part of her didn't really care about any absurdities at that point.

"So… if you were to… you know…" Mia faltered, "I would be infected, right?"

"No. I do not carry the worms. I cannot infect anyone."

"Really?" she raised her brows. "That's incredible! I mean, scientifically speaking."

"And I suppose now you want a scientific examination?" There was a despondent resignation in his voice and Mia did not like how it sounded.

"I would never ask that of you," she said with a serious expression. "You're no more a scientific subject to me than I am food to you... or at least I hope," she added with a playful smile. "Although... being the only thing here you can drink..."

"I can, but it does not mean I would," Quinlan cut in before she could finish her sentence. He could tell she was only being facetious, but he did not like the thought of it. "It is never an option."

"But if I can't be infected, then would it really matter?"

"Of course it matters." Quinlan's brows furrowed.

"Why?" she asked curiously. "What would happen if you did?"

"People romanticise the notion of drinking blood," he sounded slightly annoyed. "There is nothing romantic about it. It is vile and savage – an act of brutality." His eyes lowered diffidently as he paused, hesitating before his next words. "I would never do that to you," he muttered softly as he turned away.

Mia sat blankly for a moment, unsure of why there was suddenly a strange feeling in her chest, like a warmth in her veins that made her blood run a little quicker, and her heart beat a little faster. Then suddenly, she realized that this was perhaps his way of telling her, "I would never hurt you". He didn't say it directly, and he didn't try to convince her, but she believed it more than she ever believed any other man. She stood up from her seat and stood before him.

"Quinlan..." she whispered.

He turned around, somewhat taken aback by how close she was standing. Her eyes were soft and gentle, and almost longing. He had not seen that expression on her face before.

She could picture him standing before her, so close she could almost feel him – his strong yet battle-worn body that was not as imperishable as she had thought, his arms that she knew she would feel so safe within, and his chest that she so badly wanted to rest her head upon and be comforted by the sound of his beating heart. But it was not just comfort that she sought, it was him. Suddenly, she realized her feelings for him had somehow changed into something else. She didn't know since when, but at least at that moment, she couldn't deny the way she felt. For a long time, she thought those feelings inside her were dead. It was strange, or perhaps not strange at all, that they would be awoken by someone who was not even a man. But at the same time, he was more of a man to her than anyone she had ever met. Her gaze fell. She took a step towards him, her head almost right under his chin. She lifted her hands and placed them gently upon his chest.

Quinlan stood stunned and wide eyed, staring at her, unable to move. His arms kept by his side, not even moving slightly to reciprocate her touch. The confusion within him was like torture.

Mia closed her eyes. She tilted her head up towards him and leaned in. Her fingers played softly on his chest, too timid and uncertain to rest upon him entirely. She leaned in closer, lifting slightly onto her toes, and stopped, waiting for him to meet her the rest of the distance.

Quinlan resisted the urge to believe that she could've wanted anything from him other than momentary comfort after everything that had happened. Perhaps she was scared and confused. Or she purposely wanted to do something foolish to distract herself from her troubles. No, he couldn't let her do that. He couldn't let himself. With immense agony, he took Mia's hands and lifted them from his chest. He let her hands fall to her side as he let go of them and stepped back away from her.

Mia's eyes darted open and there was a look of horror on her face. She froze, as if confused by what had just happened.

"I'm sorry," she finally uttered. Her humiliation turned into a sickening feeling in her stomach. "I just thought…" she lowered her head. "I thought..." you wanted this. She cupped her hands over her gasping mouth, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry."

Quinlan's heart crushed within his chest. He didn't know why he moved away from her just now, and he would never know why. But what's done is done, and he had saved her from making a horrible mistake.

"Well... say something...?"

His silence did not help her anxiety. And how cruel Quinlan felt to let her suffer in her humiliation. But there was simply nothing he felt he could say.

"The sun is rising," Quinlan murmured. "I have to go. There are things I must do…" he turned away reluctantly.

"Please... don't leave because of this," her quivering eyes begged. "I shouldn't have done that. You're the only friend I have..." her voice trailed off.

Quinlan found his words difficult to speak, and he was surprised at how soft and broken his voice came out. "You have more friends than you realize. And right now, one of them needs you."

He could not look at her a moment longer. He turned and walked out of the room and did not look back.

Quinlan left after a quick word with Malaika. "Stay with them tonight," he told her. "They could use your help." Malaika did not ask why he appeared so despondent as he left in such a hurry; she simply nodded.

Quinlan walked out into the night. The sun was close beneath the horizon and it would be morning soon. He did not have long to hunt, but that night, he wanted to kill; he wanted to slay those creatures with such savagery that it would leave him with nothing but exhilaration.

May the Gods have mercy on whatever damned soul is out on the streets tonight.

Chapter Text

Another shipment had arrived, and just like every time, there was a small celebration at the underground settlement that Nemesis called 'home'. There was music and alcohol, and boisterous gatherings, waiting with excitement to receive their share of the plunders.

Desmond Hale – the man, the god, worshipped by his people – stood with a crowd gathered around him as he opened the wooden crate with a crowbar. He threw the lid off the first crate and then stood back and raised his arms up beside him, taking a deep breath as if savouring some scent in the air.

"The good Lord will provide for his people," he preached in his crude Texan accent. "He will not let the righteous starve, but He will punish the wicked for their sins."

He reached into the crate and pulled out several packages of food. One by one, he handed them to Dutch, who stood faithfully at his side, and then she distributed them amongst the noisy crowd, whose greedy hands reached forward to grab them.

"We worked hard for this, boys and girls," Des encouraged, throwing the packages out into the crowd. "You've earned it. All of you! Now let me hear some music!"

The people cheered loudly as the music turned up through the speakers. Des tossed the crowbar to a man beside him and nodded for him to open the remaining crates. "It's all yours!"

He grabbed Dutch's arm and pulled her through the crowd, weaving through the masses of people who all turned to pat him on the back as he passed, along with words of gratitude. He walked a proud man, and did not stop to return any words to the people. He pulled Dutch into a small walkway, away from the crowd and the noise. The music was softer now, but its beat could still be heard reverberating through the space. And every now and then, bright spots of light would pass across the walls from the crowd behind, wildly waving their flashlights like it were a disco ball. Des suddenly stopped and pushed Dutch firmly against the wall.

"Mm, do I finally get you alone?" Dutch moaned, dampening her lips with her tongue.

But the look on Des' face quickly turned sour and it was obvious that he was in no mood to play.

"What the hell is this?" he seethed with a quiet yet frightening anger.

Dutch's smile immediately faded. "What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"What do I mean?" He laughed sardonically. "What do I mean…" he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Dutch recognised that tone in his voice, and she was suddenly afraid.

Des leaned in close and stared unnervingly into her eyes. "There were supposed to be six crates of guns and ammunition. But instead, we got four crates of food." He spoke slowly as if speaking to a child who could not understand. "Now, do you see the problem here?"

"Well, we always need the food…"

"We need guns!" he roared, slamming his fist into the wall behind her, barely missing her head. She gasped in fright. He started to pace back and forth in front of her. She stayed with her back pressed against the wall, cautiously studying him to decipher his mood so that she would not say the wrong thing.

"It's that General, I tell you," he pointed his finger at Dutch as he paced like a maniac. "That fat old piece of military shit. He's playing us."

"But I thought we had an agreement. We're giving him what he wants. Why would he screw us over?"

"What do we give him? A few ounces of blow every couple of weeks. You think that's enough to buy a man's loyalty?" Des tilted his head and stared at her like she was some sort of idiot. She lowered her head. He sighed as he stopped pacing and stood with his arms on his hips, looking down as if he was thinking. "We need to make sure he's on our side. We need to be a little more convincing with the benefits of our mutual friendship."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

Des took a moment before he spoke. "I'm supposed to be meeting him in two hours to discuss business. I want you to go instead."

"Why?" Dutch puzzled.

"Perhaps you could be a little more convincing. You know, he's always had a thing for you," he grinned as if it was some sort of compliment. "I can tell by the way he looks at you. You can always see it in a man's eyes."

Her brows furrowed in repulsion. "What are you saying?" she looked at him intently, fearing the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

"I'm saying – see what you can do to make sure he's more cooperative in the future."

"And what would I have to do?" her voice trembled.

Des looked at her with narrow eyes that were cold and resolute. "Whatever it takes."

Her mouth fell agape and for a moment, she could not speak. "No…" she shook her head. "You can't ask me to do that…"

He walked over and put his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "I'm not asking you to do anything," he said softly, staring into her eyes. "But I'm telling you, if we lose intel on the shipments, and other important information that the General so kindly shares with us, then it's over for us – for Nemesis." He leaned back and tilted her chin up to look at him. "Do you understand how important it is that we have the General's full cooperation?"

"There's got to be another way," she pleaded desperately. "Maybe we can give him a cut…"

"Of what? His own shipments?" Des laughed.

"So, what, you're just going to sell me off like some whore?!"

"Look around you, Dutch! Look at this fucking world we live in!" he burst with sudden infuriation. "Some of us are selling our goddamn souls just to keep this place alive! I created this life for you – for everyone here. There are girls up there selling their bodies every fucking night just to stay alive. Is that what you prefer?"

Dutch stared at him, speechless, fighting back the tears in her eyes. Des sighed as he calmed his anger, looking down and combing his long blonde hair back with his fingers. He stayed with his head down for a moment, and when he looked up again, his expression was suddenly different – it was soft and almost apologetic.

"Look, I just want you to talk to him, that's all. It probably won't take any more than that."

"Probably? You're willing to send me to that filthy pig based on the fact that I probably won't have to…"

"Jesus Dutch, why do you always gotta make it so hard for me, huh?" His frustration simmered beneath the surface, and his clenched fist showed a moment of rage, but then it was gone. "Look, I said 'probably' because there's no such thing as certainty in this world, ok?" The softness returned in his eyes, and he tilted his head at her in an affectionate way. "I know you'll be fine. You always have a way of making a man helpless," he lifted her chin and stared into her eyes with the same devilish smile across his face. "Just like how you made me helpless the first time I saw you. Do you remember what I told you that night?"

Dutch nodded. She remembered the night she met him – the stranger who sold her the guns, and in return stole her heart. She remembered he smiled at her with that charming smile, and then he shared with her his dream, and in it, she found everything she longed for. And she remembered what he told her that night.

"I said – the world will be ours one day. And you thought I was crazy, but look at us now – we're creating a new world here. But I can't do this by myself; I'm gonna need your help. You understand?"

The admiration she felt for him battled the repulsion she felt for what he was asking her to do. Her once strong heart and her self-worth dwindled in his hands. She fought to hold on to what she had left. But in the end, he won – he always won. Because he knew she had given herself to him completely, and to the cause. She had left everything behind, and now there was no turning back. The look in her eyes showed surrender and acceptance.

Des smiled and kissed her on the lips. "Do whatever you gotta do to convince him."

Dutch waited on the street corner, carefully wiping the tears from her eyes so that it would not smudge her makeup. She wished she had taken something before she came out here; but there was no liquor strong enough to wash away these feelings. She shivered in the cold, and shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. She compulsively checked her watch every few seconds. Then, right on midnight, not a minute early and not a minute late, a dark coloured Jeep rolled quietly into the street with its lights off. It stopped in front of her, and the man in the driver's seat leaned over and pushed open the passenger side door. Dutch felt a sickening feeling in her stomach as she approached the vehicle. But as she sat into the seat, she forced the sweetest smile on her face that she could find.

"Hello Kurtis."

"I thought I was supposed to be meeting Des," the large man mumbled in his deep voice.

"He couldn't make it, so I'm here instead," Dutch smiled. "Hope you're not disappointed."

"Disappointed?" He let out a laugh that sounded somewhat like a dying man wheezing. "I'm never disappointed to see you, Dutch."

The General turned off the engine of the car and removed his hat, revealing his greying hair that was kept in a crew cut. Then he tugged at the collar of his uniform that seemed constricting around his thick neck.

"So, you got something for me?" the General grunted in a deep, guttural voice, as he stared her up and down with his violating gaze.

For a moment, her heart sank. Her mind immediately turned to her fears, but then she remembered – "Oh, yes, of course." She pulled out a small white package from her pocket.

The General coarsely grabbed it out of her hand with his thick fingers that were as proportionately wide as the rest of him. He wasn't exactly a fat man – perhaps he had even been very muscular in his youth. However, with old age, his body had softened, but still retained its width. And his belly now hung over his belt as he sat uncomfortably in the seat. He looked at the small parcel in his hand, and then turned to Dutch with a scowl. "What is this? That's barely an ounce."

"That's all we have. It's getting harder to get our hands on this stuff now."

"Yeah, it's hard to get your hands on anything these days," he muttered, as he pulled out a cigar from the front pocket of his shirt and flicked a lighter to light it. Dutch cringed as she watched his thick lips sucking at the stick, making wet puckering sounds. He opened the window a small crack and turned his head towards it as he let out the smoke. Dutch tried not to stare at him, and she tried not to think about it.

"I guess that's why we're here – to talk about resources." She cleared her throat and hesitated a little before continuing, "So… the shipment of guns you promised us turned out to be a shipment of food…"

"We've lost a lot of guns in the last couple of weeks. And now these gangs and rioters are popping up on the streets with our AKs – it's gonna raise a lot of questions. So I'm afraid I can't give you any guns." He took another puff of his cigar and then leaned towards her with a crooked grin. "But I got something else for ya."

"What?" Dutch asked nervously.

"There's another shipment coming in that you might be interested in."

"Ok, what are the details?"

"Three tanker trucks full of of gasoline coming in on Interstate 78, five days from today," the General spoke concisely. "I can spare one of them. But be prepared, 'cause they're gonna be heavily guarded."

"How many men?"

"Anywhere between ten to fifteen."

"Why so many?" Dutch asked, surprised.

"Because your boys keep robbing 'em, that's why," he grumbled in his coarse voice as the smoke escaped from his lips. "We've had to increase our security measures."

"And what about guns?" Dutch pressed insistently. "When do we get guns?"

The General laughed, staring at her with his invasive eyes. "I don't usually take well to people making demands. But because I like you, I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate…"

"Woah, I ain't done yet," the General smirked, tugging at his collar again. "You see, it's also gonna depend on what you can do for me."

Dutch lowered her eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and that sick feeling in her stomach weakened her body. "And what would you like me to do for you?" she tried to hide the uncontrollable tremble in her voice.

"Come on now, don't be coy. We both know why you're here instead of Des," the General leaned over and brushed her hair off her shoulder. "He wouldn't send someone else to do his business dealings unless they can offer something that he can't." He grinned as he moved his hand onto her lap.

Dutch swallowed her disgust and fought the urge to flinch from his touch. She let him move his hand up her thigh. She tried not to look at his repulsive face as he violated her with his hungry eyes.

"Well, if you were hoping for that then you're out of luck. It's that time of the month," she shrugged. "You really don't want to go anywhere near that... unless you're one of those bloodsuckers," she laughed nervously, trying to pass it off as somewhat of a joke.

"Ha! You're a funny girl, Dutch," the General cackled. "Don't worry, there are other things..." His stubby fingers fumbled his belt buckle and freed the belt from around his large gut. Then he unzipped his pants and reached in with his hand to pull out his repugnant tool, already throbbing in anticipation. She could not hide the horror on her face as she stared down at it, gritting her teeth at the thought of what she would have to do. The General had that same crooked grin on his face, and before she could come to terms with the heinous task before her, he reached over and hooked his hand around her head and pulled her down into his lap.

Dutch clamped her eyes shut. The putrid stench of the unwashed body part violated her nostrils, and she clenched her fists, digging her nails into her flesh, fighting the urge to regurgitate. She held her breath. His hand continued to push down on the back of her head. She tried her hardest to not let him feel her reluctance, but her body reactively tried to pull away.

"Come on, you gonna do this or not?" he grunted impatiently.

The ashes from his cigar fell into her hair, and the smoke from his last breath masked the rancid smell of his body. A part of her knew it would come to this, but then, a part of her had been too hopeful, and those hopes betrayed her. Then, the moment came and she surrendered her worth, her dignity, and her sense of self, as she wrapped her lips around him and committed to pleasing him as best as she could. The large man grunted like a pig as he moved her head up and down, violating her throat without any concern for her comfort. Tears seeped from her tightly shut eyes, and several times she thought she would certainly throw up. But somehow, her mind managed to escape, to let the body take over and do what it had to do, like a machine without any consciousness.

It was over quickly, yet it felt like an eternity. He finished in her mouth and she had no choice but to swallow the foul fluid, gagging as her throat constricted involuntarily. The General leaned back with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. His normally red cheeks were flushed even more than usual, and he sighed long and deep in selfish gratification. He did not turn to look at her, but she was relieved because she could not let him see the tears in her eyes. She quickly wiped them.

"You got one hell of a mouth on you," he grunted, still leaning back with his eyes closed. "Maybe one day I'll get to find out what the rest of you is like."

"Who knows, maybe you will." She did not think about the words that were coming out of her mouth. She simply let herself say whatever her unconscious mind deemed appropriate.

"We should arrange another meeting to talk about the guns."

"Yeah, well, you know where to find me," she forced a smile.

He turned to her and smirked, "Always a pleasure doing business with you."

There was no ceremony to end their encounter. The General simply motioned for her to get out of the car, and he drove away without a word.

As soon as the car left her sight, she fell to her knees and leaned over the gutter. The sick feeling in her stomach took over. She could not contain it, and she heaved involuntarily. Then the burning acid from her stomach came up her throat and spewed all over the pavement. The reality of what had just happened set in, and her tears flowed uncontrollably. Her body had been violated, but it was her heart that took the brunt of it. What repulsed her more than anything else was the fact that the man who sent her to the General was the very man she thought she loved, who told her that he loved her. She clutched her stomach as the feeling took over again, and once more, she violently spewed into the gutter.

When the feeling finally settled, she looked up, numb. The black makeup from her eyes ran down her cheeks. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and stood to her feet. She could not quite feel her legs beneath her, but none-the-less they started to walk. Her tears continued to fall as she walked down the street, barely recognizing the person that she had become. The self that she knew was gone, and what was left felt barely human, but an object with no worth. She knew she could not go 'home' that night. She could not face him. So she walked to the only place she could think to go, and hoped that she would find her old self there, as if she never left.

Chapter Text

It was a couple of hours past midnight when Vasiliy heard a knock on the door of the warehouse. He found it rather unusual, as Quinlan, Malaika, and Ephraim were the only ones that would come here, and they would have no reason to knock. The metal door rattled loudly in the silence of the night by the banging of a firm fist. Vasiliy carefully approached with a gun in his hand, and stood by the door assessing all the possibilities of who it could be. As no scenario seemed favourable, he thought perhaps it would be wise to simply not answer. But the impatient fist banged on the door again, louder this time.

"I know you're there," a voice said from outside the door. "You can't pretend you're not home when the lights are on and I can hear the radio."

Vasiliy's nerves relaxed and he smiled, shaking his head. After all this time, he still felt a glimmer of excitement when he heard her voice. He tucked the gun into the back of his jeans and opened the door.

"Well well, look who decided to come ba…" He stopped abruptly when he saw her face. Her eyes glistened with wetness, and the black makeup around her eyes ran down her cheeks, charting a trail of tears. "What happened?" Vasiliy discerned with a worried expression as he quickly stepped aside to let her in.

Dutch ignored him as she walked in, not even glancing at him, marching straight into the kitchen like she knew exactly where she was going, and she did.

"Welcome home," Vasiliy murmured under his breath as he followed her into the kitchen and watched as she opened one cupboard door after another.

"Where the hell does Eph keep his juice these days?" she muttered as she rummaged through the cupboards. She had not lived there for almost a year, but she did not hesitate to make herself at home. She knew where Ephraim used to keep his bottles of liquor, however he'd taken most of them to the facility now. There was only one bottle he left behind – a cheap vodka that tasted like the methylated spirits he used in his laboratory. The old bottle sat on top of the fridge collecting dust. Vasiliy walked over and picked it up, and stood waiting for her to notice. As she closed the door of the last cupboard, she obliviously turned around and walked straight into him. She let out a surprised gasp as her shoulder collided with his chest. She bounced back a step, but the large man did not budge.

"You ok?" Vasiliy asked, staring at her with concern.

"Yeah," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. She noticed the bottle of vodka in his hand. "Better now," she flashed a half-hearted smile as she snatched the bottle from him and made her way to the couch. She sat down and threw her feet up, and took to the bottle in the same manner that the doctor would, except unhindered by guilt.

Vasiliy continued to watch her as he stood leaning his back against the kitchen bench. He knew something had happened. Why else would she have come here when she swore that she would never come back? He often worried about her, though he would never admit it to anyone; especially her. And he often found himself wondering if she was alright; if she was happy. He would never ask. But this time, he wanted to. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, she stopped him.

"I don't want an interrogation," she said, reading his thoughts. "Just promise me you won't ask any questions."

Vasiliy stared at her, frustrated by her request. You show up looking like this and you expect me not to ask questions? He sighed. If that was what she wanted... "Ok," he shrugged, "no questions."

She looked around at the emptiness of the old warehouse. "Where's Eph?" she asked, with more curiosity than care. "I don't see his equipment around. Did he finally give up on his miracle formula?"

"It's a long story," Vasiliy sighed. "He met some girl that got him into some facility up north, outside the safe zone. He's set up his lab there. Hardly comes back these days."

"He met a girl? Good for him."

She took another swig from the bottle and then held it out to Vasiliy. He wasn't in the mood to drink, but there's always a feeling of obligation to not let a friend drink alone. With slight reluctance, he walked over and took the bottle from her, and then sat down on the couch beside her.

"So, aren't you going to say – 'I told you so'?" she looked at him, her usually playful eyes somehow full of misery.

"What do you mean?" he mumbled, as he took a customary sip from the bottle and then passed it back to her.

"The last time I walked out that door, you said – 'I know you'll come back'," she hung her head down, staring vacantly at the bottle in her hands as her thumbs smoothed over the peeling label. "You were right…"

Normally, Vasiliy would've taken any opportunity to taunt her if he was right about something. But not this time. "I also said you wouldn't last a week with that self-righteous ass-hat. But unfortunately I was wrong about that."

"You know, deep down, he's a good person…" her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm sure deep down Hitler was a good person too," Vasiliy muttered. Then he turned to her with a serious look on his face. "Tell me something Dutch – does he make you happy?"

She briefly glanced at him, but then quickly looked away in discomfort. She knew she could not hide the pain in her eyes. She looked down again at the bottle in her hands. "I thought I said no questions," she rasped. "I know you'll never accept him. But I need you to accept me, and my choices."

"So am I supposed to pretend to be thrilled about this whole situation?" he scoffed.

Dutch's brows furrowed as she sprung up from the couch. "I knew it was mistake coming here," her voice trembled, fighting back tears as she started towards the door.

Vasiliy suddenly realized how much he hated fighting with her; always the same conversation, every time. But not tonight. He leaped up and ran in front of her, blocking her way. "Wait… hold on…" he pleaded. "I was an ass. I'm sorry." She tried to weave around him, but he stepped to the side to block her again. "Come on, don't leave. Look, let's just forget about everything in the past. Let's not talk about you and me, and him. Let's just be friends tonight, ok? That's one thing we were always great at," he smiled.

There was uncertainty in her eyes, but uncertainty was better than refusal. He quickly seized the opportunity before she could make up her mind. "Come here, I wanna show you something."

He motioned for her to follow as he walked hurriedly out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor. Reluctantly, she followed. Vasiliy walked into his room, but she stopped at the doorway and her heart sank as she looked upon the familiar sight. The room looked exactly as she remembered. So many memories were made in that room – happy memories where the two of them laughed and talked, and spent nights enjoying intimate pleasures. But then there were painful memories where she felt restless and unsatisfied, and that this life here wasn't enough. And these feelings inside her turned into resentment towards him. She tried so hard not to hurt him, but in the end she did. She stared into the room and saw all her memories as if she suddenly relived them within a single second.

Vasiliy saw the pain on her face, but he pretended that he didn't. He pulled out a box from under the bed and rummaged through its contents. After a moment, he stood up and walked excitedly towards her with something in his hand. "Check it out!" he grinned as he handed her an old vinyl record.

She took it from him and flipped it over to its front cover. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and her mouth fell agape. "Oh my god! Where did you get this?"

Vasiliy smiled wider as he saw her reaction. "I found it at the back of an old record store. You told me you used to listen to the Rolling Stones when you were a kid. So I thought you might like it."

"Oh my god," she repeated, still stunned. "My dad used to play this record all the time! He used to pull me up from the couch and we'd dance to…"

"Start Me Up," they said together in unison.

She looked at him with amazement. "How did you know?"

"You've told me this story, remember? How he always used to work late, and you'd cheer him up by putting on Rolling Stones when he walked through the door."

"You remember…?" she looked at him with a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

"I remember everything you tell me," he smiled briefly and then lowered his head. "Hey! You know what?" he suddenly reanimated. "I may not dance as well as your old man, but I still got some moves," he winked. "Give me that," he took the record from her hands and walked over to an old record player sitting on the table at the end of the bed. He carefully slipped the vinyl out of its cover and placed it upon the player. As the music started to play, he turned to her and started with the goofiest dance moves he possibly could, clicking his fingers and swinging his hips.

"If you start me up… if you start me up I'll never stop," he sang along to the song, shuffling towards her as he moved to the beat.

She smiled uncontrollably at his efforts.

"I've been running hot. You got me ticking gonna blow my top." He motioned for her to come dance, "Come on!"

Dutch couldn't help but laugh as she watched him. And she was beginning to find it impossible to not bop along to the music. Vasiliy grabbed her hand and twirled her around and dipped her. He caught her as she stumbled. She laughed again – she couldn't remember the last time she had fun like this. At that moment, it was as if her troubles never existed, and the horrors of that night never happened. But all the while, it was a strange feeling for her being back at that place, with him – strange but familiar, and somehow comforting. Her dancing slowed to a stop, and she found herself just standing there staring at him.

He noticed the strange way that she was staring at him. He thought he recognised that look in her eyes, but he couldn't be sure. He stopped dancing and stood before her, suddenly uncertain of what was to happen next. He looked into her eyes hoping they would tell him. Then suddenly, she grabbed his face in her hands and pulled him in, and kissed him passionately. Vasiliy was taken aback. Startled, he didn't even close his eyes.

"Woah… Dutch… this is…"

She kissed him again to shut him up. Her tongue explored his mouth, and in no time, he found himself kissing her back, meeting her tongue with his. He didn't have a chance to think about it. If he did, he might have stopped himself. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in towards him, and kissed her deeply. She let out a moan as he pressed his body against hers. She only pulled away to throw off her jacket and pull her top over her head. Then her ravenous hands went for his clothes, eagerly pulling them off him. He could have stopped her. He knew he probably should have, but his body had already given in. He found his hands starting to help hers in removing his clothes. She let him take over undressing himself as she began to do the same, unclasping her bra and then pulling her pants down to her ankles and kicking them off. It was too late to be concerned about the tenderness of the ritual, as there was a complete lack of ritual in the way she eagerly seized him. She pushed him onto the bed and then she lowered her naked body onto his. His hips buckled beneath her as he groaned. She maintained the pace, sliding up and down, and grinding herself against him, as her hands pushed down on his chest. She wanted to be in control, and he let her.

They stayed in that position, with her straddling him, riding him in whichever way she desired. It was short and intense, and when they finished, she collapsed on the bed beside him. They both stared up at the ceiling in a dream-like sort of disbelief. But his disbelief was different to hers – he could not believe that she was there beside him. It was as if she never left. When she danced, and when he saw her smile, he realized she was still the same girl that he had once loved, no matter how different their paths were now. He rolled onto his side and looked at her – she was still staring up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts. He didn't really care what was on her mind; he only cared that she was there, and she was real this time, not a dream.

"Tell me you're gonna stay," he looked at her face, remembering all the details that he thought he had forgotten.

She did not answer. Nor did she look at him.

"I can't watch you walk out that door a second time…"

Without saying a word, she turned towards him and snuggled into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. He never thought he would have her in his arms again.

"Is this something you're gonna regret in the morning?" he asked.

"No," she answered simply.

He smiled. Perhaps she finally realized how much she missed him, he thought. With her in his arms, he fell asleep easily. But she stayed awake and listened to the last song on the record play out. When his arms loosened around her, she slipped out of them and rolled onto her back, again staring up at the ceiling.

I'm sorry Fet.

The first light of the sun crept in through the east-facing window early in the morning. Some distant dream faded away as Vasiliy slowly opened his eyes. Immediately, he turned to the other side of the bed – empty. She was gone. Perhaps she was never there and it was only a dream. Did he expect it to be anything more? He should have known.

He sat up and rubbed his face in his hands. He took a moment before getting out of bed and wearily putting his clothes on. He looked across the room. The record was still in the player – she did not take it. He had been waiting for months for the right time to give it to her. He walked over to the record player, and in a moment of rage, he wanted to throw the whole thing out the window and watch it smash on the pavement below. But he didn't. Instead, he took the record and delicately slipped it back into the cover and placed it down on the table. He stood leaning over the table, staring down at it. He knew she was going to invade his every thought that day, and perhaps for many days to come. He wondered why he ever let her back in.

Vasiliy walked downstairs just as Quinlan returned, slipping in silently through the side door. Quinlan paused as he saw Vasiliy descending the stairs, whose gaze briefly lowered to the blood on Quinlan's hands. Somewhat uncomfortably, Quinlan tucked them out of view, conscious of what his hands had done to be covered in blood – human blood, and infected blood.

Vasiliy looked away. "You find Eph?" he mumbled.

"Yes, the doctor is fine," Quinlan replied briefly, not in the mood for further conversation. And Vasiliy was perfectly happy with that. He gave Quinlan a nod, and the two went their separate ways without another word. Sombreness hung in the air like a dark cloud.

That same morning, Des woke to find Dutch sitting on a chair across the room, silent and staring down at the ground. She was still wearing the same clothes as she did the night before.

"You got back late last night," he said, reaching for his morning cigarette before getting out of the bed. "I take it that things went well with the General?"

She did not reply or look up at him. Without modesty or care for the cold, Des stood naked from the bed and walked over to her. He stood behind her and squeezed her shoulder, then leaned down to kiss her neck, but she moved away from his touch.

"Something on your mind?" he stared down at her shrewdly.

She was silent for a long time, and then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She looked up at him and smiled faintly. "No, everything's fine."

Chapter Text

It was a cold morning at the research facility. The large, hollow building had invited in the winter frost, and like an unwelcome guest, it lingered, refusing to leave. The chill in the air possessed everything it touched, and it coursed through Mia's veins as if her blood had turned to ice. Mia spent the night curled up on a bed in one of the imaging rooms next to the lab, desperately clinging to herself for warmth. It was another sleepless night; one of those nights where she felt as though she was lying in a prison of her own mind, simply waiting for the sun to rise. As she lay there, her mind looped like a broken record, turning back to the same thought, replaying the same moment over and over in her head. She couldn't stop thinking about the way she touched him that night, and the way she so boldly showed her affection. Did she really think she felt something for him, and he for her? She couldn't be sure; it happened so suddenly without a prompt, it must have surprised him as much as it did herself. But he didn't react startled; he simply stood back impassively, without a single word. Not even a word of rejection, which would have been less demeaning than silence. Each time she played that moment in her head, she cringed with humiliation. But perhaps humiliation was the price she had to pay to find that her heart was not dead after all, even though for many years she thought she could never feel the things a 'normal' woman should. But when he made it clear that those feelings were not returned, she knew that whatever awoke in her that night had died just as quickly, perhaps never to be awoken again.

The sunlight was already bright through the windows. Mia wondered what time it was. By the amount of light she could distinguish, she guessed it was mid-morning. She stood up, barely able to feel her legs beneath her from the numbing cold, and made her way into the lounge room in the west wing. As she walked through the door, she heard a faint snore from across the room where Ephraim slept. She let out a relaxed sigh.

"You're gonna be sleeping that one off for a long time," she muttered to herself.

"You shouldn't feel sorry for him," Malaika unexpectedly spoke from nearby. "He does this to himself."

"You're still here…" Mia remarked with surprise, as she thought Malaika had left with Quinlan the previous night.

"Quinlan told me to stay," she muttered.

"Well, I'm glad you're here," Mia smiled. "I appreciate your help last night… with Ephraim."

Mia's gratitude left her without a response, as she had never learned how to react to kindness; she was always more comfortable with anger. But Mia wasn't looking for a response either way.

"Can you help me to the kitchen?" Mia reached out her hand towards the sound of Malaika's voice.

Malaika stood unmoving for a moment. Then realising she didn't really have a choice, she walked reluctantly to Mia and let her take hold of her arm. "I thought you can find your own way," she grumbled.

"I can, but it's easier this way."

She led Mia into the small kitchenette at the front of the lounge room, and then she pulled away and stood back, watching her as she started to search the benchtop with her hands.

"So how old are you?" Mia conversed as her hands brushed across various objects on the bench until she found a kettle. Then she searched just as tediously for the tap.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen…" Mia echoed as the number resonated in her head. She suddenly stopped and stood staring vacantly with a troubled expression on her face.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Malaika asked irritably as she noted Mia's reaction.

"No, I just…" her voice trailed off. She shook out of her daze and carried on what she was doing. She turned on the kettle and looked down towards it, listening to the humming sound as it started to heat the water. "I remember when I was seventeen," she murmured. "I remember it all too well…"

"Remember what? Deciding what colour to paint your nails?"

Mia laughed, but behind her eyes was a distant look. She swallowed a bitter taste in her mouth. "No, I remember losing my memory for six days and waking up in a psych ward with my wrists strapped down to the bed."

Malaika's expression changed as she stared at Mia.

"And I remember other things I wish I could forget…"

"Like what?" Malaika looked at her discerningly.

There were too many memories she could have recalled. But most of them she could not bring herself to talk about, or even think about, without her body violently shutting down to protect itself from the pain. She could only speak of the less painful memories from those years.

"I remember dying…"

"Dying?" Malaika repeated, confused.

"Yeah… I was in the back of an ambulance, and even though I was already unconscious, I swear I could feel the world slowly slipping away. It was almost peaceful," she smiled faintly. "Apparently my heart had stopped beating for almost two minutes, but they were able to bring me back."

"How did you die?"

Mia looked back down towards the kettle in front of her, which was now bubbling loudly, drowning out her soft, broken voice. She hesitated, "I… overdosed on narcotics…"

"So you took drugs?"

"No, I would never go near that stuff," Mia scrunched her face in disgust. "I didn't do it to myself…" There was tension on her face as she tried to suppress the memories, and she turned away as if she was done with the conversation.

Malaika's eyes lowered almost apologetically. "Rough past?"

"Look at what's happening to the world. Anyone who lived through yesterday could say they had a rough past. It doesn't make me special," Mia shrugged.

The kettle clicked as it came to a boil, interrupting the uncomfortable moment.

"Help me find some cups," Mia instructed. "They're in one of these overhead cupboards."

Malaika unwittingly obliged without thinking. She found two mugs and placed them down on the bench in front of Mia.

"You know, I'm not the kind of person you think I am," said Mia as she filled the mugs with hot water from the kettle and took one for herself. She brought it close to her face and let the steam warm her frosted skin.

"And what kind of person do I think you are?" asked Malaika as she awkwardly reached for the other mug.

"The kind that worries about what colour to paint their nails," she teased, smiling. But then her smile faded. "The kind you hate…"

Malaika looked down in shame. "I don't hate you. I just…" she stopped. Suddenly, she was overcome by emotion. The kind of emotion she never really talked about. But this time, she could not stop herself from speaking the words from her heart. "I just wanted you to stay away... because..." she furrowed her brows and clenched her fists, "I cannot see him hurt no more!"

"You mean… Quinlan?" Mia's face twisted with confusion. "What do you mean, 'see him hurt'? You think I'll hurt him?"

"You already do."

"I don't understand," Mia stammered. "How?"

Malaika frowned in frustration, shaking her head. "Don't you see? He will never be a man. He will never belong in this world. It is a curse he must live with, and he had accepted it – he had accepted what he is. But then you came, and you reminded him what he can never be. You reminded him all the things he can never have! The way you smile at him, the way you reach for his hand, and the humanity you show him… it is like a cruel joke for a man who knows he can never be a part of this world!"

Mia stood stunned and speechless. Her heart sank to her stomach, and she suddenly felt a crippling numbness through her body. "No… That's not what I…" she could hardly get her words out. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, and the thought of it tore her heart to pieces.

"I knew what you would do," said Malaika. "I knew from the moment I saw you, and I prayed to God that you would disappear…"

Her harsh words struck Mia deeply. "Is that really what you want?"

Malaika lowered her head, unable to look Mia in the eye. "It was what I wanted..."

"Ok…" Mia murmured softly, her voice carrying the injury in her heart. Suddenly, her mind turned back to the previous night, and she remembered so vividly the way he felt at her fingertips in that small moment before he moved away from her touch – that small moment before she realised her mistake. No matter how right it felt in that moment, she would not make that mistake again.

Mia looked up with furrowed brows, certain and resolute. "Ok," she nodded as if she'd made up her mind. "Tell me to stay away. Just tell me it's what he would want and I'll do it – I'll stay away, and he'll never see me again."

Malaika's eyes widened with surprise. She never thought it could be so easy – all she had to do was say the words. It was what she wanted since the moment she saw Mia. But now, given the opportunity, she somehow couldn't say it. She stood speechless as her conscience battled her heart. In the past, she would always surrender to the impulses of her heart, and she knew that every time she did, she became her own worst enemy.

"No," Malaika shook her head. "I will not tell you." She placed her untouched mug of hot water down on the bench and left its warmth. She looked at Mia's pained expression and could not help but feel guilt. "I just hope I am wrong," she murmured. She turned and started to walk towards the door. But then she stopped and looked back at Mia. "By the way, you are stupid for challenging those men last night."

Through her heavy thoughts, Mia managed a smile. "Yeah, it was stupid. I saved your ass though."

Malaika almost let a smile slip before she turned and walked out. She did not say 'thank you' for what Mia did that night, but Mia wondered if her acknowledgment just now was perhaps her way of saying 'thank you', or the closest thing she could manage without saying those words.

After Malaika left the room, Mia felt a solemn serenity wash over her. She couldn't tell if she felt sad or happy, lonely or peaceful; perhaps she simply felt clarity, like she somehow understood the hearts of those around her a little better. As she reflected on the previous night, and Malaika's words, and general ponderings about nothing specific, a soft grunt turned her attention back to the sleeping man on the couch. Mia remembered the first time she saw Ephraim – she was only nineteen. She was at one of his conferences, in a room full of doctors and reporters, and she was neither. Doctor Price brought her along because he wanted to show her the world of science that he so loved. It was the first time she had been to a conference like that. She felt nervous yet excited, and quite out of place in this world of important-looking people in suits and flashing camera lights. She remembered sitting in the audience and looking up at the man standing at the front of the room, speaking to the crowd. Even though he was about ten years her senior, she remembered thinking how handsome he looked in his immaculately fitted suit and perfectly styled thick brown hair, and how confidently he spoke. That night at the conference, and every other time she saw him or his picture in the paper, he always seemed without a fault. She used to think, 'a man like that must have it all in life'. And now, in the strange turn of events, either by chance or the hands of fate, here he was in front of her, somehow broken and vulnerable, and not the man she had always pictured in her mind.

She sat down on the couch beside him.

"Your life was never perfect, was it?" she whispered softly. "In the end, we all have a story to tell." She reached up and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry I left you alone in this place, Eph. I should've been here for you."

Chapter Text

Ephraim didn't wake up until the afternoon. Groggy and heavy-headed, he opened his eyes to see Mia sitting on the end of the couch at his feet. She was asleep, curled up with her knees at her chest, her head tilted to the side and strands of hair fallen in front of her face. The sight of her made him smile. He was happy to see her, though after days of solitude in this lifeless building, he would've been happy to see anyone, but especially her. But the feeling of comfort was soon replaced by one of shame as he recalled the previous night.

As he sat up on the couch, his movement startled her and she jolted awake.

"Good morning," Ephraim mumbled exhaustedly.

"It's not quite the morning," she yawned.

"What time is it?"

"Mid afternoon, I guess."

Ephraim sighed, squinting his eyes and rubbing his throbbing temples with his hands. "You've been here the whole time?"

"Yeah, and Malaika too."

"Where is she?" Ephraim looked around the room. "She better not be touching anything in the lab," he grumbled.

"I don't think she can mess up the lab any more than it already is," Mia chuckled. "You know, she was the one that helped you off the floor last night."

"Ah geez," Ephraim muttered, holding his forehead in his hand. "I could've done without the reminder. It's definitely not my proudest moment." He pulled the blanket to the side and swung his legs over the side of the couch. He let out another exhausted sigh before propelling himself to his feet. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, which he sculled like a man who's just been rescued from the desert. When he finished, he put the glass down and stood leaning on his hands over the bench.

Mia stood up from the couch and slowly made her way towards him.

He glanced at her and then lowered his head in shame. "You probably think less of me after last night."

"No, of course not," she intoned with slight outrage.

"Look, you don't have to pretend. I know how this looks; how it makes me look. I know you're probably thinking…"

"Eph," she cut him off. "It's okay," she emphasized with reassurance. "Everyone has their own battles, and sometimes you lose; sometimes you break. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You just get up and fight again the next day."

"But I gave up, that's the problem. Maybe I just thought there's nothing left to fight for," he murmured.

"Eph…" Mia's face suddenly showed a stern expression. "Who's Kelly?"

"What?" he gasped at the mention of the name.

"Last night, you called me 'Kelly'. Who is she?"

Ephraim bowed his head. He didn't like to talk about her; he never did. "She was my wife…" He stood silent for a moment, and then let out a deep sigh. "We were divorced long before any of this happened. And I had son – Zack. He would've been ten this year…" He closed his eyes and rubbed them, shaking his head. "This is gonna sound crazy… but tell me something – do you believe in ghosts?"

"Ghosts?" Mia perplexed, taken aback by the unusual question.

Ephraim chuckled to himself. "I… uh…" he paused. "I see their ghosts..." He winced at his own words, realizing how ridiculous it sounded and wondering if he'd really gone mad. "They keep haunting me. But every time I see them, for some reason I just can't see their faces, like it's always a blur, or hidden in the shadows. And all I want is to see Zack's face again…" his voice faded as it started to break, and he took a moment to recompose himself. "I was never there for him when he needed me, and now it's like this is my punishment."

Through his voice, Mia could feel his pain. She walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"They're not ghosts, Ephraim," she said softly. "They're demons. And they're only here to drag you down to hell. But you can't let them. If they were really the spirits of your loved ones, they would tell you to forgive yourself and move on."

"Yeah, well you don't know my ex-wife. She probably is a demon," Ephraim chortled, remembering all the heated arguments they had, and the way she would yell – sometimes he could really see the Devil in her eyes. But he never blamed her; he always knew it was his fault. "Do you have family?" He looked at Mia.

"No," Mia shook her head. "Doctor Price was probably the closest thing I had to family."

Ephraim looked at her face. He found himself lost in her eyes for a moment – in their deep expression. Then he suddenly remembered something. "Oh, I've been meaning to show you something. I mean, I know you can't see… but… come here." He took her hand and led her to the window on the other side of the room. Then he gently placed her hand upon the glass. "There's a garden down there. It's overgrown with weeds and shrubs – it looks kinda nice… in a wild wasteland sorta way. But as you look down from up here, right where your hand is on the window, there's an old oak tree."

"I know the one," she said, as she ran her fingers across the cold, smooth glass.

"I wanted to pay my respects, and maybe bring you some closure. So I took the liberty of digging a grave and burying Doctor Price in front of that tree. I know he deserves better, but…"

"No," Mia smiled, "it's perfect."

"Come on, I'll take you down there."

The earth was soft and damp underneath her boots, cushioned by a blanket of dead leaves. The air caressed her skin like a cold hand, and there was a freshness in the scent that you couldn't find in the city; it was the smell of nature – rich, damp and earthy. The sunlight filtered through the overhead branches, producing broken specks of light in the dusky shadows. It would be the last rays of light for that day – dark clouds were rolling in.

They stood in silence in front of the mound of dirt. Neither of them knew what to say. Mia reached into her pocket and her fingers touched a folded-up photograph. She closed her eyes. There were no tears, just darkness.

I never lived until I met you. I never knew love, or kindness. I was broken and in pieces, but you put me back together. My world is darker without you, but I know you wouldn't want me to give up. I'll keep fighting, Graeme. I promise you. You were the one that taught me be to be strong.

Thunder roared in the distance. The wind picked up and the air grew colder, and a dark shadow cast over the sky.

"Looks like it's gonna rain," Ephraim commented, looking up at the sky. "Come on, let's get back inside."

Mia stood unmoving and unresponsive, as if she did not hear him.

"Come on," Ephraim tried again, softly touching her arm. "I gotta get back to work."

She turned to him this time. "You're going back to the lab?"

"Yeah, I gotta clean up the mess and start over," he sighed. "It's been three weeks and I'm not getting any closer." He frowned in frustration. "I just can't get it to work."

"Neither could Doctor Price…" she muttered softly.

"You don't understand; he was so close!" Ephraim exclaimed with a tone of urgency. "I mean, his formula was almost there!"

"Then where did it go wrong?"

"It's us – our bodies. I discovered that after a while, our body starts to reject the vaccine. It recognises it as a foreign agent and starts producing antibodies to fight it. Our own immune system kills the vaccine!"

The look on Mia's face was not surprise or disappointment – it was almost indifference, as if she was fed up with the whole idea of finding a vaccine. She stared down towards the ground in front of her, where the only man she ever loved now lay beneath the earth.

"If I can figure out a way around it," Ephraim continued, "then I can get it to work."

"No," Mia shook her head. "Come back to the city with us, Eph. You need a break."

"I can't. Every minute that I'm not working on this, we're further from finding the vaccine."

"But look at what it's doing it to you. It's making you…" she paused.

"It's making me what? Crazy? Is that what you were going to say?" There was annoyance in his tone.

"No… it's just that… what if this is a waste of time?"

"Finding a vaccine is a waste of time?!" Ephraim cried, outraged.

"We don't even know if it's possible!"

"So you don't believe I can do it, is that it?"

"That's not what I said. Eph…" Mia put her hand on his arm, "this is consuming you, just like it did Doctor Price. Maybe it's time to stop…"

"Don't tell me to stop doing my work!" he snapped, shaking off her hand.

Mia stood back, stunned by his sudden outburst.

Lightening cracked the sky and thunder followed, louder this time, directly above them. Then within seconds, rain started to pour – it didn't even start softly; there was no soft drizzle to ease into it. It simply poured.

Mia didn't move. The rain fell on her like she was a statue, and her eyes had grown as distant as a painting. Her hair was becoming wet, and the drops of water running down her cheeks looked as if they were tears. There was a slight tremble in her bottom lip as the icy water touched her skin. She looked helpless as Mother Nature bestowed her wet lashings upon her. Ephraim quickly took off his jacket and wrapped it around her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he put his arms around her and walked her back towards the building. He could feel her shivering in his arms. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm sorry."

The sound of raindrops drumming on the roof resonated loudly inside the building. Mia always found the sound soothing. She could have just closed her eyes and listened to the rain, and let her mind wander away. But Ephraim squeezed her shoulders as he turned her to face him.

"You were right," he said. "Maybe I do need a break. I'll come back to the city, just for a couple of days."

She gave him a faint smile. "Ok..."

At nightfall, they left the research facility and drove back towards the city. The rain did not cease and the night was unusually dark, with not a single trace of light other than the headlights of the car. Clouds had covered the moon and the stars. It wasn't until they reached the border of the safe zone that they saw the lights of the city in the distance.

As they drove through the streets of the city, all was dead and silent; there was not even the sound of guns or screams, unless the rain had drowned out the sounds. Just blocks away from the warehouse, Ephraim turned down a narrow street and suddenly stopped as a military vehicle was parked ahead.

"Shit!" Ephraim muttered under his breath. "What the hell are soldiers doing out at night?" He looked at the vehicle sitting silently ahead. "Maybe they haven't seen us."

Then suddenly, the car started its engine and drove towards them.

"Shit!"

The car stopped directly in front of them and then blazed its bright headlights. The glare caused Ephraim to shield his eyes with his hand. Even Mia squinted and turned her head in discomfort from the light. The brightness blinded them and they couldn't see a thing. Amidst the sound of the rain they heard a car door close, and another. Then, Ephraim heard a tap on his window.

"Get out of the car," a voice firmly commanded.

"Let's just do what they say," Ephraim whispered to the others.

Slowly, Ephraim and Mia opened their doors and stepped out of the car. As soon as they got out, they were greeted by two soldiers who harshly grabbed their arms and dragged them to the side of the car, and pushed them up against the car next to each other. There were just the two soldiers, and somehow they hadn't seen Malaika in the back seat, nor did she make any attempt to make her presence known.

"Look, we're just civilians trying to get home…"

"Shut up!" one of the soldiers barked at Ephraim. "Where did you get the car?"

"We found it…"

Mia stood silent as Ephraim talked.

A young soldier, who looked merely a boy, stood back with his rifle aimed, while the older soldier, a harsh-looking man in his middle age, interrogated with an intimidating presence. He stood close in front of Ephraim and looked him up and down. Then he moved onto Mia. Her head was lowered, but he grabbed her cheeks with his hand and forced her head up. She gasped at his forcefulness. He looked at her face and smiled. Then he moved back to Ephraim.

"You know civilians are not permitted to have vehicles."

"I know. We were caught in the storm and we just wanted to get home safely. We made a mistake; we didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"Get home, huh? From where? Where were you tonight?"

Ephraim was suddenly lost for words. He couldn't think of an answer that was both believable and not a violation of the law.

"We were looking for my dog," Mia thought quickly. "He ran away earlier. We were just trying to find him."

The old soldier turned back to the young man. "Search him," he motioned towards Ephraim. Obediently, the young soldier lowered his rifle and began to pat down Ephraim. Then the old soldier pushed Mia up against the car and ran his hands down the side of her body. She flinched at his hands and shut her eyes tightly, but she forced herself to comply.

"Searching for your dog, huh?" He found the gun inside her pocket and pulled it out. He opened the clip and saw that it was loaded. He smirked to himself. Then he pressed the gun under her chin and pushed her head up. "You need a loaded gun to look for your dog?"

Mia could feel his breath on her face and she tried to turn her head away. Her heart was pounding.

"Hey, leave her alone," Ephraim interjected. "The gun's just for her protection…"

The soldier let go of Mia and turned to Ephraim. He grabbed Ephraim's collar and pulled him forward, then rammed his fist into his stomach. "I wasn't talking to you," he barked.

Ephraim hunched over, paralysed by the hard blow and gasping for air.

"Stop it!" Mia cried, trying to step in front of Ephraim.

"Shut up!" He grabbed her hair and dragged her to the front of the car, and then threw her over the bonnet. He pressed the gun to the back of her head.

Malaika watched silently from the back seat, and as soon as she found a moment of opportunity, where the soldiers were distracted, she flung open the door and ran as fast as she could away from the car.

"What the fuck?!"

It took a moment for the soldiers to register what was happening, allowing Malaika to make some distance before they opened fire. The first few shots missed. But then the next bullet caught Malaika in the shoulder. She let out a cry of pain as she stumbled and fell to the ground. But she immediately got back up and jumped through the window of the building next to her. The young soldier went to run after her, but the old soldier stopped him.

"No, let her go. I need you here. Next time, check the goddamn back seat!"

The rain started to fall heavier. The streets echoed a cacophony of pelting raindrops, and a hazy mist had rolled in through the grotesquely beautiful wasteland city. Everyone had become drenched, but it was the least of anyone's concerns. Mia trembled as she lay across the bonnet of the car, her cheek pressed firm against the cold, wet metal as drops of rain splashed on her face.

"We… we should arrest them," the young soldier faltered, clearly nervous and uncertain about the situation.

"Well go on, arrest him."

The young man grabbed Ephraim's arm and twisted it behind his back, then walked him towards their vehicle. But the old soldier, with his gun still pointed at Mia, did not move.

"What are you doing?" the young man asked. "Aren't you going to arrest her?"

"Take him back to base. I'll be right behind you."

"But shouldn't we bring them in together?" the young man looked at him questioningly.

"She was armed. Where do you think she got the gun? I have to interrogate her."

Ephraim's heart sank. He knew this was not protocol. And the young soldier, whose face twisted in disgust, was also not naïve to what was happening.

"But Sir…"

"Are you questioning your commanding officer?"

"N… no sir…"

"Then get in the car and take him back to base. That's an order!"

"What the hell are you doing?!" Ephraim outraged. "Your job is to protect the people!"

"Protect the people?" the soldier laughed. "Well ain't that a cute idea! No, our job is the protect the system. To ensure order! And the two of you just broke that order. Take him away!"

"No!" Mia cried, standing to her feet in panic, unconcerned about the gun at her head. The soldier tried to grab her but she desperately fought off his hands.

"Mia!" Ephraim struggled free from the young soldier's grip.

She ran towards the sound of his voice and he caught her in his arms. But as quickly as she broke free, the soldier grabbed her again, holding her tightly around her waist. Ephraim tried to hold onto her but the soldier pulled her from his arms. She reached out her hands towards him, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. The young soldier regained his grip on Ephraim and started to pull him away, but Ephraim reached out and managed to grab Mia's hand.

"Eph!" She cried his name as she desperately held onto his hand, her nails clawing into his skin.

"Mia!" Her hand was starting to slip. "Don't do this!" Ephraim pleaded. "You're soldiers! You're fucking soldiers! Mia!"

"Ephraim…"

He felt her fingertips slip out of his hand, and then the butt of a rifle at his temple, and everything went black.

There was a loud banging on the warehouse door – loud and relentless like there was a matter of urgency. Desperation, even. The eager and persistent fist rattled the door so loudly it was as if the whole building quaked. From across the room, Vasiliy looked at the door and then shot Quinlan a look of uncertainty. But Quinlan gave no second thought before approaching the door, as unconcernedly as if it had been a cat mewing outside.

Quinlan opened the door and in front of him stood Gus, with panic on his face, drenched in rain and breathing heavily.

"There's a breach…" he huffed. "Northern border…"

"Catch your breath and tell me what happened," said Quinlan.

"There's no time!" Gus exclaimed. "Hundreds of them! The infected… they're getting into the fucking city, man! You have to go, now!"

No sooner than he said those words, a loud wail tore through the night. Not even the storm could drown out this sound. It was the city's distress siren – the sound that sent chills down everyone's backs. It was the call of Death, and it mean that Death was on its way.

Even Quinlan paused for a moment at the sound. Then immediately, he went inside and grabbed his weapons, and rushed out into the night. Across the road, a truck was parked with its engine running and the hunters standing around it. There were looks of shock and horror on their faces, like they had witnessed something unimaginable. Then as they saw Quinlan, they reanimated with hope and relief, like he was some sort of savior.

As Quinlan made his way to the truck, he heard someone screaming his name. He looked down the street and saw Malaika running towards him, clutching her shoulder with her hand. He could smell blood.

"Quinlan!" she screamed.

"What happened?" he asked, grabbing her arm as she ran to him. His eyes were intense, staring at her. "Where's Mia?"

"Soldiers... Soldiers have her."

Quinlan's heart raced. Tension seized his body. He looked back at the hunters, who were staring at him eagerly.

"Quinlan!" Gus yelled over the loud siren. "We gotta go!"

Quinlan looked at Gus and at the hunters; he could see their desperation. They were calling to him. The city was calling to him, and the wail of the siren was her cry for help. It was not his responsibility to help, but perhaps he was the only one who could. He clenched his jaw, fighting the decision he had to make. Then, with fire in his eyes, he turned to Malaika. "Take me to her."

Chapter Text

When Ephraim regained consciousness, he found himself lying across the back seat of an SUV with his hands cuffed behind his back. His head throbbed from where the rifle hit him, and he felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the side of his face – he guessed it was blood. As he looked up through the window, he could see the fuzzy glow of the moon in between the dark silhouettes of the building tops. The clouds were passing and the rain had eased.

A loud sound reverberated through Ephraim's head. At first, he thought it had been caused by the trauma of the blow. But as he came to awareness, he realised this sound was not in his head, but it was the sound of the city's siren. Ephraim struggled as he hoisted himself up in the seat. The driver looked at him in the rear view mirror. The young man's eyes were tense and nervous.

"What the hell's going on?" Ephraim mumbled, still somewhat dazed. "Why is the siren going off?"

The driver ignored him and diverted his eyes back to the road.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

There was still no response.

"Hey!" Ephraim yelled this time, leaning forward through the middle of the car. "Turn the car around!"

"Sit back in your seat!" the young soldier snapped nervously. "Don't make me knock you out again."

"We gotta go back for her…"

The soldier glanced at Ephraim in the mirror again. There was tentativeness in his eyes.

"Come on, this is wrong and you know it!"

"I… I'm just following orders…"

"Orders from that crooked piece of shit who calls himself a soldier?! Please," Ephraim pleaded, "I'm asking you do the right thing here!"

"You broke the law; the right thing is to have you arrested and…"

"Would you stop thinking like soldier for just one minute and think like a goddamn human being!" Ephraim cried desperately.

The young man looked increasingly anxious and conflicted as his eyes darted between the road and the mirror. His sweaty hands gripped the wheel tightly.

"You know what that sick piece of shit is going to do, and you're ok with that?! You're just gonna let it happen and walk away like you didn't see anything? This is gonna be on your conscience…"

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt.

"Alright, shut up!" the young soldier huffed. "Just… just let me think for a minute."

"We don't have a minute!"

"So what are we going to do? Go back there and just tell him to stop? He'll shoot us both!"

"Then radio for help," Ephraim lit up with his idea.

The soldier shook his head. "The siren's going off; the whole city is about to go crazy. You think anyone's gonna respond to a call about some girl in trouble?"

"Just tell them it's urgent. Tell them…"

Suddenly, a great big crash shook the car as it was struck by an incredible force. Upon the impact, the car bounced like a ball and the men bounced inside it. The impact rattled their bones, and they sat stunned for a moment, like that moment of daze right after a car crash. Then after the trauma settled, they looked towards the front of the car and saw that the top of the bonnet had caved in, and on top of it stood a dark figure. The top half of the figure was concealed by the edge of the windscreen; they could only see a pair of black boots and the bottom of a long coat. It had landed on the car from the building beside them, from a height that would have shattered human bones. But, still in shock, the soldier hadn't had a chance to think through such details. He nervously leaned forward and tilted his head to look up through the window. Then suddenly, the dark figure crouched down and glared into the car. The soldier was met with a pair of glowing eyes right before him and he jumped back, pressing hard into the seat.

"Wh… what the hell is that?" he trembled.

The hooded figure pulled back his fist and drove it straight through the windscreen. The glass shattered effortlessly, falling across the dashboard and onto the young soldier's lap. Then he reached in and grabbed the soldier by the collar and yanked him out of the car like an eagle snatching its prey in its talons. Under the moonlight, the soldier could just make out the face beneath the hood, and he screamed in terror. But Quinlan wasn't interested in the soldier. He tossed him like a piece of trash onto the street, and then he hopped down from the bonnet and went straight for the car door. As he opened the door, Ephraim saw him and for the first time looked relieved to see him. Quinlan's eyes quickly darted through the car.

"Where is Mia? Why is she not with you?"

"We gotta get to her!" Ephraim eagerly pushed past Quinlan to get out of the car. "Get these cuffs off me!" he grunted, turning his cuffed hands towards Quinlan and giving them a tug.

Quinlan pulled his sword from its sheath. "I would advise you to hold very still… unless you want to lose a hand."

With a swift cut of his sword, he broke the chain of the cuffs. Immediately, Ephraim ran to the driver's door.

"Get in!"

Ephraim started driving back towards where they encountered the soldiers, speeding maniacally and gripping the wheel with a tense grip. Quinlan could see the dread on his face, and it exacerbated his own dread.

"You're driving away from the military base," Quinlan noted questioningly. "Did they not take her there?"

Ephraim didn't answer immediately. He looked straight ahead.

"No," he finally replied, "he didn't take her back to base."

"He?" Quinlan stared intently at Ephraim, reading his expression.

"One of the soldiers – he's a fucking crook…" Ephraim clenched his jaw and tightened his grip around the wheel. "He took her..."

By the look on Ephraim's face, Quinlan understood what had happened, and he was suddenly overcome by a sickening feeling of dread and revulsion, and it made his stomach churn. The only thing that surmounted this feeling was his rage, and he let the rage drive him and give him strength. He sat quietly in the seat, appearing almost calm, not saying a word. But the look in his eyes showed the storm that was brewing inside of him.

On the street ahead, the parked car came into view, exactly where Ephraim had left it. He drove up beside the car and eagerly jumped out, standing on the street and looking in every direction until he was simply turning around in circles. But the street was empty.

"Where is she…?" he threw his hands up on his head in despair.

As soon as Quinlan stepped out of the car, he picked up a scent in the air – a scent that would normally have aroused him, but this time, it terrified him. It was the smell of blood, ever so strong. But he couldn't identify who it belonged to; after all, he had never smelled her blood. He only knew her by the sweet scent of the soap she used on her skin, the gentle fragrance of her hair, and the musty smell of her apartment that he could also smell on her clothes. But he found none of that here – only the smell of blood. He followed the scent. It led him down the street to a row of abandoned townhouses that were now just bare concrete foundations of the buildings they once were. The smell became particularly strong outside one of these hollow structures. Quinlan rushed inside, stepping over the rubble that lay at its gaping hole that used to be a front door. Inside, the smell engulfed him like a fume, almost too intense for his sensitive nose. He quickly scanned his surroundings as he stood at the entrance, and then his eyes darted to the top of the stairs in front of him. That was where the smell was coming from, he was certain. He sprinted up the stairs as fast as he could. His heart was racing. He tried his best to turn his thoughts away from the fears that plagued him in the back of his mind.

At the top of the stairs was a corridor with rooms on both sides. The place had once been someone's home, and remnants of their life could still be seen. Broken pieces of a child's cradle sat in one of the rooms, as well as a tattered toy on the floor. There was an old toothbrush on the cracked tiles of the bathroom floor, and in another room, a broken picture frame lay fallen from the wall. Quinlan glanced into each room as he passed, each time anticipating he will find something, but then only finding emptiness. However the smell of blood was becoming stronger. Then, Quinlan noticed that at the end of the corridor was a door. Unlike the rest, it was closed. He stopped outside this door. Here, the smell of blood was overpowering, almost excruciating to his senses. Then, amidst the stench, he could smell her. She was here. His heart pounded against his chest. He noted the dead silence around him – there was no movement, no voices, and no cries. As much as it would have ripped his heart apart to hear her cries, he dreaded the silence more. A sudden flash of an image in his head almost made his heart stop – an image of his worst fears. But he knew he couldn't hesitate. He reached out with his hand and pushed against door. It slowly creaked open on its rusty hinges. He closed his eyes for a second before allowing himself to look inside.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere – soaked deep into the floorboards and smeared all over the walls. It looked and smelled like the most sadistic and unsanctioned of slaughterhouses. In the middle of the room, in a pool of blood that continued to seep and spread across the floor, was a body, disfigured beyond recognition. Quinlan stared at it, wide-eyed and stunned, unable to turn away. It was a man, and his bare torso showed hundreds of bloody puncture marks by the blade of knife. He was not just stabbed, but he was stabbed with utter frenzy and animalistic savagery, repeatedly, over and over again. The punctures started from his lower abdomen and went all the way up to his neck and his face. Each mark was deep and forceful, and many parts of his body had been shredded so badly that they were practically turned inside out. His throat had been stabbed so many times that his head was almost separated from his torso, held only in place by the spine and a few shreds of skin and flesh.

Then Quinlan looked to the corner of the room. When he saw her, he let out a breath of relief, and he felt the blood rush back through his body as if it had been frozen before. She sat with her back against the wall and her knees curled up at her chest. She was covered head to toe in blood – her fair skin stained deep red, with crimson splatters on her face, and her hair was wet and matted. She was wearing only her underwear and a t-shirt, both soaked in blood. Her arms formed a cross in front of her chest, and in one hand, she was still clutching the bloodied knife. It was a tactical knife used by soldiers, and it looked so large and unnatural in her petite little hand. Yet it was the hand that had created such carnage. The look on her face was distant, as if she wasn't there. And her eyes were vacant, staring straight ahead. She appeared eerily calm; almost lifeless. Quinlan listened for her heartbeat – it was slow; unusually slow. No sign of distress. There was a dead calmness about her that told Quinlan something was wrong. Suddenly, the relief that he felt when he first saw her started to turn into a sickening feeling.

At that moment, Ephraim caught up and stumbled into the doorway. As he looked inside, his face turned as white as a sheet. He stood in a horrified expression with his mouth agape. The sight in front of him would forever be burned into his mind – the blood-filled room, the grotesque body, and the explicit details of human flesh that no person should ever see. And then there was the sight of Mia sitting in a pool of blood, and the look on her face so inexplicably unnerving; it shook Ephraim to the core. Then the rancid smell of blood and flesh pushed him over the edge. He tried to hold himself together, but his body would not cooperate. He felt the blood drain from his head, his legs started to feel weak, and then his stomach contracted violently. He abruptly turned away from the room and spewed onto the floor. He couldn't look back.

Even Quinlan stared in disbelief at the scene in front of him. It took a moment for him to finally find his voice.

"Mia..." he uttered softly.

She was completely unresponsive. He slowly walked into the room, one step at a time, and carefully approached her. He studied her face, hoping it would tell him something, but he couldn't find her in those dead eyes; he couldn't find the woman that he had come to know, and undeniably come to care about – the woman whose warm heart touched his frosted soul. Now, he saw no sign of that warmth, and it pained him deeply.

"Mia," he whispered as he crouched down in front of her. He looked at her blood-stained hand gripping the knife, and he reached out and touched her hand. She flinched and gripped the knife tighter. Quinlan immediately retracted. But she noticed him now, and her eyes showed some response.

Quinlan tried again. "It's alright," he said as he gently put his hand over hers.

She twitched just a little this time, but then she relaxed to his touch.

"Where am I?" she murmured softly, confused and disorientated.

Quinlan lowered onto his knees in front of her, unconcerned about the blood on the floor.

"You're with me," he reassured as he put his hand on her shoulder, touching her cold skin where her shirt had been ripped, hanging off her shoulder. "Mia, give me the knife," he said softly, as his other hand gently worked on her tight grip. "You don't need that. I'm here now."

She slowly eased her grip and let him take the knife from her. She was starting to shiver now, as if only just noticing the cold. He looked at her delicate body, exposed to the elements, as her clothes lay scattered around the room, drenched in blood. The thought of what might have happened made Quinlan's blood boil; it made him feel the coming of a murderous rage. He knew the rage would consume him later; but not now. Right now, what he was feeling didn't matter. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. She eagerly huddled into its warm, pulling it tightly around herself.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

Mia nodded, but she didn't move. Her eyes were still distant.

Without thinking, Quinlan lifted his hand from her shoulder and gently brushed the blood-soaked hair off her face, and he took her cheek in his hand. "Then you must stand for me," he whispered, leaning in close to her, almost touching his forehead to hers.

Upon his touch, her eyes lifted and she finally 'looked' at him with a sense of recognition. Quinlan's lips formed a hint of a pained smile as he looked into her eyes and saw the life return to them, as she returned to him. She reached out and clutched his shoulders, and pulled herself towards him. She tucked her legs beneath her and tried to stand. Quinlan let her hold onto him as he helped her to her feet. He noticed how light she was, and how fragile she felt in his hands. The feeling somehow saddened him.

She held herself up with her arms around his shoulders, her legs trembling beneath her as her body felt weak and numb. Quinlan looked at her, and then at the mutilated man on the floor. A million thoughts raced through his mind, but he didn't want to think about any of it right now. What mattered at that moment was that he found her… alive.

He put his arm around her and started to walk her away from this wretched place. This time, he had no care for formalities – he pulled her close to him and held her tightly. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

Chapter Text

Outside, Ephraim sat on the curb with his head in his hands, and his face still washed of all colour. He couldn't shake the image of what he saw from his head. He had seen dead bodies before, but not like that. Despite his gladness in finding Mia, it shook him to see what she had done; what she was capable of doing. It wasn't the fact that she killed a man. After all, if you push a person far enough, you can turn just about anyone into a killer. But she didn't just kill him – she hacked him with such savagery that anyone who saw the aftermath would think only a raving madman could have done that.

Ephraim took a deep breath and shut his eyes as if he could somehow shut out the image. He could still smell the blood, like it had somehow seeped into his clothes. Or perhaps it had seeped so deep into his mind that he could still imagine it. The sound of machine guns had started again – it always followed the sound of the siren. Ephraim listened to the gunfire echoing through the city, and he found it strangely hypnotic. It almost put him in trance. But then he heard footsteps behind him and he turned around to see Quinlan and Mia emerging from the building.

Ephraim suddenly reanimated, jumping to his feet. "Mia… Thank god…" he uttered under his breath as he rushed over to her. He wanted to throw his arms around her, and he almost did. But the ghastly sight of the blood on her made him stop. Instead, he clasped her shoulder tightly. "What happened? Are you ok?" Panic filled his voice. With a shaky hand, he tilted up her chin to see her face; to catch just a glimmer of reaction from her. "Please… talk to me. What happened in there, Mia? Did he hurt you?"

He was too irrational at that moment to realise that he was bombarding her with his own distress. Mia turned her face away from him. Quinlan could feel her tense up, and he pulled her in a little closer. She pressed into him.

"Get in the car," Quinlan quietly snapped at Ephraim, the low rumble in his voice projecting an unflinching masculinity.

Without thinking, Ephraim did as he was told, as most people tended to do when Quinlan gave commands. Even if he spoke softly. Especially if he spoke softly.

There had been many sombre drives through the dark streets of the city, but none quite as sombre as this. No one said a word for a long time. They all sat silently with their thoughts, accompanied by the background melodies of war. Though Ephraim's nerves had finally calmed, there was still a numbness in his fingertips from the lingering adrenaline. He stretched out his fingers and then re-gripped the wheel. He glanced in the mirror, looking at Mia's bloodied face as she sat expressionlessly in the back. He wished he knew what to say to her. 'I'm sorry'? No, 'sorry' wasn't enough. He was there when the man took her, and he didn't do a thing to stop him; he knew that, and he blamed himself. His guilt and his shame rendered him speechless.

"This is not the way to the apartment," Quinlan interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm taking her back to the warehouse," Ephraim replied. "She should stay with us… at least for tonight."

Quinlan glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.

"I don't think she should be alone," Ephraim added.

Quinlan didn't disagree; he simply kept quiet and turned his head, looking out window.

"I'll be fine," Mia murmured softly, surprising Ephraim as she finally spoke. "Just take me home."

"I can't leave you by yourself… not after…" Ephraim faltered. He wasn't sure of the right words to say. "I mean, it's a bad night for anyone to be alone. You heard the siren, right? We don't know what's happening out there."

"The infected have breached the borders," said Quinlan. "That is what's happening. Doctor Goodweather is right – you should stay with the others at the warehouse. It will be safer."

"But… my dog… I have to go back…" Mia uttered in broken sentences.

"He'll be fine," said Ephraim – a somewhat empty reassurance. "We'll go get him first thing in the morning. I promise."

Mia didn't say any more after that. Ephraim couldn't tell if he had convinced her, or if she simply didn't have the resolve to argue. Either way, it didn't matter; he just wanted her to stay.

When they arrived at the warehouse, Vasiliy was already standing by the entrance as if he had been waiting for them.

"Where the hell have you been?" he threw his arms up in outrage, looking at Quinlan as he got out of the car. Quinlan took no notice of him. He wasn't in the mood to explain himself; his patience was thin that night. Then, Vasiliy's eyes turned to Ephraim as he stepped out of the car. "Oh, look who's alive! Do you have any idea how many times I've tried to call you?!"

Again, he was met with silence. Ephraim didn't even appear to hear him, as something else had his attention. But Vasiliy would soon understand the reason as Ephraim helped Mia out of the car. When he saw her, his eyes widened in astonishment. Malaika, who had been standing in the doorway across the room, also stood with her mouth agape, staring at Mia. There was so much blood on her that even those hardened by scenes of bloodshed were still shocked by the sight.

"It's ok, it's not her blood," said Ephraim, reading the others' minds.

"Ok, you know I'm gonna ask – what the hell happened?!"

"Not now, Fet," Ephraim dismissed. He turned to Mia – she was the only thing he cared about at that moment. He cupped her face in his hand, feeling the dry, crusted blood on her skin. "Let's get all this blood off you," he whispered. He pulled the coat tightly around her, to keep her warm and also to cover the blood that he found so unsettling to look at. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her. She didn't pull away.

Quinlan watched as Ephraim comforted her, in a way that looked so natural between a man and a woman – the way he held her in his arms, the sound of his voice as he soothed her, and how naturally he knew the words to say – "Are you ok? Is there anything I can do?" – followed by a gentle brush of his thumb across her cheek.

The tender sentiments of humans, Quinlan thought, only to be shared by other humans.

He knew he would never be anything more than a spectator in their world. And so he watched Ephraim, observing those small details in his gestures like it was his only connection to her; the closest thing he could experience. But it was enough; it had to be.

He cares for her, and so I will be contented in knowing that.

Quinlan looked away.

Vasiliy held his tongue from asking any more questions, or making any remarks that might have entered his head. As insensitive as he was, he knew better than to stir a woman who looked like she had just been through the worst kind of hell. He was a man without tact, but not without sympathy. He sighed as he picked up some equipment off the workbench, tucking a pistol into his back and some clips into his pockets. He swung a shotgun over his shoulder, and then made his way to the van.

"Going somewhere?" Quinlan asked.

"Your men are out there fighting," he intoned with slight attitude. "Seeing as you ran off on them, I figured they're gonna need all the help they can get."

Quinlan gave him a nod of gratitude before he climbed into the van and drove away.

Ephraim led Mia upstairs to the bathroom. She walked slowly, somewhat dazed, but seemingly uninjured. Ephraim asked her over and over again if she was hurt, as if he was never satisfied with a simple 'no' for an answer, but it was the same answer she gave each time. He made meaningless conversation as he led her through the warehouse, regardless if she replied, or if she was even listening. It helped break the silence.

"So, the shower here doesn't work. It's not quite as glamorous as the research facility, but for a bunch of guys living in a zombie apocalypse, or Strigoi apocalypse, it's not too bad," he forced a smile, even though she could not see.

As they walked into the bathroom, he let go of her and gave her arm a little rub as if to reassure her he wasn't going anywhere. Then he walked over to an old, cracked porcelain bathtub and started to run the water. "We've got a bathtub and a hot water system that barely fills half the tub before it runs cold, but it does the job. Oh, I'll get you some clean clothes. Wait here."

Mia heard him scurry out of the room. As she stood there, she felt the icy tiles beneath her bare feet, and she clenched her toes uncomfortably. She could hear the running water, and slowly start to feel the warm steam rising in the cold air. There was a hazy, yellow glow from the dim light on the ceiling. She looked around the room at the blur of light and shadow contrasts and strange warped silhouettes of unrecognisable shapes. Suddenly, the world around her seemed like a strange, alien place. She felt far away from home, but she couldn't remember what 'home' ever felt like. She stood there, clinging to the coat that Quinlan put around her like it was her only comfort.

"Ok, here are some clothes." Ephraim returned to the room, startling her as he pushed a pile of clothes into her hands. "Sorry, I thought you heard me come in. Anyway, the bathtub is right in front of you. There are towels on the wall to your right – unfortunately no fresh ones, so I hope you don't mind sharing. And here's the soap."

"Thanks," she murmured, attempting a smile. It was as much appreciation as she could manage to show. The mask she was wearing felt heavier and heavier. It was the same mask she always wore when she faced the world, to hide her pain. She wanted him to leave so she could let it fall, and let herself fall to pieces. But he stood before her, unmoving.

"Look, I… uh… I know you probably don't want to talk about it," he hesitated. "But I just want you to know I'm here... if you ever want to talk. Or not talk, which is also fine. Just… whatever you need… I'm here."

She knew his words were sincere. He had always been nothing but kind to her, and she wished that she could give him more of her heart. Maybe she could learn to... one day. But not today.

"Thank you, Eph," she whispered. "But right now I just need to be alone."

"Yeah… I understand. I'll just be downstairs."

The violence outside continued. Soldiers were fighting the infected. Quinlan could hear their trucks moving across the city, and their guns blazing in the streets. He knew he should be out there fighting. But somehow, he couldn't leave. Malaika saw the conflict in his eyes, and she knew it was tearing him apart. It was the first time she had ever seen him just sitting there, staring into his empty hands without his sword or his guns, while the Strigoi ran the streets. She could see it pained him.

"[The city will not fall in one night,]" she commented quietly. Perhaps her words, spoken in Swahili, were meant to be some sort of reassurance.

Quinlan sat quietly on the couch, not saying a word. He knew he wasn't going to walk out that door, even if the sky was to come crashing down. He'd already made up his mind. He would punish himself for it later. But right now, he punished himself for not protecting her. He left her that night at the facility; he left her because of his own stubbornness and self-loathing. If only he had stayed, he thought. If only he had accepted her affections, regardless of the regret that might have ensued, but at least he would have stayed. He pushed her away to protect her, but in the end, he failed to protect her because he had pushed her away. How cruel the irony. In all his life, no matter what he did, he always failed those that mattered most to him.

This should be my punishment, not hers. She should not have to suffer.

Quinlan clenched his fists and fought the urge to burn the whole damned city to the ground that very night; the whole world, if he could. Except for just one place, somewhere far away, somewhere beautiful, where he would take her and she would be safe.

Malaika's watched his every emotion, reading him like a book. Then occasionally, she would look at Ephraim, who paced back and forth in the kitchen, constantly looking for new distractions – turning on the radio, listening to the broadcast for a few minutes, then turning it off. Then pouring himself a glass of vodka, and pacing again. It was driving Malaika crazy. She almost wanted to put him out of his misery.

"She's been in there for a long time," said Ephraim, looking at his watch. He reached for the bottle of vodka again and poured himself another glass, more full than the last. Then, as quickly as he raised the glass, he suddenly stopped and put it back down. "I think I should go check on her." He started towards the door.

Quinlan stood up from the couch and stood before him, blocking his way. "Check on her while she is bathing?" he locked Ephraim's eyes with a cold stare and a tilt of his head in questioning manner.

"Well obviously I'm gonna knock first," he retorted defensively, though he started to wonder if even that would be appropriate, especially if her nerves were already tense. Ephraim sighed. "Ok, why don't you go check on her," he said to Quinlan.

"Excuse me?" Quinlan uttered, confounded. "I fail to see how that makes any difference."

"Well… you're not exactly… a man. I mean, not human," Ephraim corrected himself. "So maybe she wouldn't think anything of it." He avoided Quinlan's eyes as he could see the way Quinlan was staring at him. He attempted to clarify, "I mean, she wouldn't care if a dog walked in, right? Or anything that isn't human – you know, being different species and everything… it wouldn't trigger those kind of thoughts."

Quinlan was no stranger to being compared to an animal and having his humanity completely disregarded, but somehow Ephraim's words sent a blaze through his veins. If impulse had prevailed, he would have ripped Ephraim's head right off his neck. But as quickly as the anger erupted, the feeling subsided into something more forlorn. Quinlan lowered his eyes and sunk back. Though it was only a subtle change in posture, it was as if his imposing confidence suddenly seemed to wilt. Quinlan turned away and sat back down on the couch, seemingly withdrawn.

"I'll go!" Malaika suddenly huffed. She couldn't listen to Ephraim for a moment longer. She pushed herself off the wall she was leaning against and stormed out of the room.

Outside the bathroom door, Malaika could hear the slow and steady rhythm of dripping water – each drop producing a buoyant echo as it broke through the surface of the water beneath. She pressed her ear to the door.

"Mia?"

Silence. Only the soft and steady drip… drip… drip.

"Mia…" Malaika knocked on the door.

Still no response.

She slowly opened the door and hesitantly peered inside. She found Mia sitting in the bathtub, hugging her knees to her chest, just as Quinlan had found her sitting in that room, with the same distant expression on her face. The water in the tub had turned completely red, and there was still blood on her skin that she had not washed off. She was shivering. The water must have been cold by now.

Malaika let herself into the room, purposely not being quiet so Mia knew she was coming in. But Mia showed no reaction to her. Immediately, the stench of blood engulfed her senses. She grimaced at the smell, but then pushed past the discomfort. She crouched down next to the bathtub and dipped her fingers into the water.

"Aye," she sighed. "The water is cold. Stand up," she instructed, like an impatient mother talking to a child. "Come on." She pulled Mia up to her feet, regardless of whether or not she was willing to move. She was surprisingly strong for a seventeen year old girl. She drained the water from the tub and watched the red liquid swirl down the hole. Then she turned on the tap and began to re-fill the bathtub.

"Ok, now sit down."

Mia lowered herself into the clean, warm water. The feeling immediately provided some comfort.

Malaika picked up an old rag sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, and took Mia's arm and started to scrub the parts where the dried blood clung stubbornly to her skin. She sighed as if it was all an annoyance, yet no one had asked her to do this. Then when she was finished with her arms, she washed Mia's face, and then her hair. Slowly, Mia's stiffness eased into a willing cooperation. Malaika then proceeded to wash the rest of her body, even finding the blood on her feet as she held them in her hand and ran the wet cloth over them. All the while, she didn't say a word; only the occasional sigh.

"Malaika…" Mia murmured.

Malaika stopped and looked at her.

"I'm glad you're ok…"

"I took one in the shoulder," Malaika muttered. "But it could have been much worse."

"You should get Ephraim to look at that."

"I already took care of it," she shrugged.

"We could've all ended up dead tonight…" Mia's voice trailed off with a despondent look in her eyes.

"Dead… or in prison."

"No," Mia shook her head. "He had no intention of arresting us." She still wore the trauma on her face, but behind her broken spirit burned a deep anger. It was perhaps the only thing that was holding her together. Suddenly, she grabbed Malaika's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Malaika, listen to me," she leaned forward, her brows furrowed and the look in her eyes grew intense. "If anyone ever tries to hurt you, you fight back, do you understand? And you never stop fighting, even if it costs you your life. Sometimes it's better to die fighting…"

Malaika looked at her with wide eyes. She was taken aback by her sudden strong words, but yet she understood where they came from. Malaika paused in thought for a moment, but then decided not to dwell on it. She gently pulled her hand out of Mia's grasp and carried on washing her as if she had never said anything out of the ordinary.

"I'm sorry," said Mia, sinking back into the bath, realising her emotions had possessed her and her words were perhaps radical.

"I am not the one you should worry about right now. Come on, stand up," Malaika tapped her shoulder. "I am done. I don't want to be here all night, so hurry up."

Still, Malaika stayed to help her dry herself and put on her clothes; clothes that were far too big for her as they were probably Ephraim's clothes. She made a note that she would give Mia some of her own clothes the next day. But this would do for tonight.

"I can take it from here," said Mia, as if wanting to be left alone now.

Malaika looked at her, wondering if she would be alright, or if she would break down as soon as she was alone. She stared at Mia as she slowly backed towards the door, unsure of whether or not to leave. Mia gave her a smile as if she knew Malaika was observing her. The smile told her that she would be alright.

"If you say so," Malaika muttered as she slowly made her exit.

As she walked down the corridor, she saw Quinlan come up the stairs. Suddenly, she felt angry at him – furious, even. She couldn't even look at him as she passed him in the corridor. If she did, she was afraid that she might say something. There were words burning inside her that she wanted to say. Then finally, she couldn't stay silent any longer. She stopped and turned around.

"Quinlan," she called, her tone was sharp and unfriendly.

Quinlan turned and looked at her.

Malaika thought she was going to unleash all her anger on him. But then when she saw the sorrow on his face, she just couldn't. She found herself unable to speak.

"Something you wanted to say?" Quinlan asked.

She hesitated – "Things are getting worse out there…" Her hands fidgeted nervously with the bottom of her sweater. "If you really care about her…" she paused and looked to the side.

"…then you would use your blood to heal her eyes… and give her back her sight."

Chapter Text

Malaika walked away, and Quinlan was left standing in the corridor, finding himself unexpectedly confronted.

Give her back her sight…

This was a thought that Quinlan had struggled with long before that night. But this time, it gripped his conscience more than ever. He knew as well as the Ancients that their blood was the healing elixir that science could not find. Each drop of their blood contained millions of stem cells that would rapidly regenerate damaged tissue, not just in their own bodies, but also in humans. It was what the old man had been using for years to keep Death at bay; to conquer disease and old age. But Quinlan never told Mia that his blood could possibly restore her sight. He kept it from her, not by accident or by slip of the mind, but by deliberate choice.

'If you truly care about her,' Malaika's words echoed in his mind, 'then you would give her back her sight.'

No.

Quinlan shook his head, refusing to accept it.

The world has changed since she last saw it. Having her sight will not protect her – it will only show her the sickness that has infected the world. She will only see death and horror. If truly I care about her…

He paused at the thought, wondering where along the way, in those small yet significant moments he spent with her, did he find himself coming to care about this mortal woman. He could no longer deny that he cared, in some way that he could not explain.

If I truly care about her… then I will protect her.

He made himself this promise, and in turn, he would not have to confront the truth.

Why will you not heal her eyes? What are you really afraid of, Quinlan?

He silenced the voices in the back of his mind.

Quinlan looked down the hallway towards the bathroom, where a single beam of light poured through the open crack of the door. He found himself walking towards the light as if it beckoned him. He stopped outside the door and peered through the opening. Inside, swirls of mist danced in the air in the warm glow of the light, and amidst the steamy haze, Mia stood like an ethereal apparition, with her hair draped to the side as she carefully ran a towel through her long, wet tresses. Even in her sorrow, she seemed to move with a sense of grace. Quinlan found himself transfixed as he watched her. For a moment, she almost seemed peaceful and untroubled, like the events of the night had never happened; like the world around her had never turned to hell. It was like he had caught a glimpse of an ordinary girl in some mundane moment in her life, and yet there was something rather special about that, Quinlan thought. Then suddenly, she stopped, and the towel in her hand fell to the floor. Her expression changed as if she was overcome by some woeful realisation, and slowly, she reached up with her hand and touched her trembling fingertips to her face, as if to feel that she was still real; that she was still herself.

Quinlan's heart sank. Without thinking, he slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside. Upon hearing the sound, Mia turned her head over her shoulder and listened for a moment. She acknowledged his presence with a subtle expression, and then she turned back around and leaned her hands on the sink in front of her. She didn't ask who was there, but Quinlan somehow sensed that she knew it was him. He found himself lost for words as he looked at her. He didn't know what he was going to say when he walked in; he only knew that he wanted to take her away from this moment, from wherever her mind was just now.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she broke the silence before he could find his words.

"I lost control…" she murmured faintly. She didn't turn around to face him.

Quinlan walked closer and stood behind her. As he looked at her delicate shoulders, he wanted to gently grasp them and pull her back into him, and hold her safe against his chest. He stopped himself, though just barely. But the more he saw her pain, the more he wanted to be close to her. He just didn't know how or where to start.

"You saw what I did to him…" Mia winced, her hands tightly clutching the edge of the sink. "I lost control. I just… couldn't stop… just like before. I never wanted you to see me like that..." she hung her head down, "but now you have. Now you see what I am…"

With those words, all of Quinlan's previous hesitation dissolved, and he took her arm and turned her towards him. He suddenly remembered that night in her apartment, not so long ago, when her delicate hand explored his face, and how she had wanted to 'see' him. He remembered pulling away that night, not wanting to admit he was afraid. But now, he reached down and lifted her hand, and placed it against his cheek just as she did that night. This time, he helped her find the details of his face as he moved her fingers over the ridge of his brow, tracing gently along the contour, and across his jutting cheekbone, then down along the deep scar on his cheek to his lips. He brushed her fingers softly across his lips to where they continued into a slit in the corner of his mouth... all his features distinguishingly inhuman.

"And now you see what I am," he whispered softly.

Mia lifted her head and looked up at him. Her eyes quivered and her brows were furrowed as if she was concentrating – feeling every shape and every texture beneath her fingers; absorbing every detail of his face. Then, she closed her eyes and her fingers curled upon his cheek. She looked as though she was holding back tears, but at the same time, she appeared somehow comforted. Quinlan tilted his head ever so slightly into her hand as his gaze fixed upon her face. He tried to read her expression, to understand what she was feeling. And perhaps to find the answer to the question that he was too afraid to ask – What happened in that room? What happened in those moments before you sent that animal to his rightful place in hell?

Quinlan supposed he would never know. The only thing he could do was trust that she was the fighter that he always saw in her, and that she was as relentless as he imagined. He knew her spirit, and so he had to trust in that. Quinlan pushed away those bitter thoughts and tried to savour whatever serenity he could find in that moment. And perhaps Mia was doing the same.

Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the night, far too close to the warehouse for comfort; close enough to rattle the walls and the steel structures, and send tremors through the ground beneath their feet.

Mia's eyes sprung open in alarm. Instinctively, Quinlan pulled her close to him and held his arm securely around her shoulder. Within a split second, his eyes turned from softness into a fierce alertness.

"What the hell was that?" Mia gasped, frightened and clinging onto Quinlan, her hand unknowingly gripping the fabric of his shirt at his chest.

"Come on," Quinlan grabbed her arm, not as gently as he would have preferred, but he was too flurried to notice. He pulled her down the hallway into one of the bedrooms – the one that belonged to him.

"Stay here and do not move," Quinlan instructed.

"Wait…"

Quinlan took her face into his hand and looked into her scared eyes. "I will come back," he promised her. His tone was more commanding than reassuring, and his mood was always very different when the beast inside him awakened – he would become chillingly cold and ferocious. And right now, the sense of a threat was enough to awaken the beast.

Quinlan swiftly turned and marched out of the room. Malaika was standing in the hallway outside her room, looking around, confused.

"What was that sound?"

"Keep her safe," Quinlan firmly ordered as he rushed past Malaika without stopping and marched straight down the stairs. He had told himself he wasn't going to fight that night, but now, the threat had come too close to home; too close to something that he cared about.

When Quinlan reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw a dreary figure standing in the dark, swaying like a tree in the wind.

"It was a truck…" Ephraim mumbled. "It was driving down the street and then it just went bwooom... " he acted out an explosion with his hands, with one hand clutching a half empty bottle of vodka. "I saw it… it was a military truck," he paused and then laughed. "I hope more of those military scumbags die…" Ephraim went to take another swig from the bottle.

Suddenly, Quinlan stormed towards him with such fury that even in his drunken state, the doctor stumbled back in trepidation. Quinlan coarsely snatched the bottle from Ephraim's hand and tossed it aside, unintentionally sending the bottle flying across the room and shattering as it hit the wall on the other side.

"Are you done with your self-pity," Quinlan spat, enraged, pushing his face in Ephraim's, "or are you going to continue to degrade yourself until you are less of a man than those creatures out there?"

Quinlan stared him in the eyes, his nostrils flared and his lips curled, baring his teeth. The look on his face was almost enough to frighten Ephraim into soberness. Ephraim stood stunned for a moment, and then he lowered his head.

"Less of a man…" Ephraim repeated with a humourless chuckle. Then he recoiled into a withered state. "I didn't protect her," he murmured, shaking his head. "She was in my arms… and he took her… He took her right from my arms, and I didn't do a goddamn thing!"

Quinlan grabbed Ephraim by the collar of his jacket and dragged him stumbling to the side of the room. He turned Ephraim around and forced him to face the mirror on the wall. Ephraim struggled to break away, but Quinlan stood behind him, holding him firmly in place.

"Look at yourself," Quinlan instructed.

Ephraim turned his head away, refusing to look at the mirror in front of him.

Quinlan grabbed his head and pried it towards the mirror, with one hand across his chin and the other pulling back his forehead, forcing his eyes open.

"Look at yourself!" Quinlan growled, his stinger rattling in his chest. "What do you see?"

Ephraim could hardly recognise the man he saw in the reflection – the man who hadn't shaved for weeks, with knotted hair, sunken cheeks and dark circles around his bloodshot eyes. The man who was so drunk he could hardly stand on his own, and he could barely keep his eyes open or hold the weight of his own head on his shoulders. The man in the mirror was no doctor; he was a disgrace! Tears started to flow from his eyes.

"I see a failure…" Ephraim sobbed. "A pathetic drunk... A coward who couldn't stand up for a girl, a father who was never there for his son, and fucking useless doctor who never made a difference!"

"Do you think life is cruel to you?" Quinlan's voice rumbled in Ephraim's ear as he leaned over his shoulder. "Do you think the world is harsh and unjust?" Quinlan looked up at the mirror and caught the sight of his own reflection. "Do you want to know what I see when I look in the mirror? Monster... demon... creature... thing... Those are just some of the names I have been called." Quinlan let go of Ephraim and turned away from the mirror. "I could pity myself for being what I am, or I could accept it and keep fighting."

Ephraim's sobs started to quieten as he calmed himself. He turned and looked at Quinlan, somewhat dazed as if he was trying to process a thought that was too complex for his current state. He tried to think about Quinlan's words, and even though he couldn't quite comprehend them at that moment, he knew there was something important in those words.

Quinlan walked across the room to where an assortment of weapons lay spread across the table. He reloaded his guns and put them back into their holsters, and then he picked up a 9mm pistol from the table. He walked over to Ephraim, who was still standing in a daze, and held out the handle of the gun towards him. Ephraim looked down at the gun and hesitantly took it from Quinlan, staring at it as if it was an alien object.

"There is a war out there, Doctor Goodweather, and it's coming for us all," Quinlan stared at him with penetrating eyes. "Pull yourself together – she needs you sober."

When those words finally registered with Ephraim, he looked up, and Quinlan had already walked out of the room.

Chapter Text

On a dark street corner just across the road from the warehouse, an ominous figure stood leering in the shadows, keeping a watchful eye on the building where Quinlan and the others resided. When he saw Quinlan walk out onto the street, his thin lips stretched into a wide grin, baring his perfect porcelain veneers, so white they seemed to glow in the dark.

"So this is where you've been hiding," he hissed through his grin.

He watched as Quinlan walked down the street, oblivious to the threat that lurked in the shadows, to inspect a blazing truck that had crashed into a nearby building. To catch Quinlan unaware like that gave the German great satisfaction, and it showed in his wicked smile. He stretched out his arm in front of him and formed the shape of a gun with his hand. He closed one eye and looked down his fingers like he was taking aim, following precisely the back of Quinlan's head as he walked.

"Bang!" He tilted up his hand, mimicking the kick of a gun being fired. He laughed quietly to himself. "You make it too easy, Quinlan."

Then he turned his eyes back to the warehouse and stared at the old, desolate building – ugly and austere, and its walls graffitied with profanity, yet it stood tall and unapologetic.

Quintus Sertorius, the great Roman warrior, 'The Born' – Who would have thought your journey would end here in this hell-hole in Brooklyn, New York.

The German pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and tilted down the rim of his homburg hat. His face disappeared into the shadow. Just as he turned to walk away, something caught his attention; he noticed movement inside one of the windows of the warehouse as a shadow moved across the light.

"Oh, you have friends – how wonderful!" His sinister smile stretched even wider. "I hope you don't mind if I pay them a visit some time..."

He took a final look at the warehouse, and then turned and disappeared into the dark alleyway.

Quinlan approached the burning truck. It had crashed into the solid brick wall of an old furniture factory next to the warehouse. It was as Ephraim described – the truck must have been driving down the street when somehow it erupted in an explosion. And then the flaming wreckage must have veered off the road and ploughed into the wall of the building. The flames were settling now, and Quinlan could see that the truck had been completely devastated by the blast – its windows were shattered, the doors were gone, and the metal panels were bent and warped. Quinlan could smell burning flesh. As he walked closer, he saw a charred body half hanging out of the passenger side of truck. He pulled the body onto the ground and turned it onto its back – Strigoi. It was already dead. Not just burnt, but its flesh had been shredded, its torso ripped open, and one of its arms was completely gone. It was the blast that mutilated it, and then the fire took care of the rest. But it must have been still alive when the fire started to burn its flesh; the expression on its face showed that the miserable creature had died in agony.

On the hood of the truck was another burnt corpse. This creature's stinger was hanging out of its mouth, extended to its full length. It had been trying to feed just before it was killed. Quinlan walked around to the other side of the truck and looked through the flames at the burning heap of flesh sitting on the driver's seat. It was human; Quinlan only knew that because he could smell it. But it no longer looked like anything that resembled the human form. The blast had ripped the body into pieces, and whatever was left had been burnt to a crisp. One arm, however, was still intact, and the hand was clenched in a tight fist, seemingly holding something. Quinlan reached through the flames and pulled out its hand. He pried open its charred fingers, and in its grasp were three grenade pins. Quinlan pieced together the last moments of the man's life.

Sometimes, it is better to choose death than the alternative. And when death is the only option, it is better to take your enemies with you to hell.

Quinlan stared down at the pins as he briefly commemorated the brave soldier in his mind.

Suddenly, a body launched itself onto Quinlan's back from the roof of the truck, shrieking, and rabid claws scratching at his neck. Quinlan threw the body over his shoulder and onto the ground. It was another Strigoi. It was still on fire, and it writhed in pain as the flames slowly burned its flesh. The sounds of its shrieks were like nails scratching down a chalkboard. Quinlan pulled his blade from his back and pointed the tip to the squirming creature's chest. For a moment, the creature looked up at him with its blood-red eyes, almost as if it understood. The way it looked at him, it was as if the creature was begging for help. Quinlan tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword and slid the blade through the creature's heart. Then finally, it was silent and still.

Quinlan sheathed his sword and walked away from the truck as it burned the last of its flames. He felt the heat of the fire slowly dissipate into the cold air. A chill washed over his body. Although the cold was inconsequential to him, it didn't mean that he wasn't able to feel it. Without his coat, the harsh winter frost hurt him as much as it did anyone. But it wouldn't be long until he'd come across some poor lifeless soul on a dark street corner with a warm coat that he could relieve him of. After all, this was the land of opportunities.

Vasiliy, Gus, and the other hunters had made their way to the old and vast Greenwood Cemetery on the northern border of the safe zone. The place was as forbidding as it was beautiful, with fallen tombstones overgrown by dead winter branches, and marble statues and brownstone mausoleums worn by the hands of time and the touch of Mother Nature. The ground was an entanglement of dead branches and twigs, and the sky was covered by a canopy of leafless treetops that filtered through the broken rays of light from the moon and the stars. The eerie faces of the stone angels seemed as if they were always watching, and at any moment, they could come to life and take a man in their cold embrace.

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…"

The old hunter from Texas – Old Bill, they called him – quietly recited the scripture in his hoarse voice, worn by many years of heavy smoking, and he certainly wasn't going to quit now. He uncaringly put out his cigarette on top of a tombstone, twisting the butt into the stone and leaving its ashes on the surface, only to be carried away by the wind a moment later. The old war veteran had seen too many battles; it was as if he no longer cared about life, or about death. And maybe that's what made him the best at his job.

He raised his rifle and looked down the scope – he had a Strigoi in his sight, creeping through the trees and in between the tombstones, sniffing the air like a hungry dog. The hunter pressed the end of the rifle firmly against his shoulder and took a deep breath in. Then, upon exhale, he squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gun echoed through the trees. Yards away, the Strigoi fell dead to the ground.

"Headshot…" Old Bill muttered to himself, before spitting the taste of tobacco from his mouth.

There was a rustle in a bush somewhere in the distance, and another from a different direction. Then suddenly, the group was surrounded by sounds of scampering feet running towards them.

"Alright boys, here they all come," Gus prepared.

"Cover all directions. Make sure we have each other's backs," Vasiliy instructed. "I don't want one of them bloodsuckers sneakin' up behind me."

In the darkness and with the creature-like silhouettes of the statues and tombstones, visibility was not on the hunters' side. They could hear the Strigoi getting closer before they could see them. And when the first Strigoi charged out from amongst the tombstones and into the expanse of their flashlights, it was already dangerously close. Vasiliy stumbled back as he discharged his shotgun into the creature's chest. Another one ran out from a different direction and several hunters fired at it. But soon the group's attention would be divided as the infected started running out from all directions around them, almost faster than they could shoot. No one could afford to miss a single shot. They were closing in quickly; it had to be one shot one kill. Their lives depended on that split second's difference.

"We gotta keep moving!" Gus called out. "We can't hold 'em like this!"

"He's right – we're sitting ducks if we stay here." Just as Vasiliy said those words, a Strigoi launched its stinger at him. He just managed to dodge it, but not without tripping over the root of a tree and falling to the ground. The creature immediately retracted its stinger for a second attack. It was fast; faster than Vasiliy could recompose himself to aim his gun. He saw the creature's stinger re-emerging from its mouth. His heart raced as he fumbled the gun in his hands.

Shit! Come on… get it together! Aim the gun! Just fucking shoot…

Bang! A single precise shot sent a bullet straight through the creature's head. Vasiliy quickly looked around to see where the shot came from. And then he saw, high up in an enormous Sassafras tree, was Old Bill sitting perched on a branch with his scoped rifle. He gave Vasiliy a smile and salute.

"You ol' dog, how the hell did you get up there?" Vasiliy muttered to himself as he scrambled to his feet.

"I'll clear you boys a path from up here," he called down from the tree.

"What about you?" Gus shouted up to him.

"Don't think these bloodsuckers have figured out how to climb trees. I'll be fine. Now get the fuck outta here!"

Gus looked up at him and gave him a nod.

"Come on, this way!" Vasiliy called, motioning with his arm.

Without wasting a single moment, the men ran towards a clear path in between two mausoleums. A Strigoi came charging towards them from the side, but with the sound of a faraway gunshot, it fell dead to the ground. Several others chased behind them; the men could hear their footsteps dashing across the overgrown land. But there was also the consistent sound of Old Bill's rifle, firing at a steady interval, followed by the thud of a body dropping to the ground. The men ran as fast as they could, weaving between the tombstones. But the infected were relentless, and their numbers were ceaseless as more and more of them ran out from the darkness. A group of infected emerged in front of their path, blocking their way, and the ones behind them were quickly closing the distance. The men stopped and desperately looked around for a clear path, but they were trapped.

Then suddenly, the sound of machine guns swept through the land, with unyielding fingers holding down on the triggers until all the Strigoi around them fell to the ground. Vasiliy and the hunters stood dazed as the ground around them became littered with dead Strigoi. Then, in the darkness, amongst the tombstones, bright beams of light emerged. The lights scanned the infected corpses on the ground and those that were still moving received a bullet between the eyes. After all the infected were confirmed dead, the beams of light moved onto Vasiliy, Gus and the other men, shining brightly in their eyes and momentarily blinding them. Then, the lights finally lowered from their faces, allowing them to see. In front of them stood five soldiers with flashlights mounted on their automatic rifles.

"Drop your guns!" one of the soldiers ordered.

"You gotta be kidding me!" Vasiliy exclaimed.

"What do you mean drop our guns?!" Gus cried, outraged. "We're out here fighting those things. We're trying to help!"

"You can't be out here after the siren; you know the rules. You're all under arrest."

"Under arrest?" Vasiliy almost laughed at the absurdity. "You're gonna arrest us for fighting them bloodsuckers? We're doing the city a favour!"

"We don't make the laws; we just enforce them," said another soldier. "Now drop your guns."

The snap of a twig from amongst the trees behind the soldiers made them abruptly turn towards the sound. Their lights scanned the darkness. At first they couldn't see anything except a rustle in the bush. Then, a limping figure hobbled out of the shadows. Slowly, the image of a large, bearded man carrying a rifle came into view. The man, with an injured leg, walked slowly towards them.

Old Bill… you mad dog. You actually made it out alive! Vasiliy smiled to himself.

He walked past the soldiers ever so casually, taking his time with the limp in his leg, as the soldiers stood staring at him with their guns pointed towards him. He walked up to his men and stood by their side.

"Your leg…" said Gus, with concern on his face.

"I ain't infected... fell outta the damn tree." He adjusted the cap on his head, with the America flag printed on the front, and clutched his rifle under his arm, and then finally turned and faced the soldiers.

"Alright tough guy," a soldier nodded towards Old Bill, "throw that gun on the ground or I'll shoot you right between the eyes."

"The only time I put down my gun is when I'm pissing... or when I'm fucking. And right now I ain't doin' either."

The soldiers looked at each other and then took aim with their rifles. In the same moment, Vasiliy and the hunters raised their guns. All fingers were on triggers.

"Look who you're pointing your guns at!" Gus cried. "Your own kind – your brothers! We're out here fightin' the same enemy and you wanna shoot us?! This is why the world is fucked, man!"

"You have to the count of three to drop your guns," said the soldier. "One…"

"This is bullshit!"

"Two…"

No one was standing down. This was it – no man was walking out of there alive. There was only one way it could end now, but it didn't matter; everyone knew it was better to be dead than in the kind of prison they were running – men, women, killers and psychopaths all locked up together, tearing each other apart for food and clothes, or just for the hell of it. And if that didn't kill you then disease, infection or starvation would. Better dead than in prison – every person knew that.

"Three."

A shift shadow swooped in, silent and deadly. There was a shimmer of a blade, the twang of its steel, and then the shadow disappeared into the darkness. It was too fast for anyone to see. But after the shadow returned to the night, the severed head of a soldier rolled off his shoulders and fell onto the ground with a thud, and then the rest of the body dropped like a limp sack. Panic spread across the troop. The soldiers frantically scanned the darkness around them, but all they could see was a dash of a shadow. They let out a spray of bullets, almost hitting Vasiliy and the hunters, who leaped to take cover behind the tombstones.

The soldiers lost sight of the dark figure. They stood panicked and afraid – every rustle of a leaf and every sensation of movement in the air spun them around, only to face darkness. The figure made no sound; one soldier was completely unaware of the shadow closing in behind him until he felt a sharp pain in his back and watched the tip of a sword come out through his chest. The three remaining soldiers opened fire at the ungodly figure, but he held the dead man in front of him like a shield. Then he launched the corpse at one of the soldiers, knocking him to the ground, and swiftly moved to the next standing soldier. Before the terrified man could pull the trigger, the sharp blade of the sword cut his hand clean off his wrist, and it fell to the ground, still gripping the gun. His deathly scream echoed through the graveyard.

From behind the tombstones, the hunters starting firing back. It was an easy victory. Four soldiers were dead and only one was left alive. He stood shaking, clutching the bloody stump where his hand used to be. The dark figure sheathed his sword and walked towards the petrified man. As the figure neared him, he saw its face. It was no man – its face was pale and diabolical, with cold blue eyes, vicious and predatory.

"Go to hell you fucking freak!" he spat. With his remaining hand, he reached for the gun in his belt. But before he could, Quinlan grabbed him by the throat.

The man stared up at the terrifying creature in front of him. Whatever courage he possessed had now wilted. The only thing that remained was his fear of death. "No... Please… have mercy…"

Quinlan leaned in close, breathing in the scent of fear, and whispered in the man's ear, "Even your god does not show mercy. Why should I?" Then in a swift motion, he grabbed the man's head and slammed it down on the edge of a tombstone, splitting his skull. Red blood trickled down the face of the white gravestone – it was almost a poetic picture. Death had been quick and painless, and perhaps merciful after all.

"You're late," said Vasiliy, dusting the dead leaves off his clothes.

"Late?" said Quinlan. "This is only the beginning."

The hunters gathered in front of him, looking to him for direction; looking at him with the fear and respect that he commanded. He glanced at each man, meeting their eyes with his gaze, and then he turned and led the way. "Let's go."

Chapter Text

There was the slightest glow of light in the sky as dawn started to break. The sort of glow that made everything look surreal, like a dream, and you couldn't be sure if it was the morning or still the night. Mia stood at the window in Quinlan's room, wrapped up in the blanket she took from the bed, listening to the sounds of the disarray outside. It was starting to quieten now – the gunfire was ceasing, and the engines of vehicles softened to a distant hum as the trucks around the city began to return to base. Soon, the sun would rise and the infected would retreat from the light. And those who were left alive in the morning could breathe a sigh of relief… until the sun sets again.

Mia stood restless by the window, gazing upon the outside world with all her senses but her eyes. For some reason, her heart would not be still. She pressed her hand against the icy glass of the window as if she was reaching for something out there; something that she couldn't touch.

The door behind her creaked open and she turned, startled. As always, she listened for a sound – she heard brisk footsteps trotting towards her, and with each step the sound of claws tapping on the hard concrete floor. Before she could react with fear or curiosity, she felt a cold, wet nose nudge her hand, and then an enthusiastic lick from a wet tongue.

She crouched down and ran her hands over the familiar shape of a sweet little face and big floppy ears, and the soft texture of fur.

"Caesar!" she cried as she threw her arms around her beloved friend. She held him tightly. The dog wriggled out of her arms to lick her face, and she could feel his body wiggling to the wag of his tail. How she had missed him. Since the day she got him, he had always been by her side – he was her truest companion. Having him in her arms again felt like a missing part of her had been returned. At that moment, she almost cried. "Caesar… how did you…?" She suddenly paused and looked towards the doorway, as if she saw him standing there. "You brought him here?" she asked, so sure that he was there, like she always had a way of knowing.

"Yes," said Quinlan. "You were concerned about him."

"Thank you," she smiled sincerely, with tears in her eyes.

Quinlan let a brief smile show on his face. He was glad to see her happy. He thought it was the least he could for her.

He walked into the room, clutching his side, and underneath his hand was blood; his blood. He glanced at Mia and hesitated for a moment before removing his torn and bloodied shirt. His bare and muscular torso was covered in wounds from the night's battle – gashes from sharp claws and grazes from bullets; fresh wounds over the scars of old ones. He looked down at his battle-worn body, and then at Mia.

Just as well she cannot see, he thought to himself.

His white-coloured blood trickled down his body, running over the contours of his carved muscles. He wiped the blood with the shirt he'd just taken off, and then threw it to the floor. He walked towards Mia, or rather, to the dresser beside her, where he opened a drawer and pulled out a clean shirt. Her eyes followed him. Even though he knew she couldn't see, his gaze still felt compelled to shy away as he stood exposed in front of her, his body bare and bloodied, and his muscles still engorged from battle, accentuating his powerful physique. He reassured himself again that she could not see his barbaric form.

"You're still awake at this hour," said Quinlan, overcoming the feeling of awkwardness as he pulled the clean shirt over his head. He winced at the pain as he stretched up his arms.

"I can't sleep…" she said, turning back to the window. "I can hear all those sounds out there… It's like I'm listening to the end of the world."

"Perhaps you are," Quinlan unwittingly muttered before realising the nihilism in his words. She turned to him, and for a moment, he saw fear in her eyes. He tried to rectify his words. "But life is resilient. Somehow, it always manages to overcome the odds. We just have to keep fighting."

"Fighting…? Or killing? Sometimes I feel like I don't know the difference anymore." She walked away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed. Immediately, Caesar followed and sat at her feet, resting his chin on her lap. She stroked his head and played with his soft, velvety ears in her hands. But somehow, her hands didn't feel like her own; they felt dirty, and tainted.

"Quinlan…"

"Hm?"

"The things you've seen… the things that people do… does it shock you?"

Quinlan looked at her, trying to understand the thoughts behind her question. He somehow sensed that the real question was, "Did it shock you to see what I had done tonight?"

"I've been on this earth for a long time," he said evenly. "I've seen many things. What can possibly be shocking anymore?"

Her expression strained uncomfortably, and she did not speak for a long time.

"I've done terrible things…" she finally said. "I've made terrible mistakes…"

Quinlan walked to the bed and sat down beside her. "There's no mistake in killing that man tonight. If I had been there, I would have done worse," he confessed, viciousness in his voice, and surprised at himself that he said such a thing out loud. He averted his eyes from seeing her reaction. "Do you feel remorse for his death? And for your father's?"

"No, not remorse," she answered without hesitation. "I'd kill them again in a heartbeat! But... it was the way I did it... I'm just scared... of what I've become..."

"And what is that?"

"I don't know... and that's the problem. Sometimes I feel like I don't even recognise who I am anymore."

Quinlan looked at her curiously. There was much that he wanted to understand about her. He would never press her to talk about anything she didn't want to. But that night, for the first time, the look in her eyes gave him permission to her deepest, darkest secrets.

"When I first had the thought of killing my father," she began in a quiet voice, "I was a scared little girl with a crazy idea. I didn't know if I was going to do it, or if I even could. Then one day, I met a man – the worst kind of man. He ran with a local biker gang. They were involved with everything from drugs to robberies… to murder. Instead of being afraid or disgusted like any normal person would, I became drawn to his power and ruthlessness. I saw him as my golden ticket – a way to finally escape the monster that tormented me every day of my life. So I seduced him... I was seventeen and he was thirty-two. I asked him for a gun. I asked him to teach me how to use it. And I asked him how to get away with murder…" She uncomfortably crossed her arms in front of her body, pulling the blanket tightly around her, not for warmth but for comfort. "I used him to get what I wanted. I planned every single part of it…"

Quinlan didn't speak; he sat silently beside her. And in his silence, she was afraid of what he might have been thinking. "Do I shock you now?" she asked.

"No," he answered simply.

"Am I not what you expected me to be…?"

There was a slight pause, and then his voice spoke softly from close to her, "I do not expect you to be anything… just exactly the way you are."

She turn to him with a deep, heart-felt expression upon her face. Her quivering eyes searched the darkness for him, longing to see him. But she would only ever see the picture of him in her mind. And no picture could match the way he made her feel – the calmness and the solace, the reassurance he always gave her, and the acceptance without question and without judgement; she would forever be grateful. But gratitude was only the surface of what she felt in her heart.

"This is not simply a story of a girl who slayed a monster and escaped from its clutches, is it?" Quinlan asked as he studied her face. "Not a story of victory, triumph, or heroism. There is something else…"

"My father might have taken a part of my soul, but that man completely destroyed what was left. I had no idea the things he would do. I was stupid for thinking I could just walk away from it all. I tried to leave… many times. But he always found me, and he'd hurt me… in ways I didn't know was possible. Then the very last time… he tried to kill me. He held me down and stuck a needle in my arm full of heroin – tried to make it look like an overdose. The strange thing was… as I was lying there, thinking I was going to die… I felt relieved. I felt relieved because I knew it'd be the last time he hurt me..."

Quinlan's heart almost stopped in his chest. He had never known this sort of feeling. He knew anger and rage in their most explosive form. However this feeling was not explosive, but painfully suffocating, from which there was no release. He simply felt helpless.

Then, to his surprise, she leaned towards him and gently laid her head down on his shoulder. His body was already tense, and now his heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He stared at her, somewhat bewildered, as he looked at her soft face against his brute frame. Her eyes were closed and she looked almost peaceful. Her calmness brought ease to his tension, and slowly, he let himself come to terms with the fact that this beautiful and delicate creature, after everything she had been through, still wanted to be close to him despite knowing exactly what he was. And she was ever so comfortable by his side, the way no one ever was.

"I have no one to blame but myself," she murmured with her eyes still closed. "I played with fire and I got burned. I ran from one monster into the arms of another…"

"Is that what you are doing now," Quinlan asked, "running into the arms of yet another monster?"

Mia opened her eyes and lifted her head. "No…" she intoned, furrowing her brows at his words. But then her expression softened again, and she laid her head back down on his shoulder. "The only monsters now are the ones in my head," she said softly. "But somehow… you keep them at bay."

She closed her eyes again.

Quinlan's mind fell into a whirlpool of thoughts, hopes and doubts. He couldn't understand why she shared these tender moments with him. She could have chosen anyone more deserving, and perhaps she did when he wasn't aware. But somehow, she made him feel like it was only him. He told himself this was impossible, after all, how could she ever want anything to do with a creature like him? But still, a part of him could not help but wonder if there was something in the moments she shared with him, like that night at the research facility – that moment that he dared not to think about. Even his savage, inhuman heart was not impervious to the hopes and dreams of a man.

He didn't know how long he sat there unresponsive, but he was in so lost in his thoughts that he didn't quite hear the words she murmured as she drifted off to sleep. He thought perhaps she whispered, "Stay with me." But he couldn't be sure; maybe he only imagined it. Either way, he stayed with her long after she was asleep with her head still on his shoulder. Then he gently laid her down on the bed, as carefully as if he had the most precious and delicate jewel in his hands. And he sat by her side until the sun was high in the sky.

There was an eerie calm across the city that morning. There were no soldiers out on the streets, and even the rioters had fallen silent. It was so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop. The streets were littered with bodies, both human and infected. And the only people out of their homes were those looking for loved ones, lost in the night's battle. Mothers searched the streets for sons who gave their lives to protect the city, turning over every dead body that wore a soldier's uniform. Some went home with hope, while others wept, kneeling by the side of corpses. The rest of the people sat lifelessly in their homes, wearing shell-shocked faces.

The only person who had some life that morning was Ephraim. He was awake before anyone else. Vasiliy almost didn't recognise him when he walked into the kitchen and saw Ephraim standing there.

"Woah, what the hell did you do to your hair?"

"Thought I was due for a haircut," Ephraim smiled, running his hand over his newly shaved head. His unkempt beard, too, was gone.

"About time you cleaned up your act," Vasiliy remarked. "I was starting to forget what your face looked like!"

"Ha, me too," Ephraim chuckled.

"So why the sudden change?"

"I… uh… guess you can say I got a wake-up call…"

Something had changed in Ephraim that day – he felt a sense of clarity, and there was a newfound determination within him. He promised himself that as soon as he returned to the laboratory, he would pour every bottle of liquor down the drain. And he also promised himself that he would work harder than ever to find the vaccine. He stayed in the city for a few more days, as he promised Mia he would, and then he returned to facility. He returned a new man, and he scrapped all his old notes and started anew, more determined than ever before.

Although Mia said she would only stay at the warehouse for one night, she ended up staying for the next five days. She found comfort in the others' company, even if they weren't always the best company. She'd learned to stay out of Vasiliy's way, and he'd learned when to be polite. As for Malaika, she and Mia didn't talk much, but in their silence they seemed to develop somewhat of a mutual understanding.

Quinlan wasn't around very much; no one really knew where he spent his days and nights. He let Mia stay in his room, as he hardly used it. But he would always return at dawn. Sometimes when he returned, he would stop outside the bedroom door and stand for a moment, looking at Mia asleep on the bed, before walking away. But she was rarely asleep, not that he knew, and she'd always smile when she heard his comforting footsteps at the door. It was enough to distract her from the fear of the city in its continual decay.

The war continued and the chaos grew each night. While soldiers were losing their numbers, Nemesis flourished. The desperate times drove more and more people to the hopes that Nemesis promised. The group took no part in the war with the infected. While soldiers died on the streets, they stayed in the safety of their underground settlement. The infected were not their concern; their war was with men. Now the military was at its weakest, it would only be a matter of time before Nemesis made their move.

As Quinlan looked down upon the world from high up on a rooftop somewhere in the city, he whispered, "May the gods have mercy on their souls." Only the thing was, he didn't believe in any gods, or in mercy. He had lived long enough to see that neither existed in this world. All man can ever do is just keep fighting... until the day he can't.

Chapter Text

Mia's earliest memory was the death of her mother. She was eight years old when it happened, but for some reason, she could never remember her life before that day, no matter how much she tried. She would get vague flashes sometimes, of a house by a lake, a soothing voice that sang to her, a gentle hand that caressed her, and a beautiful smile on a face that she could not remember. She supposed life was happy then… before the day her mother never came home.

She remembered policemen arriving at her house, scary-looking men in uniforms, telling her and her sister that they had to go with them. She didn't want to, and she was terrified. But her sister, Anna – two years older – took her hand and told her she had to. Anna understood what was happening, but Mia didn't. She remembered seeing the policeman's mouth moving, but she couldn't hear the words that were coming out of it. It was all like some fuzzy dream. All she knew was that she'd never see her mother again and she didn't know why… until the day she was old enough to learn that her mother was murdered by a senseless junkie when she was walking home from work that night. The man stabbed her to death with a pair of scissors for the mere thirty dollars in her wallet – money she would have spent on food for her children, and, if there was enough to spare, a small trinket or a treat – anything to make the girls smile.

The day she died, Mia's mind left her with no memories of the life before. It was as if a different person was born, split from the person that she was. The most agonising part was not being able to remember her. She must have been beautiful, kind and gentle. Mother – now it was merely a name for a distant and symbolic figure that she could never see and never touch. 'Mother' is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children. Her god had forsaken her. And as for the man who took her life, he died in the gutters from an overdose before he ever stood trial. Some kind of justice that is.

Mia and Anna spent the next four years bouncing from one foster home to another, from one city to the next, until they eventually became indifferent to the ever-changing scenes and the ever-changing faces of people pretending to care. After a while, it all started to seem the same. Then one day, out of nowhere, a man came for them. He called himself, "father", and the DNA test couldn't deny it. The girls had never met this man, but for the first time, they had hope – because a father would take care of them, a father would give them a home, and a father would love them. So they went happily with this man, and they didn't look back when they walked out of the foster home for the last time.

"Things are going to be good now, you'll see," Anna told her, holding her hand and leaning over to kiss her cheek. "We have a dad now, just like the other kids." Anna smiled at her, and how beautiful her smile was. She was the most beautiful girl in the world, Mia thought when she looked at her sister. Anna was fourteen and Mia was twelve.

For a while, things were good and life finally seemed… normal. 'Father' was a soft-spoken man – he was friendly to the girls, he bought them nice things, he took them out to places, and he did whatever 'normal' things they imagined a father would do. And whenever they had doubts, they would cling onto any feeling they invented for themselves to believe they were a happy family. But then slowly, the surface of the illusion started to peel away. It would only be a few months before the ugly monster revealed itself.

It started with Anna, and she never said a word about it. Mia didn't know what was happening; she only knew that Anna was becoming sick… sick in her head. She started to talk less and less, sometimes not saying a word for days. Sometimes she would sob uncontrollably on Mia's shoulder, and other times she would violently push Mia away if she tried to touch her. Then occasionally, she would go into manic fits that terrified Mia. One night, she took a knife from the kitchen and crawled into Mia's bed. Mia woke up to the sight and she screamed. Anna put her hand over her mouth, "Shhhh don't scream," she whispered, craziness in her eyes. "He'll hear you. Don't be scared, Mia… I'm going to protect you. I'll never let him hurt you." Then she would say, "I don't want to lose you, Mia. You're all I have. Don't ever leave me!"

Mia never said it, but she was the one who was terrified of losing Anna. She was terrified of being alone. Anna was more than her sister; she was the other half of her broken soul. Together, they were one person who shared a life and all the pain that came with it. They had survived because they were together; they had each other, and that was always their only comfort, their only hope, and their only will to live. Mia would hold her tightly and tell her they'd never be apart.

Two years later, it was an autumn afternoon. Mia remembered so clearly the red leaves that covered the ground, the sky glowing pink and gold, and the gentle breeze in the cool air. Mia came home from school that quiet autumn afternoon, and she found Anna hanging from the willow tree behind the house. The image would forever be burned into her mind, in all its vividness – the way her arms hung so lifelessly by her side, her toes pointed almost elegantly like a dancer in her black school shoes, her head crooked to the side, her long brown hair flowing in the breeze, and the gentle sway of her body that made the top of the rope rub against the bark of the tree, producing a soft scraping sound. Mia didn't scream... she didn't cry; she simply stared at the scene, as lifeless as the body that hung in front of her. It was as if she had died with her sister that day. Anna was sixteen and Mia was fourteen.

After Anna's death, her father turned his sickness towards Mia. The first time it happened, she didn't speak for a month afterwards. In that moment, her world changed and she would never be the same. She saw the thing that killed her sister, and it was vile beyond words; beyond what she could comprehend at that age. He was a man by day, and a monster by night. But he was never cruel; he was never violent – he remained friendly and soft-spoken, even while he was committing the act. Mia never fought him; she'd simply lie still and motionless, her mind far away from her body.

Eventually, a fire started to burn within her – it started as a small flame, flickering with uncertainty, and then it grew into a raging firestorm. It grew every time he touched her, every time she saw her sister's face, and every time she saw her hanging from the willow tree. She knew that she would kill him one day. She knew it as certain as the rising sun, even if her rational mind had its doubts. There was never a doubt in her heart. His death became the fantasy that kept her alive... and that would also eventually destroy her. By that time, Mia would be seventeen.

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning. The sun was just peaking above the horizon, with its golden rays sifting through the buildings of the New York skyline. It was going to be a beautiful day – warm, or at least warm in comparison to the weeks that had come before. And it would be one of the first sunny days in the dark and dreary city as winter approached its final weeks.

Quinlan came quietly into the warehouse, closing the door behind him without a sound. Somehow, it felt inappropriate to disturb the calm silence. No one was awake yet; no one except Mia. Quinlan watched as she walked slowly and carefully down the stairs, one hand gripping the rail, and her dog following close behind her. Quinlan could have offered to help, but he quite often enjoyed watching her when she was unaware of being watched; he found it rather fascinating. He noticed that because of her condition, her behaviours were often... unique, and somehow captivating.

"… Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…"

"Do you always count the steps when you walk?" Quinlan asked. His presence surprised her. She did not hear him walk in this time; she had been too focused on her steps.

"Yes," she smiled. "From the bedroom, it's five steps to the bathroom and eight steps to the stairs. There are twelve steps on the stairs, and the seventh one creaks a little when you step on it." Her eyes gleamed a certain playfulness, as if she was waiting for him to be impressed with her newfound knowledge of the place. But he wasn't impressed; just quietly fascinated. "I count the steps to learn the layout of a new place," she said. Despite her display of confidence just now, she surrendered to helplessness and reached out her hand for assistance.

Quinlan reached forth and let her hand fall on his forearm. "Where am I taking you?"

"To the kitchen," she said. "Caesar…" she called quietly, not wanting to wake the others who were still asleep. The dog, who had never left her side, nudged her hand as if to let her know he was still there. "I didn't feed him yesterday. The food here isn't mine, so I didn't want them to see me giving it to the dog. They've already been kind enough to share it with me… considering the shortage…"

"There is no shortage," Quinlan stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course, Nemesis…" She remembered what she had heard on the radio about their posters, and that incident with the trucks of food they placed around the city. "How are they any better than the military if they're just hoarding it all for themselves? I mean, apart from that one stunt with the trucks... But what did that achieve? They just ended up getting a lot of people killed."

"They're not any better than the military," said Quinlan. "One person's hero is another's enemy. It all depends on which side you stand."

She stopped walking and turned to him. "And which side do you stand?" she asked inquisitively.

"I stand alone," he answered simply, without emphasis but with certainty.

Mia smiled as if his answer pleased her, and also in a way that said, "Me too". But she didn't pursue the topic. "Anyway," she said, "I just want to get some food for Caesar. The poor thing feels all skin and bones."

Quinlan looked at her – she might as well have been talking about herself. He noticed she looked thinner than when he first met her – her cheeks were more gaunt, her collarbones protruded a little more than they did before, and her arms, if they weren't hidden in her oversized jackets, looked like they'd lost the meat on them. He did not like what he saw, but he knew she was only one of many suffering in the famine.

"When was the last time you ate something," he asked her.

"Um… yesterday…" she said with slight uncertainty as she tried to recall. "Yes… it was yesterday morning. Fet left some food on the bench before he went out."

Of course, she could only eat when food was left out for her. In this unfamiliar place, she could only be reliant on others. When Quinlan looked at her withering frame, he wondered why he had not taken better care of her. Perhaps he was not used to caring. He let go of her hand and walked towards the kitchen cupboards. He opened the first cupboard – there were some old pots and pans, bowls, and saucers. He closed the door – not what he was looking for. He opened the second cupboard, and there it was – food.

Suddenly, there was a slight uncertainty in his demeanour, and slight look of perplexity on his face, as he looked at the strange array of human foods stacked on the shelves. He'd been alive long enough to learn about all aspects of human life, including what they ate. But he never took much note of the specifics or the details, especially the strange manufactured products of the modern world. He suddenly found himself lost and unsure where to start. His eyes scanned the shelves, and hesitantly, he reached for a half-eaten loaf of bread. It was hard, dry and stale. Surely, one does not eat this as it is...

Then he remembered; Sandwiches – that is one of the staple foods of the modern world. Even he knew how to make one of those, or at least the principle – it's just various ingredients between two slices of bread. The ingredients, however, were something he had never considered. He searched the cupboard and pulled out various cans and jars, reading the labels of each item and trying to recall if they should be used in a sandwich. He glanced at Mia every now and then, almost looking to her for affirmation, but then he'd remember that she couldn't see.

Mia could hear the rustling and clinking of a busy body in the kitchen. She found her way to the bench and stood patiently leaning against it, not asking Quinlan what he was doing. There was something else on her mind. But before her thoughts could take form, Quinlan interrupted with attempted conversation, which was a rarity.

"Are you fond of Roman history?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"Your dog… his name is Caesar. Is that any reference to the Julius Caesar of Rome?"

"Not strictly," she said. "I chose it because it's a strong name. Caesar was a great ruler."

Quinlan chuckled at how she spoke as if she had been there. "You mean he was a tyrant," he corrected.

"A tyrant? He wanted to unify Rome and bring an end to corruption within the government. He would have made Rome stronger."

"He had a lust for blood," said Quinlan, "a taste for the most barbaric displays of cruelty in the arena. The shows he put on sickened even the most seasoned spectators, but he enjoyed them with sick pleasure. And you say he wanted to unify Rome. Well that is only because of his hunger for power – he wished for all provinces to fall under his rule."

Mia stood straight, her expression suddenly full of tenacity, as she prepared to put forth her opinion. "Well, regardless of his motive, he still would have made Rome a unified empire rather than corrupt and divided. Not to mention he abolished taxes and reformed the land to give to the poor. His people loved him – they built statues in his honour, they put his face on the Roman coin, and even named a month of the year after him."

"Yes," Quinlan snickered, "his people loved him so much they decided to assassinate him in the most brutal and merciless fashion."

Mia fell silent, and Quinlan smiled at how she appeared adorably agitated that she could not sway his views. He could see her mind working to form her next argument.

"Those who hated him were probably just afraid of him. Anyway," she shrugged, "some might see him as a great leader… others might see him as a tyrant." She leaned forward on the bench. Her hair fell in front of her face and she vivaciously flicked it back. "You know," she smirked, "it just depends on which side you stand."

Of course, Quinlan had walked right into that one, and he wasn't surprised that she would seize the opportunity to use his words against him. It was clever, he thought, and it made him smile – particularly seeing the way she smirked, so pleased with herself. He took a moment to appreciate whatever amusement he found, and then returned to the task at hand. The room fell silent again.

Mia remembered now what she was thinking about before Quinlan interrupted her thoughts; before talks of ancient rulers and politics. It was a more sobering thought, and one that she had been trying to avoid for the last few days.

"You know," she said after a long moment of silence, "I can't stay here any longer…"

"I know," Quinlan replied. The impassiveness of his tone almost disappointed her. Perhaps she imagined he would ask her to stay, or at least express some sentiment to her leaving. But he didn't. "You wish to go home…" he said, almost asking as a question.

"It's not my home," she muttered quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"The apartment… it's not exactly home. The Authorities moved us there a few months ago when the infection swept through the Eastern district. Me and a few others got relocated here – we were the lucky ones that got out. They didn't have capacity to move everyone, so a lot of people got left behind."

"I heard many others turned to Nemesis," said Quinlan.

"I hope so… I just hope they made it out."

"So then, where is home?" he asked.

She looked down to the side, silent for a moment, and then said softly, "Nowhere."

Quinlan's hands fell idle in what they were doing, and he suddenly found himself staring at her… until she broke the silence. "They say 'home is where the heart is', but it's more like 'home is where the infection isn't'." She sighed light-heartedly, leaning back down over the bench and resting her cheek in her hand. "Anyway, I should go back to the apartment. All my things are still there." She idly traced patterns on the benchtop with the tip of her finger. "So what about you? Where's home for you?"

Quinlan thought for a moment – "nowhere" would have been the true answer, but for some reason, something compelled him to say the place of his most painful memories. "Rome," he replied.

"Oh… Italy?" she said, surprised.

"No," he grinned, "the Rome of your favourite dictator." There was a slight confusion on Mia's face. Quinlan grinned even further. "We were only just discussing. Or have you forgotten?"

"Oh!" When Mia came to realization, her first reaction was a sense of awe in remembering how ancient Quinlan was. Then her next reaction was embarrassment at how foolish she would have sounded arguing with him about things that he had actually lived through. She blushed awkwardly, and Quinlan quietly gloated. But his satisfaction would be short lived as he looked down at the plate of food before him that he had prepared. He placed his finished work on the bench in front of Mia, uncertain, yet somewhat pleased with himself.

"Here," he said, "you should eat something."

She reached down and found the sandwich on the plate. When she realized what it was, her eyes gleamed and she smiled with happiness – the happiness was for his effort, not for the food. She brought the sandwich to her mouth and took a large, hungry bite. Quinlan stared at her eagerly, waiting for her reaction. Then suddenly, she froze, as still as a statue, mid chew. Her expression was confused, horrified and intrigued all at once.

"What's the matter?" Quinlan asked, wide-eyed and suddenly anxious.

"What did you put in this?!" she cried, unable to hide her bewilderment, not even out of politeness.

"Well…" said Quinlan, suddenly more unsure of himself than he had ever been. "Peanut... butter…" he read from the jar as he picked it up and looked at it. "And…" he picked up another item and looked at the label, "SPAM, it says. Some sort of canned meat. The picture on the label shows it in a sandwich..."

There was a pause, and then Mia's expression livened as if someone pressed 'unpause' on a still-frame of her face, and she began to laugh uncontrollably. There was as much hilarity in her laughter as there was a sort of playful giggle. "Peanut butter and SPAM?!"

"Are those not things people use in a sandwich?" Quinlan asked, confused and also slightly irritated with her reaction.

"Yes, but not together!"

"Why not?" Quinlan asked, more of a challenge than a question. "If they can be used separately, then why not together?"

His question stumped her for a moment, as she'd never really thought about why certain ingredients shouldn't go together – like chocolate and cheese, or chicken and fish, or wine and whiskey; it was like some unwritten rule, and yet you can mix vodka, tomato juice and Tabasco sauce to make one of the world's most popular drinks! "Well…" Mia pondered, "It's the taste, I guess. They don't really go together."

"The taste…" Quinlan repeated to himself as if it was a foreign concept. And in a way it was, because he only knew one taste, and that was blood – different types of blood, but all blood none-the-less.

Mia laughed again, more endearingly this time. Her laughter was like music, and her expression was so free and unrestrained. Quinlan could have been angry at her reaction, but instead, he found joy in seeing her laugh like that. And he was relieved, because after the events of the past week, he was afraid he'd never see her smile again. Even though he didn't understand what exactly she found funny, her laughter was infectious, and Quinlan found himself smiling.

He reached for the plate in front of her. "I'll make you another," he said gently.

"No," Mia quickly grabbed the edge of the plate with both hands and pulled it towards her. "It's fine," she said, holding it tightly as if someone was about to take away something precious to her. "I'll have it exactly the way it is. We'll call it the Quinlan Specialty!" she smiled. Then she took another bite from the sandwich, and looked as content as ever.

Suddenly, Quinlan realized he didn't want her to go.

That afternoon, Mia carefully folded the clothes that she had borrowed, apart from the ones she was still wearing, and placed them neatly in a pile on the bed. Then she fastened Caesar's harness and gave him a pat. "Let's go home, boy."

As she opened the front door of the warehouse, a voice from behind stopped her. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the apartment," she said, turning to Vasiliy, who was standing in the middle of the room looking at her.

"You're going out there by yourself?" he asked, surprised and maybe even concerned.

"It's mid afternoon," she shrugged.

"It ain't the bloodsuckers you gotta worry about. Have you seen what it's like out there?!" He suddenly realized his words. "Oh right… I forgot…" he chuckled, realizing the irony in asking her if she had seen anything.

Mia glared at him, unimpressed. Then she turned to walk out the door.

"Wait!" Vasiliy called eagerly.

"Since when are you concerned about my safety?"

"I'm not," he retorted, "But if I let you walk out that door and something happens to you, then I gotta live with that on my conscience, and I don't want that kinda responsibility." He looked around the warehouse for someone to pass the burden onto, but there was no one around. He sighed and cursed quietly to himself. "Fine... alright..."

"Look," he said to her, "I'll walk you back." Mia opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, "Don't argue. Don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be. The sooner I get you home safe, the sooner you'll be gone from here."

Her scornful eyes stared for a moment, and then she turned and continued out the door. She stepped out onto the street and turned back to him. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

They walked quietly down the street with a mutual understanding for the lack of need for polite conversation. At one point, they walked past a group of men, crouched around the corpse of a soldier, searching its pockets. They looked up as Mia and Vasiliy walked past.

"Hey!" one of the men shouted from across the street. His tone was crude and aggressive. "Hey! Nice dog... I'll let you put a leash on me and I'll take you to places you've never been!" He pulled his head back and howled like a dog. The men laughed like a pack of hyenas. Mia instinctively reached into her pocket for her gun, but as her hand felt the emptiness, she remembered it had been taken from her.

"Don't worry, they're harmless," Vasiliy muttered as he kept his eyes on them, glaring intimidatingly. The men made no attempt to approach them. Vasiliy knew men like that were all bark and no bite.

"Fuck you, blind bitch!" the man yelled after Mia, exerting his frustration at not being able to stir a reaction from her. Then suddenly, the group of men looked up, then sprung to their feet and ran, scattering like mice. Something had stirred them.

"Woah, hold up," said Vasiliy, grabbing Mia's arm and pulling her back. They stopped before an intersection in the road. There was the sound of a distant thunder, growing louder and louder, until the thunder became the sound of many large vehicles passing in front of them on the road that crossed their path. The vehicles were louder than anything Mia had heard before. They chugged and churned like massive machines in a factory, moving in a unified rhythm like the marching feet of a thousand mechanical soldiers. The machines were as heavy-sounding as they were slow-moving, passing in front of them one by one in a line. Vasiliy stared in awe, with his mouth agape, as he watched each one pass.

"What are they? Military trucks?" Mia asked.

"Nah…" Vasiliy muttered, barely able to divert his attention from the scene. "They're tanks…"

Soldiers marched alongside these mammoth moving machines, whose cannons looked like they were meant for blasting through walls, and whose tracks looked like they were meant for crushing bones. These soldiers, about twenty of them, looked different to the ones who patrolled the streets – they looked fearsome rather than tired and worn, their uniforms looker newer and more dignified, and their weapons were held high, in strong and unflinching arms. Their faces were stern and formidable, and their expressions told that they would be unyielding.

"New recruits from DC," Vasiliy commented. "Looks like they brought their big guns with 'em this time."

"We could use the help…"

"Yeah but when the same thing eventually happens there… who helps them?"

They stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, as the long line of tanks and soldiers passed by in front of them. Mia imagined the spectacle of these great machines rolling through the streets of New York. It was a scene she could not grasp even in her wildest imagination. But those who saw it did not have to imagine. Everyone knew the times were changing, and the world was becoming less and less like the one they recognised. But a scene like that would open the eyes of anyone who still lived in the illusion... to the most stark and brutal reality.

When the machines passed, the streets fell silent again, and there was a grimness in the air; a sense of impending doom, but also a sense of something grand and spectacular. Vasiliy and Mia walked the rest of the way to her apartment in a heavy silence.

Chapter Text

The street outside the apartment was quiet; so quiet it almost seemed foreboding, like the air was brewing a sinister force. Yet not a single thing seemed out of place to put one's finger on what was actually odd or unusual… until Mia took out her key to unlock the gate at the building's entrance. To her surprise, she found the gate unlocked. This was unusual. Mia paused in perplexity.

"What's wrong?" Vasiliy asked, noticing her reaction.

"The gate…" she puzzled, "it's unlocked…" She entertained her thoughts for a moment, but then shrugged them away. "It's probably nothing. I guess someone just forgot to lock it. Anyway, thanks for the escort…"

"Wait a second…" Vasiliy called as he scanned the building with discerning eyes. He looked up at the rows of lifeless windows – the building looked dark and empty. "Who the hell would forget to lock the gate? In times like these, it's not like you just forget the things that keep you alive."

"Well, if it was looters, they'd be gone by now," said Mia. "Either way, I guess I'll find out when I go inside." She turned to walk in, but then stopped and turned back to Vasiliy. The look in her eyes told that she was afraid, and she didn't believe for a second that the gate was just accidentally unlocked. "You said earlier you wanted to make sure I get home safe. Well, if it really matters to you…" she paused, biting her lip, "…maybe you'll give me that gun you have with you…" Her request took him by surprise. Even though there was hesitation in her voice, he could see her large hazel eyes were adamant and glowing with intent. "With your connections," she said cautiously, noting his reaction, "I'm sure guns like that are easy to come by..."

Why you cunning little…! Vasiliy snickered to himself, shaking his head. "What the hell are you gonna do with a gun, huh? You're more likely to end up shooting yourself!" he laughed. "Besides, I ain't walkin' back without my gun. Tell you what," he sighed, "I'll go in with you. Like you said, it's probably nothing… and then we both get to go home and never see each other again. Come on."

With a strong arm, he yanked the heavy gate to the side and walked into the dark, narrow corridor of the building, confined by windowless walls. Mia followed behind him, holding Caesar's harness tightly. The dog walked eagerly through the familiar door like he knew they were going home. As they stepped out of the sun and into the shaded hollow of the building, the air immediately grew cold, and Mia's vision darkened.

"By the way," said Vasiliy as he walked towards the elevator, "my so called 'connections' that you mentioned… don't go around saying that out loud, you hear me?" His tone was as threatening as it was condescending.

"I'm not stupid," Mia griped. "I know you don't like me, but please… don't insult me."

"I never said I don't like you. I don't trust you, and that matters more to me." He pressed the button of the elevator multiple times, as if it would somehow make it come faster. "You're the kinda person that keeps secrets," he continued as he stood impatiently, "and I don't like secrets."

"Everyone has secrets..."

"Not me," he declared somewhat proudly. "You can ask me anything."

Mia laughed. "Well, we can't all be as honest as you. It's not a virtue, you know – always saying what you're thinking without any consideration. If anything, I'd say you're arrogant… maybe even immature."

"Ha!" Vasiliy laughed. "Now you're starting to sound like my ex-girlfriend," he muttered. "Anyway, the elevator's broken – we're taking the stairs."

Broken? – Mia thought to herself. A bad feeling started to form in her gut.

Vasiliy opened the door to the stairway beside the elevator. It was dark – daylight barely reached this part of the building. He leaned back and looked up through the hollow centre of the empty stairway, as if making some sort of assessment before proceeding. "Come on," he muttered, taking the first step. "Make sure you keep up."

A moment later, his thoughts turned back to Mia's words. They somehow reminded him of her. "Arrogant and immature, huh? You know, she used to call me all those things, and more."

"Did you ever consider that maybe she's right?" said Mia.

"Oh I know she's right. She's always right about everything. I'd never admit that to her though. Even if I knew it at the time, I'd still tell her she was wrong. It'd get her all worked up, and you could see the fire in her eyes…" he smiled as his voice faded into a memory, and he stayed in that memory for a moment. Then he laughed. "I used to think it was cute."

"Sounds like you miss her…" said Mia, as much an observation as a question.

"Miss her? I don't know…"

At that moment, she heard a hint of an emotion in his voice that he tried his best to hide, and she realized that the apathetic man was only human after all. Regardless of what she previously felt towards him, at that moment, she could not suppress her inherent tendency for compassion. "Did you lose her to the infection?"

"No… To another man."

They continued up the stairs past the third floor, and suddenly there was a loud bang a few levels above them – like the sound of a slamming door. They stopped dead in their tracks. Mia pulled Caesar's harness taut and the dog stopped beside her. Vasiliy looked up towards the sound, but saw nothing except the empty stairway, spiraling up and up. They listened closely – at first, there was silence. But then a soft, metallic clink echoed through the concrete hollow, followed by another clink, and another, like something tapping rhythmically against the metal railing of the stairs.

They held still with bated breaths as the echoes rang through the air. It was becoming louder, like it was moving closer. Vasiliy's eyes fixated on the stairs above. Then, it came into view – two levels above them, a Strigoi lurked in the stairway, staggering down the stairs, moving dazed and ever so slowly. The clinking sound came from the watch on its wrist knocking against the metal railing as its body rocked with each step. The creature was in a trance-like state, like the ones the hunters saw in the tunnel. But at any moment, it could awaken – the slightest sound, or the smell of blood, or anything that stirred its senses.

Vasiliy cupped his hand over Mia's mouth. "Shhh," he whispered softly, "Strigoi…" She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. He took his hand from her mouth and reached for the gun in his belt. "Go back down…" he whispered, barely audibly. "Don't make a sound…"

Slowly and ever so carefully, they turned and crept back down the stairs, each step meticulously placed, barely breathing. Caesar's claws clipped against the concrete, and Mia froze, pulling him to a stop. The creature above them let out a soft grunt. Mia's heart pounded in her chest. She stood still, afraid to move. Her vision was bathed in blackness, like in an empty, dark world with only the clinking sound of Death following closely at her tail. Afraid, she wanted to reach out to know that someone was there. She wished she'd find Quinlan's comforting touch, but this time, he wasn't there. Suddenly, she felt helpless and utterly alone. The creature's stinger made a rattling sound, and she knew she had to keep moving. She took another step, and another, her muscles stiff with tension. She clasped her hand over her mouth in fear she might utter a sound.

A soft whimper escaped from Caesar, and Mia's stomach sank. Sensing the threat, the dog was becoming unsettled. He let out another soft whimper as he pulled against the harness. Please, boy… please be quiet for me, Mia desperately begged in her mind. Vasiliy quickly looked up at the Strigoi – the creature paused in alertness and began to stiff the air. It sensed their presence. Then, at that moment, Caesar let out a growl. Suddenly, a blood-curdling shriek echoed through the hollow space. The creature animated with frenzy and started charging towards them.

"Run!" Vasiliy shouted, grabbing Mia's arm and pulling her stumbling down the stairs. She tried desperately to keep up. They knew they had to get out of the building and into the safety of sunlight. But that became impossible when a group of Strigoi burst into the stairway below and stormed up towards them. There was no chance of getting past them to get to the ground floor. Still, they had to get out of the stairway; they were now being ambushed from above and below.

The door to the second floor was just within reach, when Mia stumbled, letting the dog's harness fall out of her hands. She heard Caesar run off, spooked by the creatures. He should have stayed by her side, but his simple animal mind couldn't have made a rational decision, and he ran, wild and panicked. Before Mia could call out to him, she heard a sound that made her heart stop. The dog let out a pained cry – a loud, high pitched yelp... and then he was quiet.

"Ceasar!" she cried. Her heart sank to her stomach and she felt the blood rush away from her face and her limbs, like it was being drained from her body.

"Come on!" Vasiliy growled, pulling her arm so forcefully that he was certainly hurting her. "Keep moving! I ain't dying here 'cos of you!"

Mia knew she had to survive, and she knew the only way was to not think, and not feel. It didn't matter what happened to Caesar; it couldn't matter... not at that moment. She couldn't let herself break now.

The creatures closed in just as they reached the door to the second floor. Vasiliy flung open the door and pushed Mia into the hallway just as one of the creatures lunged at him. He thrust his foot into the creature and kicked it down the stairs. He stumbled into the hallway and grabbed Mia's arm again, running and pulling her behind him.

Moments later, the creatures burst into the hallway after them. Vasiliy didn't care for being quiet anymore; he turned and started shooting the ones running at them. Each time one got close enough to attack, it was met with a bullet. The sound of the gun drew out more Strigoi from inside the apartments along the hallway. Soon, they were trapped with Strigoi coming at them from both directions.

"Shit! I'm gonna run out of bullets here!" Vasiliy cried.

Mia uttered whimpers of panic as her frenzied mind desperately sought to stay alive. The only thing she could think of was to get into one of the apartments. She frantically smothered her hands over the wall until she found a door. She turned the handle; it was locked. She desperately shook the handle, hoping it would somehow open. Then, it occurred to her…

"There's someone in here!" she cried. "The door's locked. It must mean there's someone inside!" She banged her fists on the door, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Help us! Please… open the door!"

"Stop that!" Vasiliy yelled. "We don't know what the hell's in there… could be more of those things!"

She ignored him and continued banging frantically on the door. "Please… let us in!"

Vasiliy kept the creatures back for as long as he could, but then the gun clicked to an empty chamber. Panic flooded his body. He clenched his fists and prepared to fight them with his bare hands. He knew it was pointless against that many, but hell, if he was going to die, he would die fighting! Then, just as the creatures crowded him, ready to attack, the door of the locked apartment opened. Hands reached out and pulled Mia into the room, and then they grabbed Vasiliy and pulled him in, just in time to avoid a stinger launching at him. The door slammed shut behind him, and the creatures on the other side rammed against it. They were safe... for now. Vasiliy stood bent over, catching his breath and letting his adrenaline subside. He looked around him – he was inside one of the apartments, old and tattered like the rest of the building. Then he looked to the figure standing by the door, who had pulled him and Mia inside. Vasiliy was just about to utter words of thank you, when he realized he was staring into the barrel of a gun, and a hostile face.

Chapter Text

The man was in his mid-forties. He had short, scruffy brown hair and thick facial hair to match, and a stern face carved with deep wrinkles that made him look angry, or tired… or both. He was well-built, though not overly so, but enough to appear intimidating. In his hands he held a hunting rifle, pointed unwaveringly at Vasiliy and Mia. His threatening eyes followed the path of the rifle, fixated on the two of them like a hunter eyeing his target.

"Put your gun on the floor," the man instructed. His voice was coarse and rugged, and he muttered as he spoke, hardly opening his mouth. However his tone was threatening.  "Now kick it towards me."

"Ain't loaded anyway," Vasiliy mumbled as he did what he was told.

"Give me one good reason not to shoot you both," the man sneered.

"Well, you'd be wasting two perfectly good bullets when you might need 'em for whatever the hell's out there," Vasiliy pointed to the door. "Besides, why would you help us and then shoot us?"

"Let's make one thing clear – I didn't help you. I let you in because you were waking up all those damn things out there, and you brought them right to my door. So I'm gonna ask you one more time – give me one good reason…"

"We're not hostile," said Mia, stepping forward. "I live here… in this building. Please… we're just trying to survive, just like you."

The man looked at her, analysing her. He noticed she was blind, and his eyes flickered ever so subtly with a thought. Then after a moment, he cautiously lowered his rifle. "I've seen you around," he muttered. Even though he lowered his gun, his demeanour did not change as he shrewdly analysed them. "You got any other weapons on you?"

"If we did, we wouldn't be in this situation," Vasiliy scoffed.

"Turn around," the man ordered, motioning at Vasiliy with the end of his gun. He spoke quietly, his lips hardly moving beneath the shrub of his beard. His tone was flat yet chillingly uncompromising. He walked towards Vasiliy, who complied by turning around, and searched his pockets, then patted his sides, and his arms and legs. Satisfied that he was not carrying any other weapons, the man then turned to Mia. "Now you," he said as he grabbed her arm and turned her around. His forcefulness startled her. She didn't know what he was going to do, but the next thing she felt was his hands sliding underneath her jacket and touching the side of her body. Suddenly, fear and rage shot through her like a thousand volts.

"Get your hands off me!" she snapped, as she spun around and violently pushed him away.

The man stumbled back and immediately, fire shot through his eyes as he re-gripped his rifle with burning intent. "What the hell are you hiding, huh?" he growled, his tone much more aggressive now.

"Woah, easy…" Vasiliy calmed, "She ain't hiding anything."

"Then why is she so intent on not being searched?"

"Because you don't touch me without my permission!" Mia snarled.

"This is my apartment, and no one comes in here without me knowing exactly what they're carrying!"

"Everyone just calm down…" Vasiliy spoke cautiously as he could see the itch in the man's eyes to pull the trigger.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the tension – an angelic sound of pure love and innocence. It was such a blaring contrast against the violent immersion that it suddenly captured every person in the room. "Daddy…?" a sweet little voice called out.

The man's eyes softened for a brief moment at the sound of his little girl's voice, but then he quickly remembered the threat in front of him, and aggression returned to his eyes. "Lily, baby, go back to your room," he said evenly, but his voice carried a stern tone. At that moment, Vasiliy realized this was not a dangerous man, but a desperate man… desperate to protect his family. But perhaps that was what made a man most dangerous.

The little girl, no older than four or five, ran to her father and hugged her arms around his leg. Her fearful eyes stared up at the strangers in the room – two large, full-moon eyes, blinking with honest innocence. Her father anxiously tried to push her away. "Sweetheart, go find your brother. Daniel?! Where the hell are you?!"

"No… it's ok…" Mia pleaded, suddenly met with an unexpected feeling. She realized she had wrongfully judged the man in fear of her own demons. "We're not here to cause trouble for you and your family. I'm sorry…" she apologized tenderly, lowering her eyes in respectful surrender. "Look…" she took off her coat and raised her arms, and slowly turned around in a circle. "See? I'm not carrying any weapons."

The man's eyes were strained with conflict as he tried to decide what to do with this situation. At that moment, a teenage boy appeared standing at the doorway. He was no doubt his father's son – the same thick brown hair and dark eyes staring sternly from beneath dark brows. The boy's nervousness was obvious, but so was the brave face that he wore. He looked at his father, and then at Vasiliy and Mia, trying to understand the situation.

"Daniel, I told you to watch your sister!" the father scolded.

"Dad, what's going on? Who are these people?"

"Take her back to her room… now!"

The boy walked into the room, staring cautiously at the strangers. His eyes met Vasiliy's for a moment, and he quickly lowered his gaze. He peeled his little sister off her father's leg, and picked her up, then backed out of the room somewhat reluctantly, as his curiosity had him wanting to stay.

After his children left the room, the man turned back to Vasiliy and Mia. "I'm gonna have to ask you both to leave."

"Sure," Vasiliy shrugged, "just show us the way out."

"The way you came…" he pointed to the front door.

Vasiliy laughed, almost thinking he was joking. But the man's face showed no sign of humour. "You want us to go back out there?! There's dozens of those things out there, and god knows how many more in the building!"

"My guess is around sixty…"

"Sixty?" Mia's brows raised in surprise. "That's everyone in this building. Are you saying they're all infected?"

"Maybe there are others still alive. But I've been here for five days now, and I haven't heard anyone."

"What happened here?" Mia asked, her voice wavering with devastation.

The man sighed as he finally lowered his gun. His posture seemed to relax a little, though still alert and cautious. He paced across the room. "One of the residents got stung…" he said. "She brought the infection in, and then it spread. Within two days… everyone was gone."

"How did you guys survive?" Vasiliy asked.

"We survived because we didn't try to run like everyone else. We just locked the door and stayed put."

"There's gotta be another way out…" Vasiliy muttered to himself as he walked hastily to the window to inspect it.

"Don't bother with the windows. You'll never get through those bars. And even if you did, it's a straight fifty-foot drop. There's nothing you can climb to get down. Believe me, I've thought about all this."

"So you're just going to stay here?" Mia asked in astonishment. "For how long? Sooner or later you're going to run out of food."

"You think I don't know that?!" he snapped. Then realizing his tone, he calmed himself. "Maybe the soldiers will do a sweep of this place…"

"Is that what you're counting on?"

He furrowed his brows at his silent answer to the question. Then he rubbed his tired face. "Look… I'm sorry but I can't let you stay here."

"It's not like we want to stay here," said Vasiliy. "But we ain't gonna walk out into the middle of a bloodsucker gangbang. You said there's about sixty of them? Well I'm gonna need ammo to clear a path… a lot of it!"

"You won't find ammo here…" he muttered as he walked to the dining table and slouched over it, leaning down on his hands. He hung his head and took a deep breath. "Alright… I've give you guys one hour to decide what you're gonna do. Then after that, I want you both gone from my apartment, you understand?"

"Alright… sounds fair," Vasiliy agreed. "By the way… you got a name?"

The man rubbed his dark beard, streaked with many grey hairs, and looked at Vasiliy through his tired yet persevering eyes. "Noah…"

Underneath the city, the General's heavy footsteps trudged down the hollow tube of the tunnel, led by the beam from his flashlight. He tugged at the collar of his shirt as his thick neck spewed over its rim. His heavy frame made the uniform look uncomfortable, but he liked wearing it – the tie, the blazer, and even the hat… it was all for show; he liked to let people know who he was. It made him feel powerful, and important.

He constantly glanced behind him for no other reason than paranoia of being followed. He'd often imagine the scenario of being caught by his own people for consorting with the enemy, and he would shudder at the thought. He spun around again at slightest sound, scanning the darkness with his light. But it was just the rusty pipes moving in the walls.

When he reached the abandoned train platform, the guards greeted him politely but with scornful eyes. They hated the military, and he was one of them; the worst of them. They let him through into Nemesis headquarters – they gave him permission, but they did not welcome him, and the two were distinctly different.

At the top of the escalator, Desmond Hale greeted him, smiling like he knew something that the General didn't.

"Kurtis, my friend," Des grinned widely, patting the General on the back. The General grunted, making no attempt to hide his disdain for the man. But Des, on the other hand, was awfully good at hiding his own. "So tell me, what brings you here?"

"Same ol', same ol'," the General muttered.

"Of course," said Des. He led the General through the underground walkways and into a room that used to be a ticketing office. Dozens of boxes lay stacked across the table. The General stared at them with greed blaring from his puny little eyes. Des opened one of the boxes and reached in and pulled out a cigar. He handed it to the General. The old man grabbed it between his chubby fingers and swiped the stick under his nose, sniffing it like a pig. "Cuban…" said Des, smiling.

"I know what it is!" the General snapped.

For a split second, Desmond's eyes flashed pure hatred, but it was too brief to be noticeable. And his lips remained smiling the entire time. He pulled out the rest of the cigar box and laid it down in front of the General. Then he opened another box and took out a small packet of white powder. "This, my friend, is pure heaven… the finest stuff you can get. One hit and you'll feel like you can fuck the devil in the ass and ride him all the way into heaven!"

He tossed the packet to the General, who caught it in his hands and stared down at it with a look of outrage. "What the hell is this?! Three ounces? This is hardly worth my time. You know the risk I took to get here? And this is what I get?!" he waved the bag in front of his face.

"What were you expecting, hm? Look around you… the world's coming to an end. All your simple pleasures, like your drugs and your cigars, and your expensive whiskey… in a couple of years, none of that will even exist. If it weren't for me, you would've been outta your habit a long time ago."

The General glared angrily. He knew Des was right, and he despised the fact that this scum of a man had such power over him. "Well…" the General adjusted himself, standing taller, "When that time comes, and my so-called 'simple pleasures' cease to exist, then you and your little rats down here will no longer be of any use to me. Remember that."

Suddenly, the General's eyes lit up as his gaze shifted towards the tall blonde woman walking into the room – his beautiful Duchess. He smiled, remembering the pleasures she gave him that night. And he smiled even more when he thought about the pleasures he was yet to take from her. He stared at her lustfully; his hungry eyes devouring her body. She noticed this, and her posture cowered uncomfortably in his gaze.

Des greeted her by pulling her into his arms and kissing her passionately. The kiss lingered for a moment too long to be shared in front of company, and his hands caressed down the side of her body. He was not usually so affectionate, but this time, he wanted to be. After he pulled his lips away from hers, he turned back to the General and smiled. "So… back to business. Have you got what I want?"

Again, the General was wearing his emotions far too obviously on his face, even though he thought he was doing well to hide them. But when he saw Des' gloating smile, he knew he had been seen through. "You'll find your guns at the warehouse in Red Hook," the General sighed with reluctance. "Be there at midnight tomorrow."

"Thank you, Kurtis," said Dutch, trying to maintain the fragile civility. Immediately, Des shot her a glare.

"It's a goddamn joke…" the General muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Trading half a million dollars' worth of weapons for some cigars and a bag of blow smaller than my left nut!"

"You forget, money doesn't exist anymore," Des reminded. "Things are no longer measured by some arbitrary number, but by their true value… and that's the value it holds in the eyes of the man who wants it. You want your indulgences, and I want my guns… it's as simple as that, and that's how the world should work! Society was suffering a sickness that was the addiction to a fucking piece of paper and a plastic card! What kind of absurdity is that?! But things are finally changing now…"

"You're crazy Des, you know that?" the General chuckled. "Anyway, there's something else I came here to tell you..." He took a cigar out of the box and carefully peeled the paper at the end, taking his sweet time almost as if he was purposely letting the anticipation build. "Our 'friendship' might have to end sooner than I'd hoped..."

"What do you mean?" Dutch asked anxiously.

"If you haven't noticed, we got some new recruits in town – the big boys, with their big guns. Everyone seems to think they've been sent to deal with the infected… but I know why they're really here." He puckered his thick lips as he lit the end of the cigar, and took in a large mouthful of the warm, scented smoke. "They're here to wipe you out."

"What?" Dutch gasped.

"They obviously think you guys are the bigger threat. Take it as a compliment. Anyway," he said, as the thick smoke swirled out from his lips, "this isn't a fight you can win anymore. They're gonna hit you with everything they have, and it's all gonna come crashing down on you. And when the time comes, you can be damn sure I won't be standing on the losing side." He took another puff from the cigar and, whether it was intentional or not, he let the smoke blow right across Des' face. "Don't take it personally," he continued, looking more and more pleased with himself, "I've enjoyed our partnership… among other things…" he made a subtle glance at Dutch. "My advice to you is, lay low and enjoy what you have down here… while you still can. By the way… this is a good cigar," the General smirked and lifted his cigar in a toasting motion. "As always, pleasure doing business…" He turned and walked away.

Des stood fuming with his fists clenched at his sides. Rage boiled his blood and it bubbled in his veins. But on the outside, he didn't let his anger show, except deep inside his hate-filled eyes if one was brave enough to look within them. If he had shown the extent of his rage, then Dutch would have known that the General had got the better of him. He couldn't allow that. He calmed himself, and slowly his anger turned into hatred, and hatred into pure malevolence. And that was where he found his comfort.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Dutch turned to him, worry in her eyes.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's made his loyalties very clear." Des slumped himself down on the office chair, rocking back and throwing his feet up on the table. His eyes were alive with thoughts racing through his head… and then he paused at one particular thought. "The General has been a useful friend. But it seems like his usefulness has expired..."

"But he's getting us the guns…"

"He's too much of a risk," said Des, shaking his head. "Imagine if they find out what he knows about us."

"He won't say anything... he's not that stupid. He wouldn't risk exposing himself."

"So you're saying we should just let him go...?" Des stared her, blinking deadpan, waiting for her answer.

She knew whatever answer she gave would be the wrong one, and she suddenly felt anxious. "Well... I just think..."

"Dutch..." he said softly, standing to his feet. He slowly walked towards her with pervasive eyes, studying her face. "Am I sensing that maybe you got a little soft spot for the General?"

"What?" she gasped, shocked by his accusation. "No! Why would you even..."

"When you went to him that night... did you fuck him? Huh? You got somethin' going on with him behind my back, is that it?"

"You sent me to him!" she cried.

"I didn't tell you to fuck him!"

"And I didn't! I can't believe you actually think I have feelings for that fat piece of shit! Des... just listen to yourself... this is crazy!"

Suddenly, the intensity in his eyes broke, and he laughed as if it was all a joke. "I know, baby. I just had to be sure... From the way you were defending his life..." He laughed again, shaking his head. She stared at him, confused and afraid. "Geez, Dutch... relax, will ya?!"

"I..." her voice came out soft and broken, as she suddenly felt so very small. "I just think think we can still use him. What about the war? If he's telling the truth, then it's going to be all-out war between us and the military."

"Exactly! If we're going to war, would you want someone on the enemy side that knows everything about us? Besides," he said, taking her face in his hand and brushing his thumb across her cheek, "I don't like the way he looks at you. I'd kill a man just for that." He pulled her close and embraced her.

She felt broken in his arms, but yet his arms were the only things holding her together. Her body stayed close to his, but her heart was distant. She thought about the General – she really couldn't care less for his life. She didn't know why she defended him. Although she despised that pig of man, she wasn't afraid of him. But she was afraid of Des. Sometimes, she could see something awfully frightening in his eyes, and she found herself questioning what it was that he really wanted. She felt like she didn't know anymore. She never wanted a war; she only wanted to make a better world, and she understood that there would be a cost. But how far was she willing to go? How far was he going to take her? Perhaps it was too late to be thinking such thoughts.

Des pulled away, and she saw that frightening look in his eyes once again. "First thing's first… we get our guns. Then after that… we prepare for war."

Chapter Text

Silence filled the room as Vasiliy and Mia sat at the dining table in the stranger's apartment – the stranger whose name they learned was Noah. But more importantly, they learned he was the father of two children that he would do anything to protect. The room was becoming darker as the light from the window started to fade. Soon, the sun would set and the deadly cycle of night would take over once again.

Chapter Text

After dinner was over and conversations had ended, Noah stood up and began to clear the table. "Just a word of warning," he said, as he gathered up the empty plates, "it gets awfully cold here at night. Now, I don't have any heating, so you guys are gonna have to cuddle up."

"Oh… uhh…" Vasiliy and Mia both stammered awkwardly, realising that he may have gotten the wrong idea.

"I suppose you two can take the double bed," Noah continued, "and I'll sleep on the couch."

"Actually… we're not… together…" they stuttered simultaneously, or at least words of similar sentiment.

Noah paused and looked at them. "I'm sorry… I just assumed…"

"It's ok," Mia laughed it off, blushing slightly. "I guess it's not an unreasonable assumption."

"Wait… was that a compliment?" Vasiliy gloated.

"No!" Mia quickly answered. "I didn't mean…" she faltered for a moment, and then simply sighed.

Noah smiled – a rare expression on his face, and then he casually changed the topic. "I've lived in this building for about a year now. I've seen a lot of people come and go… but I've never seen you," he nodded to Vasiliy as he carried the plates to the kitchen.

"That's because I don't live here."

"So then how'd you end up in this mess?"

"Ha," Vasiliy chortled, "I don't know… Mia," he turned to her, smug with sarcasm, "remind me again… how did I end up in this mess? And also that time at the research… Ow!" Mia kicked him under the table, to which he reacted all too obviously, and she blushed with embarrassment. Noah gave them a curious look from the kitchen, and then carried on washing the dishes.

"Here, why don't you let me do that…" Mia stood up and walked to the kitchen, finding any excuse to leave the table. She found her way around the apartment quite easily, as it was the same layout as hers, and probably every other apartment in the building. She rolled up her sleeves and gently nudged Noah aside.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking at her tentatively.

"I lost my sight… not my hands," she remarked.

"Well… if you insist," Noah shrugged. "Lily, honey, why don't you go help in the kitchen. As for you," he turned to Vasiliy, "I could use a hand with something. Come on."

He led Vasiliy down the hallway to a small room, where there was a workbench and some tools, and a pile of wooden boards stacked on the floor. He picked up one of the planks of wood and handed it to Vasiliy. "I need you to help me board up some of these broken windows… been letting the cold air in. Sometimes it feels like it's impossible to keep this place warm." He picked up a hammer and a box of nails. "Let's start with this one."

Vasiliy held the board in place as Noah began hammering the nail into the wood. He was tired and Vasiliy could tell; the exhaustion was worn on his face and in his eyes. He had poored all his energy into maintaining this place, keeping everything running, and keeping everyone safe. But the question must've burned in his mind – how long could he go on doing this? And if he wasn't thinking it, Vasiliy certainly was, and it wasn't long until he felt compelled to speak his mind.

"The military aren't coming to get you out. You know that, don't you?" he looked at Noah.

Noah didn't answer.

"Look, I know it feels safe to just stay here… but what are you gonna do when you run out of food? And the power's already out… how long until the water goes?"

Noah stopped hammering and looked at Vasiliy. He leaned in close, his eyes intense. "If we go out there, we're dead. I've seen it… I've seen what happens to people when they try to run."

"Then we don't run," Vasiliy said with conviction. "Those things… they go into some sort of hibernation when there's nothing stimulating them. If we don't make a sound, we can sneak past them."

"Are you crazy?!" Noah exclaimed.

"Trust me, we almost did it…"

"Almost…"

"We would've made it if it wasn't for the damn dog…" Vasiliy's voice trailed off, and he hoped that Mia didn't hear those words. He lowered his tone. "I think we can do it… we have to. What other choice do we have?"

"There's no way we can just sneak past them. Maybe you can… but I got two kids here, including a five year old girl, who I can't guarantee isn't going to freak out when she sees one of those things! No…" he shook his head, "it's too much of a risk."

Vasiily couldn't deny the risk, but he knew there had to be a way. However, until now, he hadn't thought of the young child, and Noah was right – how would they guarantee the child won't scream if she got scared? After all, even grown men had screamed at the sight of those creatures. Then suddenly, he remembered something – he remembered how earlier that night, the girl had pretended to be blind like it was a fun thing to do, and he suddenly thought of an idea. "We'll blindfold her!" Vasiliy blurted with the spark of his idea. "Tell her it's a game. She wont see anything… she won't know what's going on. All she has to do is stay quiet."

Noah gave him a look that said, "you're absolutely crazy!" But behind that look was a man desperate enough to want to contemplate the possibility. He said nothing as he glanced at Vasiliy with an expression that was difficult to read, and then he took another nail from the box and turned back to the window.

"If you try, then at least you'll have a chance," Vasiliy spoke his final thoughts. "That's more than you'll have if you stayed here."

Noah didn't say a word. He continued his task in silence until it was complete, and then he stepped back and looked at the boarded up window. "Come on, let's finish up so I can get the kids to bed," he muttered. He made no further comment to Vasiliy's suggestion, but Vasiliy knew his words had been heard, and that was all he could do. As for himself, he'd made up his mind in spite of the risk. Vasiliy had often pictured his last moments and all the different ways it could end… but it never involved sitting in an apartment… simply waiting. No matter what, he was getting out of there.

That night, the sleeping arrangements worked out to everyone's convenience, more or less – Vasiliy and Mia slept in the bunk bed in the kids' room, the kids took the double bed in Noah's room, and Noah slept on the couch with whatever blankets he could pull together. It wasn't the preferred option, but he had rather made sure that everyone else was taken care of first, and then himself… if he remembered.

It was late at night… or early in the morning; Vasiliy wasn't sure which it was, or how long he'd been tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

"Hey… you awake?" he called out to Mia in the bunk below him.

"Yeah…" she murmured sleepily. "Why?"

"Just askin'…" he shrugged. Then he rolled over heavily, rattling the whole bunk as he did.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Mia laughed softly to herself.

"What?" Vasiliy asked, somewhat irritated. "What's funny?"

"You were so intent on never seeing me again… and now you're stuck here with me," she laughed.

"Yeah, just my luck," he muttered.

"Who knows, we might even here die together… end up spending our last moments with each other… wouldn't that be ironic?"

"That ain't funny," Vasiliy grumbled.

"Sure it is."

"Well then you got a sick sense of humour, you know that?" Vasiliy sighed and closed his eyes, making another attempt at sleep. But before he could, there was something on his mind that he felt he had to say – not because he wanted to, but because he felt it was necessary. "you know… this is the only time I'll say this… but… as much as I didn't want you around, it hasn't been all bad. For what it's worth… you gave him a purpose again."

"What do you mean?" Mia puzzled.

"I mean Eph… Before you came along, I'd never seen a man so defeated… so ready to give up. But then you gave him something to strive for again. I think he's… happy, for once… in his own way. I guess I have you to thank for that."

Mia's heart suddenly sank with the weight of those words. Before she could feel any sense of gratification or flattery, she felt scared. She felt scared because it was too great a responsibility to hold another person's happiness in one's hands; a responsibility she never wanted. But none the less, she tried to appreciate Vasiliy's acknowledgement. "He's too hard on himself," she said endearingly. "He's a good doctor…"

"He's a good man," said Vasiliy. "A little bit lost at times, but maybe he just needs the right guidance."

Mia paused for a moment, wondering how to interpret those words. "Well, he doesn't need any guidance from a blind person, that's for sure," she jested, trying to avoid whatever Vasiliy might have been hinting at. "Anyway, we should try to get some sleep. Good night, Fet."

"Yeah… see you in the morning."

She rolled over and pulled the blanket up to her chin. The bed felt cold and empty. It was strange that she felt more alone now than the nights she spent at the warehouse, even in the vast emptiness of its open space. At first, she had been intimidated by the unfamiliar place and it's hollow echoes that often resonated the howling wind. But then, she began to find comfort in the desolate industrial building, and comfort in the warmth and safety of his bed, where she felt ever so close to him, even if he was never there.

She remembered having a terrible nightmare one of those nights. She remembered it so vividly. In her dream, she was holding a gun, naked and shivering. A man stood in front of her – a dark figure whose face she couldn't see, but in her mind she knew it was the Devil himself. He took a step towards her. Terrified, she pulled the trigger. Her heart pounded, and the sound of the gun rang in her ears. She looked at the dark figure and he was still coming towards her. She pulled the trigger again, but he still didn't go down. She started to panic, shooting him again and again, bullets penetrating every part of his body. But no matter what, he just kept coming. Crippled by fear, she fell to the floor and curled up in a ball. Tears started falling from her eyes, and she could hear the sound of her cries escaping her lips. The figure came closer and closer. Her cries were turning into screams now. Then, just before his hand reached down to grab her, she heard a gentle voice in her ear – "It's alright… it's only a dream…" The deep voice purred softly like a soothing whisper, calling her back to the light. "Shhh… it's alright… you're safe…" 

The dream began to fade, and her cries began to soften. In those brief moments before she woke up, she remembered feeling safe and warm… and protected. When she opened her eyes, she realized there was no one there. The room was empty, just like it always was. But she didn't feel alone... like she knew someone was just there… that the voice in her dream was more than just a figment of her imagination. Then… she heard soft footsteps outside her door, walking away quietly down the hallway. She laid her head back down on the pillow, and she smiled.

In the apartment, in the cold and uncomfortable bed that creaked with every movement, Mia closed her eyes and pretended she was back at the warehouse… and he was ever so close by. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Quinlan returned to the warehouse that night, and once again he found himself wandering up the stairs for no particular reason, as if his footsteps were on a programmed path, always taking him to the same place. He had done this every night since she came to stay at the warehouse – he would walk up the stairs and stop outside her door, where he would stand for a moment, listening to the soft beat of her heart behind the closed door. And when he felt satisfied in knowing that she was safe and away from the dangers of the world, he would walk away again. Sometimes, he'd return to the night to find a place to sleep, in some dark cavity in the most forsaken parts of the city. And sometimes, he wouldn't sleep at all.

That particular night, Quinlan returned earlier than usual, hoping to find her awake, and hoping to find a chance to approach her. He didn't want to be just a shadow at her door that night – he wanted to see her, and he wanted her to "see" him… to know that he was there. She had been on his mind that day, more so than usual, and for some reason he felt troubled by a sense of anxiousness to see her, as if something told him he wouldn't have the opportunity again. The feeling of anxiety grew as the day turned to dusk, and dusk turned to night… until finally he decided, on heated impulse, that he would return to the warehouse. For one night… just one night… he decided that he wouldn't fight, he wouldn't hunt, and he wouldn't walk these damned streets – for one night, he would leave the battle behind… for her.

It was barely midnight when he returned, and as soon as he walked through the door, he headed straight up the stairs. Even his eyes didn't waste a moment to glance elsewhere. The metal frame of the stairs creaked under his steps, and he didn't try to be quiet like he normally would; he walked with the eagerness of a man who knew exactly where he was going. There was a shimmer of anticipation in his ice blue eyes, and perhaps even the slightest glim of excitement. But as he approached the room where he hoped to find her, he saw that the door was wide open… and his footsteps came to a still. He stood at the doorway and gazed inside, and suddenly, the glim of light extinguished from his eyes. The room was empty, and somehow it looked ever so cold and lifeless. The bed had been immaculately made, the curtains drawn, the furniture untouched, and not a single thing was out of place… as if she was never there. He looked into the cold, dark room, and suddenly he felt a strange feeling of emptiness that held his body suspended, unable to move. Then, when the feeling passed, he slowly walked into the room, his eyes scanning from corner to corner as if a part of him still expected to find her there.

He took off his coat and laid it across the bed, and then sat down next to it, slumping heavily onto the mattress as if his body carried the weight of a mountain. He looked down on the empty bed beside him, and slowly ran his hand across the top of the cool sheets, feeling the texture of the fabric beneath his fingers. Suddenly, something caught his eye – it was a folded piece of paper on top of the pillow; a note. He reached over and picked it up, unraveling the page in his hands. He held the paper in front of him, and his fierce eyes examined the note with intense curiosity. The light from the window cast harsh shadows on his face, accentuating the inhuman lines of his features, and he looked ever so unearthly as he stared down at the note, eyes glistening like two pale crystals. Then, as the words started to form in front of him, the look in his eyes began to change. His stern expression began to soften, and an unusual gentleness glazed over his normally vicious eyes. He stared at the words on the paper, written in blue pen – they read:

I've always enjoyed your visits at the apartment.

Don't be a stranger…

~ Mia

Clutching the paper in both hands, he stared into it vacantly, as if lost inside the page. Then after a while, a slight smile formed on his lips, as he folded up the note and tucked it under his pillow. He removed his boots and laid himself down on the bed with a deep breath. He closed his eyes and tried to let his mind drift into unconsciousness… but something stirred him, like an electric current buzzing through his body. He found himself restless and unable to sleep. He turned over onto his side, and suddenly, an intense sensation swept through his body – warm, alluring, and almost intoxicating. It was her smell, he suddenly realized – her soft, sweet scent was all over his bed. It had aroused his senses before he even knew it, and he found himself uncontrollably drawn to it. Without thinking, he turned his face into the pillow where the smell was the strongest, and inhaled deeply through his nose, greedily craving more of the sweet sensation. But it was more than just a smell – at that moment, he felt as though he could touch her… as if the smell was her hair draped over his pillow, and her skin caressing his sheets… as if she was right there beside him, close enough to touch. Upon his breath, every inch of him tingled with warmth.

Then suddenly, his body reacted in a way that he had no control over – a primal urge that no man, human or otherwise, could fight to contain. His body had awaken with a powerful hunger that was unlike his hunger for blood, but it was just as savage in nature. Perhaps more savage because this hunger was not so easily satisfied; merely alleviated… by his own hand, and very rarely in the past, by another. Before he could stop himself, the hunger had already possessed him, and his mind had turned to uninvited thoughts. He suddenly found himself imagining the soft feel of her skin beneath his hands… and her hair entwined in his fingers. He imagined looking down upon her face… her eyes closed and head tilted back… her panting breaths in his ear. He imagined how soft and warm her body would feel beneath his, especially the most tender parts of her body… against the most tender parts of his. His head started to spin, and electricity surged through his veins. He would only have to imagine the final act to send his body into uncontrolled frenzy.

Suddenly, Quinlan jolted upright with startled realisation of what he was doing. He sat breathing heavily, shaken and disturbed by his thoughts. He wiped the sweat from his hairless brow and stood up from the bed, his body still restless and buzzing. He walked towards the stream of cool air coming through the crack in the window, and stood with his head against the cold glass as he willed his body to calm. He felt angry and ashamed of himself – not because he possessed such desires, but because he had turned those desires towards her, and that was what he always feared most. He never wanted to violate her with thoughts of such obscenity that was reserved for whores and harlots. She deserved better, he thought – better than what he could ever give her… with the parts of him that are a man, and with the parts of him that are not.

As he stood at the window, he thought to himself… how cruel a joke it is to be cursed with the likes of a monster, and at the same time be cursed with the desires of a man. He snickered humourlessly to himself. However, in the past, this did not stop him from experiencing those acts of the flesh – he was no stranger to the pleasures of the female form. "When you've been alive for as long as I have, you find ways to overcome certain… obstacles,"  he once told a Sun Hunter who, back then, he would have considered a friend as well as a student. Through the years, Quinlan had experienced physical intimacy with many women. Though his last time was many, many years ago, and he couldn't remember anything about her, not even her name or the colour of her hair. However he remembered everything about his first – he remembered every detail of her room, and every freckle on her body. She was an Irish girl living in London looking for work. Instead, what she found was the rotten streets filled with sin and filth. She was a whore… beautiful and young. Her name was Mary, and Quinlan remembered the first time he saw her, and every time after that… and he remembered the last.

It was the late eighteen hundreds, and Quinlan was walking through the slums of Whitechapel, London. It was a warm and misty night, and it had been raining for several days; the streets smelled like every rotten piece of garbage that filled the gutters, and the air carried the stench from the sewers. Quinlan stayed in the shadows, walking with his head down and hiding his face beneath the hood of his cloak. There were people out on the streets, too concerned with whatever debauchery they were engaged in to even notice him, and that was the way he preferred it. But then suddenly, a voice called out to him as he walked past.

"'Ello luv… want some company?" said a sweet little voice.

Quinlan glanced up from the corner of his eye. The girl stood leaning against a wall on the side of the street, under a dim street lamp that made her red hair glow like fire. She was young… far too young… but old enough to be working the streets. Her body was already well endowed with the curves of a woman, which she flaunted with the low neck of her dress. Quinlan glanced away. "No," he murmured in his deep voice – soft yet resonant… gentle, yet cold.

"I'm cheaper 'an the other girls… and better too," she smirked. "An' if you're worried 'bout diseases… I'm clean."

Quinlan didn't stop. He pulled his hood down further, veiling his face, and continued walking without looking up.

She started to walk after him. "Maybe women ain't your taste," she teased. "That's alright… I've been with men who prefer other men. It's all the same with the lights off." When Quinlan didn't respond to her provocation, she let out a huff of frustration. And as Quinlan picked up his pace, she did too, eager to follow. "Well… maybe you can spare a coin then…" she pleaded, her tone more desperate now. "Please… I ain't got noffin' left. Not even for food… Please… will you take pity on a whore?"

Quinlan stopped; he didn't know why he stopped, but he did. He reached into his pocket and found a shilling, and enclosed his hand around the burning silver that branded his palm with the head of the queen. He took the coin out of his pocket and flicked it behind him without turning around. And then he continued on his way. The coin hit the pavement with a sharp ring, and rolled on its edges to a stop.

"Thank you!" he heard her calling after him. "You're an angel! God bless you sir! I won't ever forget you… God bless…" She faded away behind him, and she became nothing more than a face he would soon forget.

But then, three nights later, as he was walking down the same rotten alleyway, at the same godless hour of the night, he saw her again, standing under the same street lamp, hair glowing red. Immediately, she recognized the hooded figure and she excitedly pushed herself off the wall she was leaning against.

"You…" she smiled. "You're the one who gave me shilling… the angel sent from heaven…"

Again, Quinlan barely looked up, glancing at her from beneath his hood. "My sympathy is limited," his low voice rumbled. "Do not expect such generosity again."

"I don't expect anything," she said. "Life taught me that." Quinlan's steps slowed for a moment, and he almost turned back to look at her, but he stopped himself. "Are you sure you don't want company?" her large blue eyes stared after him insistently. "Free of charge… for your kindness the other night…"

He would've been lying if he said he didn't consider it… even for just a moment. To that day, he had never experienced physical pleasures beyond what he could do for himself, and he always wondered what it would be like to be cradled in the warmth of a woman… flesh against flesh… desire fueling desire. But what woman would ever covet a creature like him? There was only one, in the past, who had come close… many lifetimes ago – the one he would never talk about… the one whose name he would never say. She was the only one who had ever accepted him… loved him, even. However, she did not desire him, or any man for that matter, and so they never shared those intimacies… and it never mattered to him. But after her, no woman who ever saw what he was would come close to him again.

He stopped and glanced back at the redheaded whore, eyes like a hungry predator, veiled in the shadows. He wanted to take her, and she was offering him the opportunity… but for some reason, he didn't take it that night. That night, he simply turned and kept walking.

One week later, on a particularly hot summer night, Quinlan had just fed, and yet he found himself ever so restless, as if his body ached with a hunger that he could not satisfy. So he went out into the night and he hunted and killed, and he drowned himself in the violence. But the more he tried to ignore the fire inside him, the stronger it burned. Then after he drained his last man for the night – some drunkard beating his child bloody with his fists – he found himself walking back to the same place… down the same alleyway. And there, he saw her again – beautiful and wild, and without any shame, as she stood in the middle of the street, huffing after a gentleman who was walking away hastily.

"Think you're too good for a whore, ay? Well you'll never know wot it's like wif a real woman! I bet your wife jus' lies there like a dead fish!"

As she was yelling after the man, Quinlan came up quietly behind her and put his hand over her mouth, pulling her tightly into his chest. She let out a muffled scream. "Shhh… don't be afraid," he whispered, a quiet viciousness in his voice. "You know who I am…" His eyes glanced down to the bare skin of her bosom, rising and falling with her heavy breaths. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, fueling the fire inside him. And when he felt her body relax, he removed his hand from her mouth.

"My angel…" she said, trying to turn around to look at him, but he held her firmly in place.

"Do not turn around," he growled softly in her ear. "Now tell me, do you have somewhere we can go?"

"W… well yes…" she stammered. "My home is just around the corner. It's not much of a place… as long as you don't mind the rats and the…"

"Start walking," he instructed. "And do not turn around."

In the darkness of the room, Quinlan stood naked before her, and he watched as she removed the layers of her clothes. There was no sensuality in the way she did it, either because she thought he couldn't see her in the dark, or because sensuality wasn't what a whore offered. That night, as Quinlan climbed into her bed, he wasn't nervous or uncertain, like how people often describe their first time. Instead, he felt vicious and ravenous. With his insecurities hidden by the darkness, he felt uninhibited, for the first time, and free to explore his urges to their utmost satisfaction… and that was probably a dangerous thing. He wasn't gentle… he didn't care enough to be gentle. He took her the way he wanted… the way his body desired. He held her beneath him, claws at her hips and pulling himself into her… thrusting himself into ecstasy with little concern for her comfort. Though it was never his intention to hurt her; he was merely naïve to the pains he would inflict by simply letting his body do what it naturally wanted. He wouldn't have known, and she never said a thing – it was her job not to. And when they were done, he paid her well with silver… and again, she called him an angel.

That summer, Quinlan went back to her on many sleepless nights, and each time, she greeted him cheerfully, like she was always delighted to see him. And much to Quinlan's fondness, she quickly learned his silent requests – she would not turn around when he approached, and she would not ask to see his face. She also learned that he did not like to talk about himself, and so she filled those silent moments, before and afterwards, with talks of whatever trivial things came to her mind. Most men had no interest in hearing a whore's meaningless words, but Quinlan enjoyed listening to her speak, as she was the only person who spoke to him; the only voice that kept him company through those lonely nights. He found that the times he spent with her were the only times, during that part of his life, that he did not feel alone and invisible to the world… and that he did not have to hide himself or what he was. In her, he found comfort and solace… and perhaps even acceptance. Soon, those few hours he'd spend with her became the only thing he had to look forward to. Company paid in silver… but company none the less. And beyond anything physical he desired, she was kind to him, and for that he was grateful.

Then summer came to an end, and the streets grew quieter at night. The women were not getting as many customers, and so they often gathered together on the street, laughing and talking, drunk and boisterous. One night, when Quinlan went to find her again, he saw her standing with two other women in the doorway of an old Irish inn. They were talking loudly and excitedly, and he could hear them quite clearly from across the road. He stood in the shadows and listened.

"It's him, I tell ya… he's the Ripper! Always comes to me with his face hidden and tells me to turn off all the lights. I never seen his face… but he has all these horrible scars all over his body… I can feel them. Ugh! It's disgusting! And he has no hair at all!"

"Wot? On his head?"

"Anywhere!"

The women laughed and giggled.

"Just as well he prefers the dark," she continued, "I can't imagine wot I'd do if I had to look at him!"

"Sounds just like the kind of monster you'd imagine the Ripper to be!" the older woman with a boorish voice remarked.

"Wot you gonna do if he comes back?" the younger girl asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

"I don't know," she said. "A whore's got'a eat, you know. He pays me well…" she paused, and a smirk spread across her face. "And he's got a big cock!"

The women burst out laughing, squealing loudly and stamping their feet.

"He sounds like a beast!"

"Does he fook like a beast?" the boorish whore wasted no time to ask.

"How d'ya think I got these?" she pulled down her shawl to reveal the deep red marks on her neck from Quinlan's teeth, and then turned around to show the scratches on her back, marking her body with bloody lines of broken skin.

"Bloody hell! He did that to you?!"

"Yes, and these…" she said, pulling up her sleeves to show her bruised wrists, where he had gripped her so tightly that the marks of his fingers could be seen in black and blue shapes on her skin. At that moment, Quinlan lowered his eyes – his heart turned to frost as he realized, once and for all, that he was truly a monster, and he had no place in this world.

The women's conversation continued, but Quinlan could only hear it vaguely now, like an echo in the back of his head, as his mind became clouded and he stood in a daze.

"Good God, Mary… I can't believe you're fooking Jack the Ripper!"

"Well he 'asn't killed me yet…"

"Maybe he likes ya!"

"Oh that's gross, Mabel! Don't say that!"

The women laughed and giggled until their voices faded, and Quinlan walked away quietly, not once looking back.

After that night, he never went back to see her again. He left London for Birmingham the next day, and he let himself forget she ever existed. He walked the streets… he hunted… he fed… and he found other whores who were willing to take a faceless man for a pretty penny. And all those women were faceless to him. He would never go back to the same woman twice. He learned that his carnal needs were the only thing he could seek to satisfy, and so he did… without pleasure and without guilt. By then, he had long forgotten about his nights in London. It wasn't until two years later, when he was walking past a newsstand one day, that a picture of her face would catch him like a dagger in the heart. He picked up the paper and read that Jack the Ripper had claimed another victim in Whitechapel – a young redheaded woman by the name of Mary Jane Kelly. Quinlan stared down at the paper for the longest time – void of any thoughts, and void of any feelings… as if his heart was nothing but a gaping black hole. He remembered thinking that he should feel something… but he simply didn't. He put down the paper and continued on his way, with one hand in his pocket, wrapped around a silver shilling as it burned into his skin… and that pain was the only thing he could feel.

Chapter Text

As the memory faded away, Quinlan found himself standing at the window with his hand clenched in a tight fist, as if he could still feel the silver coin burning the palm of his hand. He turned and looked back towards the bed, where it all started with her scent – the scent that had awakened his dormant desires. But now, those desires had subsided, and all that was left was a feeling of emptiness – the same emptiness he felt that day, many years ago, when he stared down at the picture of redheaded girl in the London paper – Mary Jane Kelly… the final victim of Jack the Ripper. Her death almost seemed fateful somehow… as she once condemned Quinlan for the Whitechapel murders for no other reason than his monstrous form. And in the end, she'd meet her demise at the hands of the real monster, whose façade was nothing more than an ordinary man. It was like fate always had a strange sense of humour. And sometimes, in moments of callousness, Quinlan would laugh coldly at the irony.

But now, as he relived those memories and all the details he thought he had forgotten, he somehow couldn't find the humour anymore. After all, there was no humour in the sufferings of a young girl. In her short, ill-fated life, she had experienced all the cruelties the world had to offer, and every man she'd ever met showed her nothing but the most vile sides of humanity… and Quinlan had been no exception. For the first time, he felt a sense of bitterness when he thought about her, and about the things he had done to her… and somehow, those thoughts led him back to Mia. He didn't know why, but when he saw Mia's face, he felt a dreadful feeling of guilt. It was as if every whore he had ever taken to satisfy his needs had in fact been her – he saw her face on all of them. And instead of feeling aroused by this imagination, he felt disgusted in himself… and afraid. He was afraid that one day the animal inside him would hurt her. He swore he would never let it; he swore he would never hurt her… in that way or any other way… and if any man tried, he would tear them to shreds.

Seized by restlessness, Quinlan marched out of the room, leaving behind her fragrance that lingered stubbornly in the air. He walked down the stairs and out into the cold night, where the chill in the air gave his mind a sense of clarity. He tilted his head and looked up at the stars, and exhaled a long breath. Then he looked down the dark road ahead of him and began to walk, with an air of untamed confidence in his stride, as if he owned the streets... as if he was the most fearsome creature out there in the night. And perhaps he was.

Soon, he found himself perched on a high rooftop of a nearby skyscraper, as he watched the world below eat itself alive. The city glowed as fires spread through its streets, and distant gunfire sparkled like dancing lights across the city. Quinlan looked down on the world like a man looking down at a trail of ants, with both fascination and pity for their smallness. He sat there for hours, watching, like a stone gargoyle on top of a dark tower… until the sun slowly began to rise in the distance, and he turned his eyes from world below to the glowing light at the edge of the horizon. Even though he had seen the sun rise a thousand times, there was something so raw and humbling in its beauty, that the sight of it still captivated him every time.

A crow flew by overhead, gliding across the city, over rooftops of torn buildings and through clouds of smoke, until it came upon an old oak tree on the other side of the district, and there it perched on a leafless winter branch. Nearby, just paces from the old oak, someone else stood watching the same sunrise that morning.

The Aryan stood at the mouth of the cave, looking up at the sky as it began to slowly light up, lifting the curtain of darkness and unveiling the land before his eyes – it was a field of corpses; skeletons of long-dead animals that once inhabited the Prospect Park Zoo. But now the zoo was nothing more than a graveyard, with deep pits and caged enclosures – once built to contain the wildest of beasts, but now lay overgrown and uninhabited. It was the perfect playground for Thomas Eichhorst.

He watched the sunrise for as long as he could, as the world around him became shrouded in a golden haze. But when the sunlight started to burn his skin, he grudgingly turned to retreat back into the cave. He stopped to savor a final glimpse of the radiant world, but the light would not allow it, and it chased him further into the darkness. He grimaced as he finally turned and left the world behind him. From his pocket, he took out a small compact powder and opened the lid with a mirror on the inside. He studied his reflection as he ran his finger over the red mark on his cheekbone, left scorched by the sun. He imagined the day when the sun would no longer hurt him, and he imagined seeing the world again, bathed in light. He longed for that day; he longed for his freedom, an end to his curse; and he longed to feel… alive. He took the powder to his skin and covered the imperfection, applying the makeup meticulously, layer after layer… rubbing, patting, and dabbing… until he was finally satisfied that he looked as much the part of Aryan perfection as he thought himself to be.

He walked down the hollow of the rocky cave, until its walls turned into concrete, and the earth beneath his feet turned into a paved floor. The cave was merely an illusion built to imitate nature, to disguise the entrance of the zoo's holding room, where animals spent their nights inside small cells with steel bars and concrete floors – no different to the cells of a prison. Now, the cells lay bare and empty… all except one, where inside sat a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes – the way he liked them. The girl was heavily pregnant. She sat on the ground, holding her rounded belly, crying and trembling. She lifted her head when she saw him walk into the room.

"Please…" she begged. "Please don't hurt me…"

The Aryan stood by the cage and looked down at her with a wicked smile on his face, as if admiring a new toy that was still inside its box, that he would soon take out to play. The smell of her fear was sweet to his senses, and the tears on her cheeks brought him much pleasure. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air, long and deep… and then smiled. "Mmm… you smell simply… divine!"

She shuddered at his words, and the sinister smile on his face told her that he had devious plans for her. "Please let me go…" she sobbed, her lips sputtering wetness as tears fell upon them. "I'll do anything you want… please… I just want to go home. I… I'm pregnant…"

The Aryan gripped the metal bars with his hands and pulled his face into the gap, staring at her intently, cold and unblinking. "I can see that you're pregnant," he grinned. "How many weeks?"

"T… twenty-eight…" she stuttered.

Eichhorst smiled to himself, his eyes flickering with thoughts. Then he turned and marched across the room, where he grabbed a metal chair and dragged it across the floor towards the cell. He could have easily picked it up, but he liked the sound of the metal scraping along the concrete… like fingernails on a chalkboard. He set the chair down in front of the cell and seated himself on it, leaning back and getting comfortable as if he was about to watch a show… and she was the show. The girl, terrified, pressed back against the wall behind her. "What do you want from me?!" she cried.

"Shh… now, now…" he soothed, "I just want to talk… have a nice little chat. What do you say?"

She looked up at him, fear and reluctance in her eyes, but also desperate to find any hint of hope that he might let her live.

"So tell me," Eichhorst continued, "what is your name?"

"Paige..."

"How old are you, Paige?"

"S... seventeen," her voice trembled.

"Seventeen!" he remarked. "Still a child..." he tsked, shaking his head as if pretending to feel bad for her situation. "It must be overwhelming for you, at your age… bringing a child into this dying world. War... famine... and the infection... How are you going to care for this child when you can barely care for yourself?" The sympathy in his expression was like a theatrical performance, purposely exaggerated. And behind the theatrics was the same sinister smile that never seemed to leave his face.

She huddled against the wall, turning her head to avoid looking at him. Her hands were clasped together at her chest, as she curled up, making herself as small as possible, desperate for any sense of protection. Eichhorst laughed.

"Tell me," he said, "was this child something you wanted? Or did happen by… unfortunate circumstances?" He spoke slowly, emphasizing his words.

Without looking at him, she could feel the threat from his eyes glaring at her, forcing an answer from her. She swallowed the knot in her throat. "I… I didn't want this…" she managed to say.

His eyes grew dark as he leaned forward in his seat. The grin had disappeared from his face now. "Just as I thought…" he sneered, "burdened with an unwanted child… a mother's biggest resentment…"

"What do you want from me?" the girl sobbed, growing more and more anxious. "I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet, to which she jerked with fright. He stepped forward and grabbed the bars again with his hands, almost strangling them in his grip. She looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes… and what she saw in them terrified her.

"A woman has the ability to create life," he remarked. "That makes woman synonymous with God. Mother…" he paused, as if to let the word sink in. "Mother… is God! But I intend to transcend God!" His eyes burned with intensity, locking her in his deep gaze, long enough to make her skin crawl.

Then, as if something suddenly changed in him, he turned and sat back down on the chair, slouching back with his legs spread, one arm over the back rest, and his head tilted to the side. "Do you know what my mother said to me when I was just eight years old?" he asked flippantly, calming down from his bout of vehemence. "She said, I wish you had died in the womb…" he paused for a moment, and then laughed. "You see, I was always a sickly child – my body was weak. But that allowed my mind to flourish in ways that others could not appreciate. I always knew that I was destined for greater things… but no one could see it. Because humans are so drawn to power and strength; there is no place for weakness in this world… not even in the heart of one's own mother!" He looked down, shaking his head. And, for the first time, there was something genuine in his expression. But then it was quickly gone. "Let me tell you something, sweet child – to create life is truly a gift... a gift that has been bestowed upon you. But human life is flawed and imperfect. And to live with one's own imperfection… is a curse!" He leaned forward in the chair, and slowly the grin crept back on his face. "Do you know why you are here, Paige?"

The girl shook her head, fearful and desperate, and convinced that she was certainly in the hands of a madman.

"This virus, that humanity finds so terrifying… is more than what it seems," he continued. "Tell me, do you know what happens when a pregnant woman becomes infected? Do you know what happens to the child?"

The girl didn't answer; she could only stare pleadingly at the madman who held her life in his hands. But either way, he wasn't expecting an answer.

"I have seen it," he said. "Though only once – a child born from an infected mother. That child became something miraculous, and magnificent… neither human nor Strigoi… possessing neither species' weaknesses but all of their strengths. A creature of perfection!" Again, he stood up from his seat, and slowly paced towards the cell. He took out a key from his pocket and smiled at her. "Imagine if I could give your child that gift…"

As he began to open the cell door, the girl sprung to her feet and backed into the corner, edging as far away from him as possible. He stepped into the cell, closing the door behind him, and approached her ever so slowly, as if savoring every moment of her torment. As he neared her, she screamed… tears flowing down her cheeks like a river. Her scream was like music to his ears, and the intensity of her fear made him feel a jolt of life inside his dead heart. He took hold of her fighting arms and pinned her against the wall behind her. She begged him to spare her life, and the more she begged, the more he smiled with satisfaction. He could feel the round of her belly pressed against him, with the little miracle inside of her. He reminded himself to not get too carried away – after all, he didn't want to damage the unborn child.

He leaned his face towards hers, sniffing her like a hungry dog. Then, he slipped out his long and grotesque tongue and licked the stream of tears from her cheek. She whimpered as she clamped her eyes shut and turned her face away from him. He laughed. But behind his laughter was a gaping black hole of dissatisfaction. Her fear wasn't enough for him now; he wanted more. Like a drug, the sense of euphoria was beginning to wear off, and the feeling of nothingness was returning to his cold, black heart. It was like a growing void inside him that he could never fill. It had been there since he was a child – a nagging feeling of perpetual discontentment. Then, as he grew older, he began to realize that something was missing inside him – something that everyone else possessed… except him. It was the ability to feel. Without love or grief, joy or sorrow, fear or solace… a man is as good as dead. And some dead men long for life. The only way Eichhorst could ever feel anything was through the emotions of others… emotions intense enough to spark a short burst of life within him. And he had discovered that no emotion was more intense than fear.

Over the next few hours, Eichhorst tormented the young girl. He stripped her bare and tied her down to the chair, and he blindfolded her so that the darkness and the unknowing would heighten her terror. Then, he stepped back and indulged in the pleasure of seeing a soul on the verge of breaking. He didn't regard himself as a sadist, as it wasn't the act of inflicting pain that gave him pleasure; it was the display of humanity, and how it connected him to their world. He was never fond of inflicting physical harm; to him, that was just a cheap thrill. If he had torn this girl apart, she would have quickly surrendered to the pain, leaving nothing more to give. Instead, he deprived her of all sensation, except the sound of his footsteps… slowly pacing… occasionally drawing near. And every now and then, he'd softly brush the hair from her shoulder, and whisper in her ear, as she sat in the darkness of her fears. It was the anxiety and the anticipation that broke her spirit – the undoing of her own mind.

Finally, when Eichhorst could no longer get the stimulation he needed from her, he carried out his final act. He took a knife and made a slow and drawn-out incision on the tender skin of her thigh. The pain made her cry out as her body writhed against the ropes that bound her. Then he took the knife and slashed his own palm. His infectious blood began to pour from the wound, dripping onto her naked skin as he stood over her. She screamed at first, but then she simply sobbed, defeated, not knowing what was to happen to her. His other hand slowly caressed up her trembling thigh… until it found the wound, and he dug his thumb deep into the flesh, tearing it open. She wailed in pain as every muscle in her body tensed. "Shhh…" he hushed as he clenched his bleeding fist over the gash on her thigh, letting his blood drip into her wound… finding its way into her body… his blood merging with hers. He kissed her cheek. "Consider this a sacrifice you are making for your child," he whispered in her ear, "for it will be blessed with a truly great gift."

Chapter Text

The morning sun was now high in the sky, and it had chased away the early morning mist. The city was quiet, as it always was in the hours following sunrise – like a silent audience at the end of an unsettling film. The silence carried through the building where Vasiliy and Mia had spent the night. When Vasiliy woke up and snuck out of the bedroom into the quiet and empty hallway, he felt as if he was the only person awake in the whole city; even the air had a stillness about it, as if nothing stirred. But when he walked into the living room, he found Noah awake before him, sitting on an old wooden chair by the window. He sat leaning forward on his elbows, staring down at the phone in his hand, just as he did the night before when Vasiliy had noticed. It was as if he was always expecting the phone to ring at any moment… but it never did.

"Hey…" Vasiliy's voice startled him out of his daze. He reanimated as he stood up and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. "You look like you haven't slept," Vasiliy commented.

"Not much…" Noah muttered as he cranked his head from side to side, stretching out the ache in his neck. He walked past Vasiliy into the kitchen, with his eyes lowered as if they carried some sort of burden, and his mind seemed distracted as he filled the kettle and put it to boil on a small portable gas stove. "Coffee?"

"You have coffee?" Vasiliy asked with slight amazement.

"Whatever this shit is…" Noah groaned as he held up a jar of cheap instant coffee where the brand on the paper label had half peeled off.

"Sure," Vasiliy shrugged. "Any coffee's a luxury these days. You can probably scrape the dregs off the floor of an old coffee shop and trade it for guns in the black market," he chuckled.

Noah gave him a curious glance from the corner of his eye. "And you would know a lot about trading in the black market…?"

"Uhh… well…"

Before Vasiliy could answer, Noah turned and leaned over the bench. He hung his head down and stayed silent for a moment before he spoke. "I've been thinking about what you said… about getting out of here…"

Vasiliy's eyes now lit up with full attention as he walked into the kitchen and approached Noah, who turned from the bench to meet him eye to eye.

"Tell me again," said Noah, "what makes you think we have a chance?"

"I've seen how these creatures work," Vasiliy leaned in close, his eyes full of conviction. "When they're not responding to stimuli, they're just like zombies… you know, the braindead kind. Especially during the day… they'll find some small, dark space and hibernate."

"Yeah well this whole building is a small dark space," Noah muttered under his breath. "Anyway, how do you know so much about these things?"

"I guess I've had to deal with them a lot," Vasiliy shrugged.

"Sounds like you're an unlucky guy…"

"Or lucky… 'cos I'm still alive," he smirked.

Noah vaguely smiled, but it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah well we're gonna need more than luck to get through this. What's your plan?"

"Well… we just… stay as quiet as possible… and hope the path is clear…" Vasiliy made up the words as he spoke, unable to hide the fact that he didn't really have a plan. "The hallways were clear when we got here – it was the sounds that drew them out. So there's a good chance they're not hanging out in there."

"Good chance?" Noah furrowed his brows. "Don't talk to me about chances. My kids are all I have… they're everything to me. I don't take chances."

"And I suppose sitting around hoping for a rescue squad isn't taking a chance?" Vasiliy retorted sarcastically.

Noah's eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he might've been angry. But then he simply turned back to the boiling kettle and carried on making two cups of black coffee that smelled like a combination of burnt grounds and stale, muddy water.

At that time, Mia woke up to the bright sunlight of the east-facing bedroom. When she slowly opened her eyes, her vision was greeted by a warm glow that lit up the room, showing her the fuzzy shapes and colours of the world around her. The room somehow seemed more pleasant and inviting now than it did the night before. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked around. Suddenly, she noticed a shadow at the end of the bed – a small silhouette of a person.

"H...hello?" Mia mumbled, still half asleep.

"Hi," the little girl's voice responded cheerfully. "I was watching you sleep," she said, with such innocence that it somehow made the words seem less unsettling. She tilted her head and studied Mia's vacant eyes. "Are you still sick?"

"Sick?" Mia puzzled.

"You're eyes... you still can't see."

"Oh… no sweetheart," Mia smiled, "you see, being blind isn't like being sick. It's not something you get better from."

The girl thought for a moment, and then pouted. "I wish I was blind."

"Why do you say that?" Mia perplexed.

"Because then I won't see the monsters…"

Mia sat up in the bed, now wide awake. "You mean the monsters outside?"

"Mmm no…" Lily shook her head. She walked around to the side of the bed and stood cradling her doll in her arms, swaying slightly from side to side. "I see monsters when I sleep," she whispered, as if she didn't want someone to hear.

"Oh… you mean you have bad dreams?"

The girl nodded, holding the doll close to her chest like she was protecting it from something. And she continued to pout at the thought of nightmares and monsters.

"Come here," Mia scooted over in the bed and gestured for Lily to sit beside her, and the girl happily did so. "You know, I have bad dreams too," said Mia.

"But you can't see anything!" Lily exclaimed with genuine confusion.

Mia couldn't help but smile at her adorable naivety. "I wasn't always blind," she said. "I still remember what the world looks like… and I see it in my dreams."

"Do you see monsters too?" the girl stared at her, wide-eyed and full of childish curiosity.

Mia paused for a moment. "Sometimes…" she said. Then she turned to Lily and smiled. "But you know what? They're not real; they can't hurt us. Whenever you're scared in your dreams, just tell yourself – 'Wake up… it's only a dream'… keeping saying it over and over… and the monsters will go away."

"Really?!" The child glowed with admiration for her new friend. She adored Mia from the moment she saw her – the way children do when they become fixated on someone for reasons only a child could understand. And so Mia's words were like gospel to her ears, from which she found sudden courage and inspiration. She climbed up onto her knees and hugged herself around Mia's arm, like a little monkey clinging to its mother.

Mia gently stroked her hair. There was something about her innocence and purity that made Mia smiled longingly… with both joy and sadness – sadness for her own childhood that was stolen from her. But the little girl reminded her of the beauty that could have been. Mia let out a quiet sigh. "Come on… let's go see if your dad needs help around the house."

When Mia walked into the living room holding Lily by the hand, she paused as she heard a very serious-sounding discussion between Vasiliy and Noah.

"What about the kids?" Vasiliy asked. "You think they'll be okay out there?"

"Yeah. You know, Danny might be a kid, but he's tougher than most men I know… like his mom…" said Noah, with a smile pushing through his pain.

"And Lily?"

"I'll find a way to keep her quiet – leave that to me. You just worry about getting us out of here."

At that moment, Mia crouched down in front of the child and cupped her little face in her hand. "Lily, why don't you go find your brother. I need to talk to your dad for a minute."

Noah and Vasiliy paused in their conversation and turned to Mia.

"Morning," Vasiliy greeted.

"Hey…" Mia waited for the child to leave before she asked, with a look of concern, "What's going on?"

"We're getting outta here, that's what's going on!" Vasiliy replied.

"How?"

"The way we came," he answered simply. "If we stay quiet, we should be able to sneak out without drawing any attention."

Mia's eyes widened. "You're not serious… What if those things are out there? What if they see us?"

"I checked the hallway – we got a clear path right now, so we should move soon… before they do."

Mia stood speechless; she couldn't find her words, but the strain in her expression showed there was something troubling her. But with reluctance, she swallowed the lump in her throat and said softly, "Okay…"

"You don't sound convinced."

"I… I don't know…" she faltered, no closer to saying what was on her mind. She paced forward in a troubled daze, her hands reaching out for the dining table that she knew would be somewhere in front of her. She found one of the chairs and pulled it out, and sat down heavily onto it. "I guess it's worth a shot…" she said.

Vasiliy could hear the uncertainty in her voice, but he didn't question it. He'd already made up his mind, so he saw no point in starting another discussion about it. "Alright," he turned back to Noah, "take what you need and let's get ready to move. Just remember… don't take anything that can jingle or rattle; these things are drawn to sound."

Beneath his strong, furrowed brows, Noah's eyes flickered with uncertainty… but also determination. "Alright," he said, "just give me some time… I want to talk to the kids."

When Noah left the room, Mia turned to Vasiliy, biting her lip nervously. "We're really going to do this… aren't we?"

"Got any better ideas?"

Mia sighed and rested her cheek in her hand; she had nothing to say. Vasiliy pulled up a seat and joined her at the table, and together, they sat in silence.

A little while later, Noah returned with a backpack over his shoulders, carrying his rifle in one hand and his daughter in the other arm. He held her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder, with her arms wrapped around his neck. His son stood beside him, looking more nervous than ever. But despite his fear, the boy stood tall and brave, knowing that the time now called for him to be a man.

Noah passed the rifle to the boy. "You hold onto that…" he said. Then he secured both his arms around his daughter and held her tight. "Okay sweetheart, we're going to play that game we talked about earlier… you remember what that was?"

"We're going to steal the pirates' treasure!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"Yeah, that's right," Noah smiled. "And to find the treasure, we have to sneak through the pirates' cave while they're all asleep. That means we have to be really quiet. We can't wake them up, okay? Now put on your blindfold."

"But why do I have to wear a blindfold?" the girl whined.

"Well… because it's dark inside the cave. Come on now, no cheating."

The girl let out a huff and then pulled the fabric band down over her eyes. Noah kissed her forehead. "Just remember, not a sound…" he whispered, trying desperately to hide the distress in his voice. He looked to his son standing beside him, who clutched the rifle nervously in his hands. "You okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine," the boy dismissed.

"Stay close and make sure you…"

"Dad!" the boy cut him off with irritation, "I got it!"

"Okay… let's go," Vasiliy pushed himself up from his seat.

Everyone made their way to the front door, and they stood before it for one last moment… to take a final deep breath… before opening the door. But suddenly, Vasiliy turned around and looked behind him at the sense that something wasn't right. It was Mia – she hadn't moved; she was still standing in the middle of the living room.

"Mia… what are you doing?" Vasiliy asked.

Her face strained with anguish. "I… I can't go with you…"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I can't do this…" she winced, shaking her head.

"What do you mean? Of course you can!"

"No… I'll slow you down. I'm too much of a liability…"

"Just stick with me; you'll be fine." Vasiliy walked towards her and took her by the arm. "Come on…"

"No!" she cried, pulling back. "I'm not putting those children's lives at risk! If I take one wrong step… if I trip, or bump into something…"

"But you lived here, right? You know this place better than I do."

"That's not the point, Fet – I'm blind!"

"Well then we just gotta be careful…"

"Stop… just stop…" she furrowed her brows as tears started to well up in her eyes. "You know, the worst thing about living with a disability is when people pretend they don't see it; when they act like they don't know what you're talking about. There is nothing more insulting! So please… stop pretending I'm going to be fine out there, because I'm not! If I come with you, I'll be putting everyone at risk, and you know that!"

"She's right…" Noah muttered from where he stood.

"What?" Vasiliy looked over at him.

"I said she's right," he asserted loudly and firmly this time.

"So what are you trying to say?" Vasiliy outraged, looking back and forth between Noah and Mia.

"Look, all I'm saying is… she's a risk. She knows this, and so do you."

"No…" Vasiliy shook his head, "No one gets left behind on my watch…"

"Except Quinlan…" Mia jeered, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice. "You seemed to have no problem leaving him behind in the tunnels that night."

"That was different!"

"How was it different?!"

"Because he's not one of us!" Vasiliy yelled, now getting frustrated.

As soon as he raised his voice, he anticipated the heated argument that was likely to follow, as it always did with Dutch. But instead, Mia simply lowered her eyes and turned away. "Quinlan's done more for us than anyone here," she said softly as she walked back to the chair and slowly sat down in a way that suggested she was not going to move. Her manner was suddenly cold and distant. "Just go…" she said, without turning to face him. "Get them out of this place… take them somewhere safe."

Vasiliy opened his mouth to say something… but then he stopped as he felt the pointlessness of anything he had to say. He stared at her for a moment, and he suddenly realised how alone and vulnerable she looked, as she sat at the large table surrounded by empty seats… waiting to be abandoned. There was a certain sadness in the scene, and for some reason, it made Vasiliy a sense of guilt. He took a deep a breath and sighed. "Alright…" he said, "but I'm coming back for you. I'll bring help… I'll come back with guns… explosives… whatever it takes. I'll level this damn place if I have to… but I'm getting you out of here."

She showed no response, except for a flicker of despair in her eyes. Reluctantly, Vasiliy turned and walked back to the others standing at the door. He stopped and looked back at her one last time.

"I'm coming back, Mia… I promise."

Chapter Text

Vasiliy reached for the door, hesitant for a slight second before determination took over. He gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it, pausing at every slight sound that it made. He felt the mechanical parts clicking inside the lock… and when the latch finally slipped loose from the door, he carefully pulled it open, ever so cautious of how its hinges might creak. He was suddenly reminded of his teenage years in South Dakota, when he would sneak out of his parents' house to see a girl named Mindy. She was everything to him at the time; the rest of the world didn't matter – he cared for nothing else… not even the risk of being caught by his militant Catholic father, who would certainly have disapproved of their impetuous young love.

The young Vasiliy had become quite skilled at sneaking out… but somehow, his father had found out, as there was no hiding anything from that man. One night, his father sat quietly in the dark, waiting for Vasiliy to get up to his usual antics. At two o'clock in the morning, when Vasiliy tip-toed down the hall, smiling to himself at how easy it had become, the old man stood up from his seat – a large, towering figure in the dark – and said, "Where do you think you're going?" His father would never raise his voice, but his tone had a way of instilling fear. Then, he grabbed Vasiliy by the ear and said, in Russian, "Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I don't know what goes on in my own house? I didn't give my blood and sweat to bring you to this country to watch you throw your life away with that Godless American whore!" And with that, Vasiliy saw the back of his father's hand before he ever saw Mindy again.

The following week, his father moved the family to New York, where he hoped his son would focus on his studies to become a civil engineer or a doctor – to build cities and save lives instead of destroying them. But instead, when Vasiliy turned eighteen, he returned to his home country in Ukraine to fight against the rebels. Perhaps because fighting was what his father detested the most; "I would rather see my son dead than see him become a soldier like his old man," his father once said. Perhaps now, Vasiliy finally understood why.

In all these years, not a day went by that Vasiliy did not think about his mother and father. When he returned to America many years later, he wanted to call them on many occasions… but he was too stubborn to give in, and too proud to apologise. He knew he would speak to them again one day… there was always time… always tomorrow. But tomorrow never came – the virus swept through the country, and families were lost, scattered and destroyed. By the time Vasiliy picked up the phone and dialed the number written on a note he held in his trembling hand, the phone on the other end had already been disconnected. It was only then that he realised how much there was that he wanted to say.

Vasiliy always carried those memories with him, but he never allowed them to get the better of him. Focused on the here and now, he found himself staring down an empty, dark hallway that seemed endlessly long. His eyes scanned ahead thoroughly, and when he was certain that the path was clear, he stepped through the door, and turned to Noah and motioned for him to follow. Vasiliy led the way down the hallway, each step as cautious as if he was walking on thin ice. Noah followed closely behind him as he held his daughter tightly in his arms, and his son stayed close by his side.

In the dead silence of the building, every sound was magnified tenfold – they could almost hear the scampering feet of the cockroaches in the walls. At the end of the corridor was the door to the stairway – the only way to get to ground floor. The door seemed as far as the other side of the world, but it stood like a bright, shining beacon… calling them to safety. Vasiliy wondered if he was the only one who felt the urge to just sprint for that door as fast as he could. It was certainly a thought that went through everyone's minds, but no one had lost their senses enough to give in to such impulses.

As they walked slowly and carefully down the hallway, they passed rows of doors that led to empty apartments. Most of the doors were closed, but some were wide open. As Vasiliy approached an open doorway, he paused, uncertain of what may be on the other side. He pressed up against the wall like a soldier before entering a room full of enemies, moving instinctively from his military training. The others followed his lead. He motioned for them to stay back as he shuffled along the wall towards the edge of the doorway. As he slowly peered around the door, he breathed out in relief to see that the room held nothing but pieces of broken furniture, torn up floorboards, and a layer of dust that made the place look like a desert archaeological finding.

Vasiliy motioned for the others to follow as he continued to down the path, gaining confidence now, as so far no dangers seemed to be present. Then, just as he was about to walk carelessly past another open doorway, a soft grunt from inside the apartment made him come to a sudden halt. He quickly raised his arm behind him, signalling for the others to stop. Again, he pressed his back against the wall and listened. Nothing. He slowly leaned into the doorway… but this time, as he poked his head around the corner, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a gaunt figure standing in the middle of the room – a grotesque contortion of the human form. Before he eyes could focus on what they saw, Vasiliy quickly retreated as his heart thumped a heavy beat in his chest, pumping adrenaline through his veins. Noah saw Vasiliy's reaction and understood what it meant. He met Vasiliy's eyes with a look in his own eyes that seemed to ask anxiously, 'What do we do?!'

Vasiliy stood silent and still, listening carefully for every sound… anticipating that at any moment, the creature would come bursting through the door. There was a slight creak of a floorboard… and then there was silence; no movement from inside the room. Vasiliy realised that the creature had not detected them. Slowly and carefully, he peered around the doorway again. In the middle of the room, a Strigoi stood with its back to the door, its head corked to the side, and fingers contorted into rigid claws. Its body was agonizingly stiff, as if rigor mortis had set in, and its muscles twitched sporadically like the spasms of a dying insect. Every time the creature twitched, it looked as if it was about to wake from its slumber.

Vasiliy mustered up his courage, and with a deep breath, he stepped out into the open doorway. As he stood in full view of the creature, a chill ran down his back. He looked at the corpse-like figure as its body briefly convulsed, its head jerking towards its shoulder, as if at any moment it would turn and look Vasiliy right in the eye. Vasiliy contained his anxiety and started to walk, one step after another, more carefully than ever… until he reached the other side of the doorway. He turned back to Noah and motioned for him to follow. With stern eyes and a focused expression, Noah inched towards the door and looked into the room. He had never seen a Strigoi in close detail, so with this opportunity, he took a long, hard look at the grotesque creature… unable to turn his eyes away from the sight. After a moment, he finally peeled his gaze away and turned to his son. He gave the boy a firm nod and pressed his finger to his lips, signalling for silence.

Slowly, they began to walk across the opening. As the boy laid eyes on the creature, he let out a slight gulp from his throat. Immediately, his father shot him a stern look – though the look was not scolding, but perhaps just fearful and desperate. Noah released one arm from around his daughter and hooked it around the boy's shoulders, pulling him close and pushing him to keep walking. Then suddenly, there was the sound of a clink from beneath his feet. Noah looked down to see that he had kicked an empty metal can.

Not a second later, the creature inside the room let out a growl and ferociously spun around. It stood, eyes red and mouth open, glaring towards the open door. But then it paused in confusion as it saw there was nothing there. It walked a few steps towards the door and started to sniff the air like a hungry animal… but it detected nothing – no sound, no movement, and no smell of blood to arouse its senses. Slowly, the hunger and alertness in its eyes began to fade as the creature settled.

In the hallway, the group stood dead still with their backs pressed firmly against the wall. Hearts were beating rapidly as everyone anticipated the worst. Noah hugged Lily close to his chest as his other arm held tightly around his son's shoulders. Vasiliy held out his hand, signalling for the others to be still. They waited with bated breaths, and every muscle in their body clenched as they tried to hold as still as possible. Moments passed and the creature inside the room had not made a sound. Finally, Vasiliy let out the breath that he had been holding and nodded to the others that it was safe. Then he took the lead and continued down the hallway.

After what seemed like a torturous eternity, they finally reached the stairway at the end off the corridor. Vasiliy quietly opened the door; inside, the air was cold and dark. He held the door open for Noah and Daniel to walk through, then he followed behind them, closing the door quietly behind him. They could see down to the ground floor, and the path in front of them was clear. Finally, everyone took the first breath of relief.

"Damn these old buildings for not having more windows," Vasiliy muttered quietly. "If we were in one of those slick new apartments at Fort Greene, there would've been enough sunlight to fry every sucker in the building. But then again, if you can afford to live there, you can probably afford to buy your way out of the apocalypse. This is just another way the world shits on the poor."

"Would you shut the hell up?!" Noah grunted irritably under his breath.

"Did we escape the pirate cave?" Lily asked as she pulled the blindfold off her head.

"Shhhh," Noah hushed. "Not yet, honey… almost there."

As they reached the ground floor, Vasiliy opened the door, expecting to be greeted by the faint sunlight coming in from the front door of the building. But instead, he found himself staring right into the ghastly face of a Strigoi. The creature appeared just as much startled as Vasiliy was, taking a moment to react to the sudden human presence. But then its bloodlust kicked in, and it shrieked loudly like a wild animal, baring its jagged teeth. Lily screamed in terror; suddenly, she realized it was no longer a game. The creature launched itself at Vasiliy, but he slam the door shut just in time. The creature hit the door with a hard thud, and Vasiliy pushed back with all his weight to stop the door from swinging open.

"To the rooftop!" Noah yelled as he started to turn back up the stairs. "Fet! Come on!"

"Go! I'll give you guys a head start!"

It was unlike Noah to leave a man behind, but when it came to the lives of his children, he would've sacrificed anyone without a moment of thought… including himself. He gave Vasiliy a nod and ran up the stairs.

Vasiliy held the door against the thrashing creature for as long as he could. He waited until Noah and the children were up the next flight of stairs before he released the door and ran as fast as he could. The creature burst through the door and charged after him. It's blood-curdling shriek echoed through the stairway. Noah didn't look back; he kept running, knowing he was already slowed down by having to carry Lily in his arms. The terrified girl screamed and cried, this time receiving no reassurance from her father, and that was always what she looked to for comfort.

The creature stayed on Vasiliy's tail. As it got closer, it lunged at him but narrowly missed. The creature fell forward and managed to grab Vasiliy's ankle, pulling him face-down onto the stairs. Vasiliy let out a loud grunt. Noah and Daniel stopped and looked back down the stairs.

"Get out of here!" Vasiliy cried, waving his arm at them as he tried to fight off the creature that was climbing on top of him.

"Come on, Daniel… keep moving!"

"No… wait…" The boy shook his father's hand off his shoulder. Nervously, he raised the rifle that he had been carrying, and then, with the posture of a trained rifleman, he took aim and fired at the creature that had Vasiliy pinned to the ground. The recoil of the gun send the boy stumbling back. The creature took the shot in the shoulder and stood to its feet, shrieking. Another shot followed, this time in its chest, and the creature dropped to the ground. Now, more of them started bursting into the stairway from the floors below… but luckily none from above; the path to the roof was still clear.

"Good shot, kid!" Vasiliy exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet.

"More coming!" Noah cried. "Go go go!"

The creatures kept close at their tail, and when they finally burst through the door on the rooftop of the building, the creatures fell into the sunlight, shrieking and convulsing as the light cooked their flesh. The ones further back retreated into the shadows, claws still thrashing and teeth still bared, as their instinct for survival battled their instinct to kill. But they dared not to come out into the light. The men stood bent over, hearts pounding and chests heaving to catch their breaths. They made it; they were safe. Vasiliy looked up towards the sun and felt its warm rays on his skin – he savoured the moment as if it was his last. For a moment, he almost thought he was looking up at God… and he thanked the god that he did not believe in for letting him fight another day.

From the rooftop, the way down was easy, as there were stairs down the side of the building. When they got down onto the street below, a military patrol vehicle was driving by slowly.

"Hey!" Vasiliy yelled, waving his arms. "Hey! Stop!" Vasiliy ran out in front of the car, forcing the driver to slam on the brakes.

A soldier stepped out of the car and was quick to turn to aggression as he pointed his gun at Vasiliy.

Vasiliy raised his hands in the air. "Woah… easy… easy… Look, there are children here."

The soldier glanced behind Vasiliy at Noah and the kids.

"We just came outta that building," Vasiliy explained, still struggling to catch his breath. "There's a lot of infected in there… and a woman is trapped inside. You gotta help her…"

The soldier studied him up and down, and reluctantly lowered his gun. "How many alive inside?" he asked, his tone brief and unfriendly.

"There's a woman…"

"A woman? You mean one person?"

The driver of the car, who had been listening through the open window, chuckled to himself, shaking his head, and mumbled something that Vasiliy didn't quite catch. Whatever it was, Vasiliy noticed the tone and glared at him, before turning back to the soldier standing in front of him.

"What does it matter? A civilian needs your help…"

"Look," said the soldier, "we got eight people trapped in a building two blocks from here. And another place with over a hundred infected and God knows how many still alive inside. If we start risking soldiers' lives for every person that needed help, then there'll be none of us left to help anyone. Now get off the streets and go to a refuge center." And with that, the soldier turned his back and returned to the vehicle.

"Hey! Wait a second!"

The car door slammed shut, and Vasiliy could do nothing except watch in anger as they drove away.

Noah walked up beside him and followed his gaze, watching the vehicle disappear down street. "What are you gonna do?" he asked. "You gonna go back for her by yourself?"

"Nah… I know someone that can help. Come on…"

Chapter Text

The walk to the warehouse felt like a journey through a foreign war zone, barely recognisable as the city it once was. In the light of day, the city lay in testament to all the devastation that it had seen. Many of the hollow buildings, that once decorated the metropolis with a haunting yet grand beauty, now lay burned or crumbled by the fires and explosions that rocked the night. The streets, once alive with people trying to retain some normalcy of life, were now dead and empty like a ghost town. Occasionally, the thunder of a tank would tear through the silence as it rolled by, churning up the rubble with its heavy tracks. Then sometimes, a truck would pass that smelled like death and rot, and you'd know the stench before you ever saw it – it was the truck that carried the dead to the edge of the city, where fallen heroes and crooks, human and Strigoi would all end up in the same pit of dirt… as in death, there is no discrimination.

When Vasiliy and the others reached the warehouse, Vasiliy led them inside without any welcome or introduction to where he had taken them. He hurried in and walked hastily from room to room, as if searching for something… or someone.

"What is this place?" Noah asked, looking around as he followed Vasiliy through the warehouse.

Vasiliy didn't answer. He stood in the doorway of the workshop and the living area, and looked from one room to the other. "Quinlan? Yo, Quinlan… you here?" he called.

"Quinlan is not here," a brusque voice spoke from behind him. He turned around to see Malaika standing in the workshop with her sleeves rolled up and her hands covered in grease. Behind her, the black Chevrolet sat raised on a jack with one of its wheels taken off, probably to be replaced. Malaika wiped her grease-covered hands on her jeans as her gaze skipped from Vasiliy to Noah, then to the children, and back to Noah again. "Who are they?" she asked in a blunt and unwelcoming tone.

"This is Noah… Lily… and Danny," Vasiliy introduced.

Noah nodded a brief greeting of sorts, as Lily shuffled behind her father, hugging his leg – she found this dark-skinned girl and her stern face to be rather frightening. Daniel, on the other hand, found himself staring at Malaika with a sort of blank curiosity, and when Malaika noticed this, she glared at him until he turned his gaze. "What are they doing here?" she snapped.

"They're gonna be staying with us for a while," said Vasiliy, as he walked across to the workbench and started to load various weapons and ammunition into a large duffle bag.

"Quinlan would not allow this…"

"And what… I need his permission now?" Vasiliy scoffed. "He should be grateful I'm the one letting him stay here… and you too. Eph and I had this place long before you guys showed up," he grumbled as he hauled the heavy bag off the bench and walked towards the van parked next to the Chevrolet. He pulled open the door and tossed the bag into the back.

"Woah… what are you doing?" Noah lowered his brows apprehensively. "You can't drive out there in broad daylight – if you get caught they'll shoot you on the spot!"

"I told Mia I was going back for her – I'm gonna keep my word…"

Suddenly, the apathetic look on Malaika's face turned into full attention. "Mia? What do you mean go back for her?"

"She's trapped inside her apartment," Vasiliy replied as he proceeded to load other various items into the van.

"Trapped? By what?" Malaika approached, her eyes wide with concern.

"Her apartment's overrun with Strigoi – the whole building's full of 'em."

Malaika's eyes widened even more beneath her furrowed brows.

"The infection got in," Vasiliy continued, "turned everyone that lived there… except for these guys…" he nodded towards Noah and the children. "I told them we'd give them a place to stay."

"You were there? At the apartment?" she looked at him anxiously.

"Yeah…"

"So why is Mia not with you?"

Vasiliy stopped what he was doing and turned around. He started to answer, but then hesitated and looked to Noah as if hoping he would say something. But Noah remained silent.

"We got out… but Mia…" Vasiliy lowered his eyes. "She… uh… she couldn't follow us… you know, with her condition and all…" There was a moment of tense silence, and he quickly added, "But she's safe – she's inside one of the apartments; those things can't get to her."

"Safe?!" Malika cried, outraged. "Safe in a building full of Strigoi?! Why didn't she leave with you?"

"It was too dangerous… she wouldn't have made it…"

"So you left her there?!"

"Look… we had no choice," Vasiliy retorted in defense. "I mean, for godsake, she's blind! Do you have any idea what we went through to get out of that place? If we'd taken her with us, we'd all be dead!"

"Of course…" Malika sneered. "It's all about you. You only think about your own survival… just like in the tunnel…"

"What the hell do you know about survival, huh?" Vasiliy snapped. "All you do is drive around with your half-breed-Strigoi-equivalent-of-Batman babysitting your ass! You wanna go lead a blind girl through a building full of Strigoi… be my guest!" He marched towards her and took out his gun and shoved it into her hand. "Go on then… you go get her! Since you think you can make a better call."

Malaika looked down at the gun in her hand. She wanted to take his threat as a challenge, and her impulse would have sent her charging straight to the apartment without a second thought. But for some reason she didn't move, as if something was physically holding her in place, and all she could do was stand there… her eyes filled with anger.

Vasiliy snatched the gun back from her hand. "Yeah… that's what I thought…" he muttered as he tucked the gun back into his jeans, and turned and walked back towards the van.

"Wait…" Noah called after him. "You're not thinking this through. Soldiers are everywhere – if you get pulled over with a car full of guns and explosives … what do you think they're gonna do to you?"

"You got a better idea?"

"Yeah, I do – wait till after dark…"

Vasiliy looked at his watch. "That's five hours!"

"We were in that apartment for days… and we still would be if it wasn't for you. I made sure the place was secure enough for us to stay as long as we had to. Trust me… she'll be fine. But if you get yourself killed… that doesn't help anyone."

Vasiliy sighed as he leaned his hands on the side of the van and hung his head down in contemplation. "Alright…" he muttered softly. He turned away from the van and stood with his hands on his hips. "Alright…" he said again, more assured this time. "I hope she knows I'm coming back."

"She knows…" Noah said evenly, looking Vasiliy in the eye.

"Well… let's get you and the kids settled in. Come on… I'll show you around the place."

As they left the room, Malaika found herself struggling with an itching feeling that something about this wasn't right. She remembered the night when Mia stepped in front of those men with guns, and selflessly bargained her own life for Malaika's. That night, Mia decided to risk her life for someone who had been nothing but cruel to her. And now, not a single person was willing to take a risk for her… not even Quinlan, Malaika thought. And it suddenly dawned on her that all of this was his fault. If he had used his blood to heal her eyes, like Malaika had asked him to, then she would never have been in this situation. Quinlan knew the dangers she would face in this world without her sight, and he knew that it might be the difference between life and death one day… yet he chose to leave her blind and helpless. Malaika felt a burning anger and betrayal as she came to realize that the fearless warrior, who she had placed on such a godly pedestal all her life… was just a coward after all, for he didn't have the courage to stand before the eyes of love.

This time, I am going to make things right… she told herself… even if it means betraying Quinlan.

Mia watched the shapes and colours around her fade to black as day became night. And once again, she found herself alone in an empty, black world. She let her hand drop down by her side, expecting to feel a comforting nudge from a cold, wet nose… but then she remembered that she would never feel it again. A sense of emptiness washed over her… yet she found herself unable to grieve, because after the death of Doctor Price, it was as if her heart had spent all its sorrow and had nothing left to give.

She picked up her hand and placed it back down on the table in front of her. She turned her thoughts to sweet little Lily… and Daniel, and Vasiliy, and Noah. She wondered if they made it out. She had to believe that they did; she couldn't imagine it any other way. In her head, she could still hear the sound of Lily's voice… and from the sweet, angelic sound, she could paint a picture in her mind – a picture so pure and beautiful that it was impossible to think that anything could've happened to her. Not even this world could be cruel enough to hurt such a perfect, innocent soul, she thought. But the fact that Vasiliy hadn't returned made her stomach churn with a sickening feeling. Maybe he's safe, she thought… maybe he's simply not coming back.

She rested her head down on her arm as her other hand idly traced patterns on the tabletop. "Graeme…" she found herself whispering his name. You promised me you would never leave me… you and Rita… you guys were the only family I ever had. At least you're together now… but I'm still here…

Lost in her thoughts, she reached for the glass of water on the table in front of her. But as her hand skimmed the glass, she knocked it over and it fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. She sat startled for a moment, and then groaned with slight annoyance as she grudgingly crouched down to pick up the broken pieces. She didn't know why she bothered, as no one was coming back here; it might as well be left broken and ruined like all the other apartments. But somehow, she felt it was important to pick up the pieces.

Suddenly, Mia felt a sharp sting on her finger, and she quickly retracted her hand and held it close to her chest. She froze for a moment, unsure if the glass had actually pierced her skin, or if the sharpness of it merely surprised her. She brought her finger to her mouth and sucked on the tender spot… and there it was – that distinct coppery taste of blood.

"Shit…" she muttered, as she stood up and made her way towards the kitchen. She fumbled across the room with her arms stretched out, touching the wall and every object along the way to make sure she didn't walk into anything. The cut on her finger was bleeding quite profusely, and she left a trail of blood on everything she touched – marking her path on the walls, and the furniture, and along the kitchen countertop, until the trail ended at the sink. She held her hand under the tap and let the cold water wash away the blood and sooth the tender area. The sensation gave her some relief, and she stood for a moment, relishing the feeling.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the front door of the apartment, and Mia jumped. She quickly turned off the tap and stood to attention. A moment later, there was another bang, hard and deliberate, like a body ramming against the door. It was followed by the sound of claws scratching, tearing away at the surface of the wood, as if something was trying to get inside. Mia felt the hairs on her arm raise on their ends. With another loud bang, she stumbled back, her heart now pounding rapidly in her chest. Frantic footsteps could be heard scuttling down the hallway towards her door, being drawn to it like insects to the light. They were Strigoi, for sure - four or five of them at least. Suddenly, Mia realised what had aroused them, and her heart sank as she stood in terror. She clenched her wounded hand in a tight fist and wrapped her other hand around it, desperate to mask the smell of blood… but it was too late.

The creatures gathered in frenzy outside the door, madly squawking, scratching, and slamming with their bodies as hard as they could. Mia could hear the door rattling on its hinges, and the sound of wood splitting. She knew it wouldn't hold for much longer. If they got in… when they get in… there would be nothing she could do except face her demise. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes tight.

BANG! BANG! BANG! – the lock had broken… she heard it.

Think quick, Mia… Think quick!

Chapter Text

The creatures burst into the room, falling over each other in a mad frenzy, eager to find the prey that they had sensed. But when they saw only an empty room, they paused, as if their primordial brains had stopped to process the situation. Then, they began to sniff the air for the scent of blood, as their glowing red eyes scanned the room.

Mia sat on the kitchen floor with her back pressed against the counter – it was the only thing that separated her and the creatures. On the other side, she could hear their rummaging footsteps and hungry grunts. One of them was close by, right on the other side of her; she could hear its keen nose sniffing the air. Then suddenly, it leaned over the counter above her, sniffing a drop of blood that it had found. Mia held dead still as she listened to it lap up the blood and then greedily sniff the air for more. She held her bleeding hand, wrapped in her sweatshirt, close to her chest. The creature sniffed towards her, leaning further over the counter. Mia pressed back as hard as she could. She was certain that it had sensed her, and at any moment it would launch over the counter and pounce right on top of her. She closed her eyes in fearful anticipation.

But then, the creature suddenly lifted its head as if something else caught its senses, and it began to follow a different scent trail, leading it to the dining table where Mia had cut her finger. As she listened to the creature scamper away, her body weakened in a rush of relief.

Three other creatures were also searching the room, sniffing at various places where Mia had left her blood. She could hear their footsteps occasionally walking over the broken glass that lay scattered across the floor. She listened to their sounds from across the room, and she knew she had to move before they got closer. Slowly, she climbed onto her knees and began to crawl, as silently as she could, towards the hallway beside the kitchen. The darkness was a maze; she couldn't see a thing. But every tiny sound was like a beacon of light in the dark labyrinth – the only point of reference she had to the world around her. Her body trembled in terror, and she pushed through the feeling of paralysis and kept moving. She knew she was crawling into a dead end – there was nowhere to go; all she could do was to hide… and perhaps simply delay the inevitable. But then again, that is all survival really is – delaying the inevitable.

Vasiliy watched the sun set as he shoved the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. He dusted his hands and then made his way towards the workshop where the van was parked.

"Are you leaving now?" Malaika asked as he passed her in the living room.

"Yep…"

"Let me come with you," she said, standing to her feet.

"No… stay here," Vasiliy instructed as he walked staunchly through the room without even glancing at her.

"But I can help…"

"You can help by keeping an eye on our guests. Besides, if I don't make it back… someone's gotta be here."

"Are you going alone?" she asked, eagerly following him to the van.

"I got a plan…" he muttered as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Malaika standing anxiously in the warehouse as she watched him drive away.

Vasiliy arrived at the old industrial district nearby, and turned down a street that was particularly empty and lifeless, inhabited only by the looming corpses of steel-framed giants – the old abandoned factories and warehouses. He'd only ever been here once before, and it was with Quinlan. Otherwise, he never had a reason to seek the hunters. He hoped he'd remembered the right place. But as he pulled up outside the narrow brick building wedged in between two massive warehouses, he knew he could not have mistaken – it was definitely the right place.

He climbed out of the van and stood rummaging through the bags he had packed, tucking various guns and ammunition into his pockets. Then, when he was done, he turned around… and was suddenly startled as he turned right into a solid figure standing behind him.

"Jesus!" he cried out in surprise. He looked upon the face of the hooded figure and saw that it was Quinlan. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," said Quinlan. He glanced past Vasiliy into the back of the van, noting all the weapons he had in there. "Going to war?" he asked with a derisive tone in his voice.

"Well… sort of…"

Quinlan leaned in close, his eyes probing and threatening. "And I suppose you were hoping to take my men with you…?"

Vasiliy looked away from Quinlan's glare but refused to step back from his intimidation. "I would've asked you… but who the hell knows where you are these days." He scowled as he pushed past Quinlan with a bump of the shoulder. This belligerent gesture may have seemed intentional, but that would've been too bold… even for Vasiliy.

However, Quinlan took it as a challenge, and he spun around and grabbed Vasiliy's shoulder. "You do not take my men anywhere without my permission, do you understand?" he growled, staring menacingly into his eyes. "I have lost enough men as it is… I do not need you risking their lives for whatever personal affairs you might have."

"Personal? What, you think I'm taking these guys out on a date?! I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't important!" Vasiliy snapped, shaking Quinlan's hand off his shoulder. "Look… Mia's in trouble, okay? That's why I'm here!"

Quinlan's eyes suddenly shot wide open.

"Her whole building's infected, and she's trapped inside. Those things are everywhere… dozens of 'em! I told her I'd get her out, but I'm gonna need a team in there with me…"

At this point, Quinlan was already walking away briskly.

"Hey… where are you going?" Vasiliy called.

Quinlan marched brashly towards the van and climbed into the driver's seat. "Get in," he ordered firmly. He slammed the door shut, and as soon as Vasiliy sat into the seat beside him, he sped off down the road. He drove without saying a word, and he didn't slow for any bump or any corner.

Within minutes, the car screeched to a stop outside Mia's apartment. Quinlan jumped out and stormed inside as quickly as he could. Vasiliy followed behind him, trying his best to keep up. As soon as they walked into the building, a Strigoi launched at them from out of the darkness. Quinlan caught the creature by the throat and clenched his fingers around its neck. He dug his fingers deep into its flesh, and when he found its stinger, he yanked the organ right out of its body. The creature fell to the ground, gurgling and convulsing. But as Quinlan looked down at the twitching corpse, his eyes grew wide and his body suddenly froze. At that moment, another creature came charging towards them… but Quinlan still didn't move; he didn't even look up as his gaze stayed transfixed on the ground in front of him. Vasiliy quickly pulled out his gun and shot the charging creature between the eyes. Quinlan didn't even flinch as it came close to him.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Vasiliy yelled, looking at Quinlan. He wondered what on earth could've caused such a warrior to stand frozen in battle. But then he followed Quinlan's gaze and saw, on the ground next to the dead Strigoi, was a dog lying on its side with its golden fur covered in blood. Its eyes were peacefully closed, and its four legs were stiff, stretched out in front of its body.

"Shit…" Vasiliy muttered. He took a deep sigh. "I think she knew this would've happened…"

"Is she safe?" Quinlan asked, turning to Vasiliy with a look of urgency in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Where is she?"

"Follow me…"

In the stairway, they encountered more Strigoi. This time, Vasiliy ploughed through them with all the firepower he had, and he found it rather exhilarating compared to his last encounter. Then, when a horde of Strigoi burst into the stairway below, Vasiliy took a grenade from his pocket and hooked his finger through the pin. He tossed the grenade towards the creatures, and the metallic bulb bounced down the steps with a clink, clink, clink. Vasiliy and Quinlan ran through the door on the second floor, and in the stairway behind them, the loud explosion echoed through the hollow and shook the ground and the walls. The noise brought out several more Strigoi from inside the apartments. Vasiliy reloaded his gun, and together with Quinlan's machine pistols, they destroyed the creatures within a matter of seconds.

When the hallway fell silent, Vasiliy ran towards the apartment where they had stayed. But when he reached the door, he suddenly stopped.

"No, no, no… this can't be right…" he turned to Quinlan, his eyes wide with fear. "This door was locked…"

The fear in Quinlan's eyes was no better concealed as he looked at the door flung wide open, and the wood cracked and splintered. "Are you sure this is the apartment?"

"I… I don't know…" Vasiliy hoped he had mistaken, but as he shined his flashlight around the room, he knew it was no mistake. "This is definitely the apartment..."

Quinlan stepped into the doorway, and suddenly, he caught a scent in the air – blood. He clenched his fists and walked into the room, his heart pounding like a mortal man's. He followed the scent to a chair in the middle of the room, and on the back of the chair, he found a smear of blood… and the blood carried a familiar scent.

Suddenly, Quinlan felt his chest constrict… as if something had stolen the breath right from his lungs. A cold chill washed over his body as he stared down at the crimson stain on the wooden grain of the chair. And again, he found himself unable to move… unable to look away.

Vasiliy, however, had not succumbed to despair. But then again, he had not seen the blood. "Mia?!" he called, marching from the living room to the kitchen, and shining his light in every corner, hoping to find her there. "Mia! Come on… please be alive…" he uttered under his breath. "Mia!"

Then finally, there was a distant voice… faint and muffled, "Fet?"

Quinlan and Vasiliy both sprung to attention and listened closely, wondering if they had imagined it.

"Fet…"

This time, they heard it clearly. The immense relief that Quinlan felt was almost like an electric current surging through his body, reanimating him with life.

"Fet… in here…" the soft voice called.

They ran towards the sound, following it down the hallway and into the bedroom at the end. The room was empty, but within seconds, Vasiliy realised where she would be. He flung open the closet door and shined his light inside… and there she was, sitting on the floor, huddled in the corner. Frightened and trembling, she looked up towards the light with eyes ever so innocent… large and desperate… windows to a broken soul. "You came back…" she uttered in her broken voice.

"Of course I came back!" Vasiliy exclaimed, pulling her to her feet.

Quinlan stood a few paces back, unable to take his eyes from her. He stared at her deeply, savouring every bit of reality that she was alive and he had not lost her. "Mia…" he finally called to her.

Mia's heart skipped at the sound of Quinlaln's voice, and as her emotions flooded her, she let out a cry as she eagerly reached out for him. He touched her arm to let her know where he was, and immediately, she threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Quinlan!" she cried, holding him ever so tight, her chin against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his neck. This time, he did not pull away, but he embraced her in return… though only gently at first, and perhaps with uncertainty… until he finally allowed himself to reciprocate the sentiment. And when he unshackled his restraint, it was as if a fire erupted within him, and he enclosed his arms around her completely, pulling her into him. She responded by curling herself upon his chest.

Vasiliy stared at the two of them in bewilderment. He thought he was going crazy for a second, seeing something that wasn't really there. But the more he looked at them, the more he realised it was not his imagination, but there was indeed something there… although he had no idea what. He thought he would ask her about it later… ask her if she had lost her mind. But then again, she was blind.

Suddenly, Quinlan lifted his head, his eyes gleaming and vigilant. "There are more coming," he said, sensing something in the air. "We have to go… now." He glanced swiftly around the room, and when he spotted the window, he walked hurriedly towards it. Without hesitating, he smashed the glass with his elbow and the shattered pieces fell around him. On the outside of the building, heavy metal bars encaged the window.

"Those bars are bolted into the walls – I don't think we can…" Before Vasiliy finished his sentence, Quinlan had gripped the bars in his hands and given them a firm push, and the bolts came right out of the wall, crumbling the bricks around it as it came loose. He tossed the heavy bars onto the pavement below and they landed with a loud crash.

The creatures could now be heard scampering through the apartment. Vasiliy quickly reloaded his gun and aimed it towards the door, ready for them to come through at any moment. But Quinlan had no plans to fight this time. He went straight to Mia, and took her arms and placed them around his shoulders. "Hold onto me," he told her, as he swept her up in his arms. Her body felt as weightless as a feather to him.

With Mia in his arms, he dashed across the room… and just as the creatures burst through the door, he leaped through the window as effortlessly as a cat. Mia gasped at the sudden feeling of freefall as they dropped from the second story, and she held desperately onto Quinlan's shoulders. Within a split second, he landed on his feet on the pavement below, and she felt the impact reverberate through his body. Any human would've shattered their bones from a fall like that. But Quinlan stood straight to his feet.

In the room above, Vasiliy stood shooting the creatures as they ran through the door. Dead bodies started piling up in the doorway, and the creatures were tumbling over them to get into the room. Vasiliy backed towards the window and glanced over the ledge – it was far too high to jump. But he had to get out – he realized he couldn't hold the creatures like this; they were getting too close and he couldn't shoot them fast enough. He cursed in vexation at the fact that Quinlan had simply abandoned him. Left without a choice, Vasiliy pulled another grenade from his jacket and threw it into the middle of the room. Then he turned and climbed onto the ledge of the window and looked around frantically for a way down. Then, just as he spotted a water pipe along the side of the building, the grenade behind him erupted in a deafening explosion, taking out all the creatures in the room. At the same time, the force sent him hurling off the ledge… but not before he managed to leap towards the pipe and grab onto it. The pipe ran all the way down to the ground – it was the escape that he had been looking for, as if fate had planted it right there for him.

On the street below, Quinlan set Mia down on her feet, but she didn't let go of him.

"Please tell me we're out of that place," she whimpered.

"We're out of there," he said plainly. He pulled her away from him, but only to look her up and down. His eyes glimmered as they absorbed her intensely. "You're bleeding…" he noted, slight concern in his voice.

"It's just a cut," she said, as she held out her bleeding hand in front of him.

Suddenly, the sweet scent of her blood under his nose awakened his stinger and it rattled like a caged beast inside his chest. He growled as he turned his head and pushed her away, holding her shoulders back away from him.

"Shhh… it's ok," she whispered, pressing closer to him. Ever so tenderly, she placed her bleeding hand upon his cheek and turned him back towards her. He wanted to pull away, but she persisted, holding his cheek and hushing him with gentle reassurance. When he finally gave in to her will, he turned and looked at her face… and in that instant, he somehow tamed all his primal urges, and he realized he wouldn't lose control. He could never hurt her… and he was finally beginning to trust in that.

She brushed her fingers across his cheek, moving close to his lips… so close he could almost taste the tiny particles of blood in the air. He gently grasped her hand and held it in front of him. "Let me see," he purred softly. He looked down at the wound and caressed his thumb over the broken skin. "It has already stopped bleeding," he said, as he clasped her hand in both of his and held it close to his chest. He looked into her trusting eyes… and she smiled faintly.

By then, Vasiliy had climbed down from the building and was stomping towards them with a grumpy look on his face, hiding the fact that he was really pleased with himself at how he managed to escape.

"Thanks for leaving me up there!" he scoffed.

Quinlan smirked. "Now we're even."

"Yeah... I guess we are. Now let's get the hell outta here."

Quinlan helped Mia into the van, then climbed in after her and sat beside her. He let her arm touch his, as he knew this always gave her comfort. As soon as Vasiliy started to drive away, Mia breathed out a long-held breath of relief. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought of everything that had happened.

"You ok?" Vasiliy asked, as he heard her trembling breath.

"Yeah…" she murmured.

"I would've come sooner, but… you know what it's like with the soldiers and…"

"I know," she stopped him. "Noah and the kids… are they ok?"

"Yeah, everyone's fine." He looked at her in the reflection of the mirror and hesitated, "Hey… um… I'm sorry, but your dog didn't make it…"

"I know," she said softly.

"What are you going to do now? I'm mean, how are you going to get around and everything?"

Mia didn't answer. And at that moment, Quinlan felt a great turmoil within him, and he clenched his jaw. It was getting harder and harder to keep the truth from her. He knew what he should do… what he should have done a long time ago… and perhaps this time, there would be no other choice.

The drive to the warehouse continued in silence, and in the comfort of the silence, Mia turned to Quinlan and laid her head down on his chest. He put his arms around her and she closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart against his muscular chest. Her body eased into the relief that she was finally safe… safe in his arms, and how could she not feel safe in arms like these? At that moment, she did not have a fear in the world. However, as Quinlan sat there, holding her like he never wanted to let go, there was a feeling inside him that he just could not shake – he felt… afraid.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, Malaika waited anxiously at the warehouse for Vasiliy to return. She anticipated that at any moment, he would drive through the door, and Mia would be right there beside him. But a part of her was afraid that he would return alone. She remembered all the times that she had wished for Mia to disappear… and she wondered if she had finally gotten her wish… when she no longer wanted it. And perhaps that was her punishment for her wicked thoughts.

Please God… I'll do anything to take it all back. I never wished her any harm… Please… just bring her back safe. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer in her native tongue. Then she kissed the old leather cover of the Bible in her hands, and tucked the tattered book into her pocket.

For the next little while, she distracted herself with various tasks around the workshop. She counted their inventory and made a list of all the items they were running short of… which was almost everything. Then, when she was done with that, she laid out a collection of rifles across the workbench and pulled them apart like some sort of routine maintenance – she had watched Vasiliy do it many times. She examined the pieces like she knew what she was doing, and it made her feel useful somehow… even though all she did was simply put them back together again. As she imagined herself as a formidable warrior who commanded these powerful weapons, she was oblivious to the fact that she had gained an audience in their curious new guest.

The boy had been standing in the doorway behind her, watching her for the past few minutes. He found her rather interesting, as she looked different to the girls he knew from school – her dark skin, short wiry hair, her boyish features and her tough, cool appearance. And even more interestingly, he had never known any girl who knew a thing about guns. After a while, he gave in to his curiosity and approached her.

"You know how to use 'em?" he asked, as he stood beside her looking down at the guns.

"Do you?" Malaika intoned, shooting him a glance from the corner of her eye.

"My dad was a hunter," the boy smiled proudly. "He carries around a Weatherby… the best hunting rifle you can get! He made sure I knew how to use it."

Malaika picked up a rifle from the bench and placed it down in front of him. "Winchester Model 70..." she said impassively. "Much better weapon than a Weatherby."

The boy laughed. "Dad always said it's not about the weapon... it's about the person using it." He picked up the rifle and held it in front of him, looking down the barrel as if he had a target in sight. "I killed one of those things this morning… I shot it – boom... right in the chest!" he smirked.

Malaika despised his boastfulness, yet her own childishness had her wanting to play rivalry. "I've killed 3," she said, snatching the weapon back from him.

The boy looked at her with surprise. "Really? No way!"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"I didn't say that…"

"But you said there is no way that I killed them."

The boy looked confused for a moment, and then laughed. "Oh… that's just a figure of speech. Like… if something incredible happens, you say… Nooo wayyyy!" he emphasized the words. Then he looked at her curiously, "You're not from around here, are you?"

He stared at her with deep, dark eyes that were as stoic as they were kind… just like his father's. And one day he would grow up to possess the same rugged handsomeness as his father. Although the boy was two years younger than Malaika, at fifteen years old, he already stood much taller than her. She glanced up at him, and when she met his eyes, she turned away irritably. He seemed like the kind of boy she didn't like… although she'd never really known any boys. But either way, his presence made her feel uncomfortable, and for that, she decided she was going to hate him.

Before she could think of some sort of witty remark, the large metal door at the front of the warehouse screeched loudly as it began to roll open on its rusty hinges. Bright headlights shined into the room as a vehicle pulled in, and Malaika squinted as the light hit her eyes. Then, amidst the glare, she made out the shape of the van, and she dropped everything in her hands and ran towards it. At the same time, Noah rushed into the room when he heard the sound of the car. He, too, was anxious to see if Vasiliy had returned with Mia. He stood beside his son with his hand on the boy's shoulder, as they looked anxiously upon the scene.

The engine quietened, and the bright headlights turned off. As the glare faded away, Malaika looked eagerly into van. But when she saw only Vasiliy, her heart sank. In an instant, she felt as if all the blood was suddenly drained from her body. As she stood there, frozen in between panic and doubt, the back door of the van opened… and to her surprise, Quinlan stepped out. As usual, he was silent and not saying a word, with his hood pulled low over his head. Before Malaika could speak, Quinlan turned back to the van and reached out his hand… and that was when she saw Mia. In that instant, there was almost a tiny explosion of happiness inside her, although she reminded herself not to make it too obvious. Malaika stood and watched aloofly, trying her best to contain her smile.

Mia stepped out of the van and into Quinlan's arms as his guiding hands caught her gently around the waist. She looked up towards him and showed a brief smile that was meant only for him… but Malaika managed to catch this small moment just before it disappeared – before they somewhat reluctantly stepped back from each other, noticing the distance they had breached.

"I hope you brought the rest of my things from the apartment," Noah called out from across the room, smiling with relief to see them return.

Mia turned to the sound of his voice, happy to find him safe, because it also meant that the children were safe. "Sorry," she smiled, "we kinda left in a hurry."

"As long as you didn't leave my apartment in a mess," Noah jested.

"Well… I did throw a party. A few rowdy guests might've trashed the place," Mia smirked, thinking that was a hell of a way of putting it.

Noah chuckled as he walked towards her to greet her. But suddenly, his smile faded as he stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the hooded figure beside her. Quinlan had turned his face into the light and pulled back his hood to reveal what lay behind the shadows.

"What the hell is that?!" Noah exclaimed, as he reactively snatched a rifle from the bench and pointed it at the monster before him. His reaction took Mia by surprise and she recoiled back to Quinlan's side. For a moment, she didn't know what had happened… until Vasiliy said, "That… is Quinlan. Don't worry, he ain't gonna hurt anybody."

"Tell me what the hell that thing is…" Noah growled, with his rifle aimed unwaveringly at Quinlan, and his eyes glaring with hostility.

Quinlan locked Noah's eyes with a cold gaze, lacking any expression a human would have shown in such a situation. He stood poised like a statue, grand and formidable, and unmoved by anything around him. Then, after a while, he took a single step towards Noah.

"Don't come any closer!" Noah warned, his grip tightening around the rifle. "Stay back or I'll put a hole right through your head!" He stepped protectively in front of his son and pushed the boy back away from Quinlan. However, the boy did not show the same fear as his father – he was uncertain, perhaps… but not afraid. He stared at Quinlan, transfixed with nervous wonder.

This scene was all too familiar to Malaika; she rolled her eyes and sighed. "That gun's not loaded," she muttered. "Even if it was, Quinlan could tear you apart before you even pull the trigger."

"Woah… okay… no one's tearing anyone apart," Vasiliy intervened, holding his hands up to calm everyone. "Malaika… you're not exactly helping the situation…"

"Noah… please… put the gun down," Mia pleaded as she stepped forward. "He's not dangerous – he's one of us."

"If he's one of you, then I don't wanna know what kind of people y'all are. Daniel, go pack your bags and get your sister… we're leaving… now."

"Save yourselves the hassle…" Quinlan finally spoke, surprising Noah with his sophisticated English. His tone remained as impassive as his expression. "I was just leaving…" He gave Noah an icy stare before turning to walk away… but Mia grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"No one's going anywhere!" she said firmly, her brows furrowed, and her face stern and resolute. "What is this, Noah? I thought we earned your trust."

"Maybe I made a mistake…" Noah muttered.

"When you let us into your apartment, you took a chance on us… and we took a chance on you. Because of that, we're all here now… alive. Otherwise you'd still be trapped in that apartment."

"Yeah, well… we were doing just fine before you guys showed up…"

"Really?" Mia crossed her arms with a look of attitude. "I suppose I should tell you that those creatures got into the apartment..."

"What?" Noah gasped. There was disbelief in his eyes.

Mia held out her hand. "See this cut on my hand? This was enough to bring them flocking to the door… and they broke through within a matter of minutes. If you stayed in there, this could've happened to you and the kids."

"It was always going to happen sooner or later," said Quinlan. "That apartment was a death trap. The only reason you and your children are alive is because fortune favoured you."

Noah looked at Quinlan as he spoke, surprised yet slightly relieved to see that this creature seemed to possess sense and reason. But still, Noah's eyes showed uncertainty. He lowered the gun, remembering that it wasn't loaded anyway, and tossed it somewhat irritably onto the ground. He put his arm around his son and pulled him close. "Either way, we're not staying here…" he muttered, though his tone was less resolute than before.

"Where will you go?" Mia asked.

"There are refuge centres around the city…"

"Do you really want to take your kids to a refuge centre?"

"She's right," Vasiliy agreed. "Those places are full of crime and violence, and people dying every day from disease and starvation. You're better off staying here – we got food… medicine… everything you need."

"Why do you care if I stay?" Noah questioned discerningly. "Generosity doesn't come for free in this world… it's just another reason to be suspicious."

"We won't stop you if you want to go," said Mia. "We're only offering you the same generosity you offered to us."

Noah looked down, his expression strained in conflict. For a long time, he stayed like that, eyes deep in contemplation… and then finally, they showed resignation. "Alright…" he groaned somewhat reluctantly. "We'll stay here until we figure out what to do next." His gaze then shifted back to Quinlan, assessing him for a moment, but then his eyes narrowed into a glare. "Just stay the hell away from my kids."

Quinlan's lips curled into a contemptuous sneer. He didn't say a single word, but he stared at Noah with unrelenting dominance – a look that would make any man feel uncomfortable.

"Come on… it's been a shit day for everyone!" Vasiliy sighed as he broke the tension. "Let's go get some food, huh… who's hungry?!" He started walking towards the kitchen, and slapped Noah light-heartedly on the back as he passed. "Don't worry 'bout him. If he was gonna hurt any kids, he would've started with this one," he smirked, nodding towards Malaika, who gave him the finger before walking off. Vasiliy chuckled to himself.

Noah cautiously shifted his gaze from Quinlan and followed Vasiliy out of the room. But Vasiliy stopped in the doorway, and looked back at Mia, who stood unmoving next to Quinlan. She stood close to him… close enough to make Vasiliy feel uncomfortable somehow. And he also remembered their closeness back at the apartment. What the hell is this about?! He wondered to himself. But then he shook away the thought. He decided to call out to her – perhaps it might wake her from whatever state of idiocy this was. "Yo! Mia… you coming?"

"Yeah I'll be there in a minute…" she dismissed somewhat impatiently. He could tell she was waiting for him to leave the room. He sighed to himself, and walked away.

Alone with Quinlan, she turned to him. "I'm sorry," she said, disappointment in her eyes. "I didn't think he would react like that."

"They all react like that," he said indifferently. "I'm rather used to it."

"It's not right…" she frowned, shaking her head, "you shouldn't have to be."

"And you expect people to change?"

"Maybe this whole thing is a chance for us to change…" she shrugged, lacking any real conviction, "to come out different at the end of it… that is, if humanity survives."

"Do you hope for it to survive?" he asked.

Mia looked down. She fell silent, as if the question was somehow difficult to answer, and Quinlan could see the conflict within her. He reached up and gently lifted her chin with his finger… and she looked up and smiled.

"You know, I've always hated this world," she said. "I always thought I'd be happy if it all came to an end. But then… tonight… when those creatures broke through that door… I didn't think I was going to make it. I was so sure that this was it. And suddenly… I just wanted to see the world again… to experience all the things I never got to before. I just wanted to live."

Quinlan smiled. "Live every day as if it were your last – is that how the saying goes?"

"Something like that…"

"And if this was your last day on earth, how would you want it to be?" The deep purr in his voice was especially perceptible when he spoke softly as he did.

"I think I'd want to remember what it's like to be happy," she said, "and not be afraid…"

"Are you always afraid?" he asked, tilting his head and looking at her.

To his surprise, she lifted her hands placed them softly upon his chest. "Not when I'm with you," she smiled, her eyes looking up at him as if they could see him. "If this was your last day… what would you want?"

Quinlan's gaze fell for a moment. "What would I want…" he murmured. He asked himself the question, but he already knew the answer. And when he looked up, he saw something in her eyes that gave him permission. Slowly, he leaned in towards her… his body moving closer to hers. As she felt him draw near, her heart suddenly began to race. She didn't know what he was doing; she thought he would stop… but he pressed closer still. Her hands on his chest could've easily pushed against him if she didn't want him near. But instead, she let her hands give way a little as the weight of his chest pressed against them. Her eyes quivered with uncertainty, as her fingertips trickled softly across his collarbone.

"I want…" Quinlan whispered, tilting his head down towards hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her lips. She closed her eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly now, and her breaths were short and heavy. He looked down at the rise and fall of her chest, and then back up to her face – his eyes absorbed her every feature and every expression. Mia… are you trying to test my resolve? Why do you always let me near? He reached up and brushed his fingers ever so softly across her cheek. Her eyes stayed closed.

Then, just as Quinlan was about to lean in, he suddenly stopped and pulled away. "Malaika…" he uttered in surprise, looking at her standing in the doorway. He didn't know how long she had been watching them, but there was anger in her eyes – he could see it.

"Mia…" Malaika called brusquely.

Mia made a flustered attempt to gather herself from the previous moment. Blushing, she pushed her hair back behind her ears and cleared her throat. "Malaika… what's up?"

"Fet told me… at the apartment… you couldn't go with him because of your blindness. Is that true?" Her tone was stern and her brows were furrowed. "He left you behind… and you almost died…"

"It wasn't his fault," Mia assured. "I told him to leave me. It was my choice… so please don't blame him…"

"I don't," she replied. "I know it wasn't his fault. Do you want to know whose fault it was? It was Quinlan's."

Quinlan's eyes shot wide open. "Malaika…" he growled through grit teeth, fearing what was to come out of her mouth next.

Mia stood with confusion on her face. "What do you mean?" she puzzled.

"Why don't you tell her, Quinlan," Malaika glared at him. "Tell her the secret you've been keeping from her, and how it almost got her killed!"

Quinlan stormed towards her and grabbed the collar of her jacket in his fist, his eyes burning with fury. "[You are out of line! You have no right…]"

"Speak in English so she can hear you!" Malaika yelled, shaking off his hand. "Why don't you tell her the truth?! Go on! Tell her how your blood can fix her eyes!"

Chapter Text

Quinlan's heart pounded in his chest. He looked at Mia and watched as her face twisted in bewilderment.

"Wh… what are you talking about?" she stammered.

"His blood… it can heal you!" Malaika cried. "It can make you see again!"

Mia stood staggered and motionless, as if she couldn't process the words that she had just heard. But when those words finally permeated through the defenses of her mind, she fell into denial and disbelief. "No…" she said, shaking her head adamantly, "the damage to my eyes is irreversible – there's nothing that can be done… it's not possible…" but then her conviction withered, "is it…?" Her eyes gleamed with eagerness, searching for an answer. But she was met with silence. "Quinlan…?" her voice trembled.

Quinlan couldn't speak, as if his heart had jumped into his throat, choking him. He swallowed uneasily, forcing down that crippling feeling of dread. His eyes lowered. "It's… complicated…" he said, his voice soft and faltering.

"Complicated?" Mia intoned, her expression becoming more severe as her confusion turned into agitation.

"Perhaps now is not the time to talk about this..."

"No!" she demanded. "Now is the perfect time to talk about it. How can your blood heal my eyes? I don't understand… What are you not telling me?"

Quinlan looked furiously at Malaika, his eyes screaming, "What have you done?!" And all Malaika could do was lower her head – she had betrayed the one person who she had sworn loyalty to… because for the first time, she felt compelled by something greater; perhaps… a sense of righteousness.

At that moment, Vasiliy came into the room to see what the commotion was about. But as he walked in, he sensed a thick tension looming in the air like a dark storm cloud on the verge of rupturing. "What's going on?" he asked, looking from one person to another, seeing their strained expressions.

Everyone was silent… but Mia had had enough of silence.

"Quinlan…" her eyes were pleading now, "why won't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Vasiliy perplexed, looking back and forth between them.

Quinlan clenched his fists and turned away, facing the darkest corner of the room, where the light from the hanging globe could not reach. In the blackness of the window in front of him, he saw his reflection… and he closed his eyes. He could have stayed like this forever, shutting out the world around him… but he knew they were waiting for his answer, and he owed it to them… he owed it to her.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands… at the veins beneath his skin, that ran full of vitality. Reluctantly, he began to speak. "My blood contains properties that allow rapid regeneration of damaged tissue," he spoke slowly and calmly, with a coldness that resembled confidence, though he felt no confidence at all. "It is how I'm able to heal quickly from my injuries… as you already know. But what you do not know is that… those regenerative properties can be transferred to humans – my blood can restore the human body the same way it does mine."

Quinlan turned around and looked upon the faces of his silent audience, who stood with indeterminable expressions. For the first time, the silence made him feel uncomfortable. He looked at Mia, hoping for a reaction… any reaction. But she showed none.

Then, Vasiliy laughed uneasily. There was a sort of hesitant disbelief in his laugh. "So you're saying your blood is some sort of magic healing potion?"

"It's not magic…" Mia said softly from across the room. The others looked at her, anticipating what she had to say. She stood with her arms crossed guardedly in front of her stomach, and her posture seemed withdrawn. "It's the basis of stem cell science," she said clinically. However the slight quaver in her voice betrayed her calm. "Imagine a blank cell that can replicate any other cell in the body – that's what a stem cell is. It can regenerate damaged cells, or rebuild entire biological structures… and that's only the beginning of its possibilities."

"So let me get this straight," said Vasiliy, "If I'm injured… say I had to jump out of a window with an exploding grenade behind me, and I break all of my bones… all I I have to do is drink your blood and I'd be as good as new?!"

"You do not drink my blood, Mr Fet," Quinlan corrected irritably. "You humans and your vampiric fantasies... The process would require a transfusion. And yes, your body would heal completely… provided you're not already dead."

"Well, that's handy to know!" Vasiliy scoffed sarcastically. "So I guess you were planning on keeping this a secret, huh? Well that makes me wonder… what other secrets do you have?" he glared at Quinlan with disdain. "What other important information are you not telling us?"

"I do not recall full disclosure being a condition to us working together," Quinlan replied absently. His gaze stayed on Mia as she stood silently across the room.

"I don't give a shit about the conditions!" Vasiliy burst out in anger… and only then, Quinlan's attention shifted to him. "It's about decency… and doing the right thing! Every time I walked in here bloody and bruised… with bullet holes in me… you didn't think to say anything?! Your blood could've saved lives! You know, we've lost friends out there…"

"You've lost friends," Quinlan coldly reminded.

At that point, Vasiliy stormed towards him, too enraged to be intimidated, and stood himself in front of Quinlan. "I knew I couldn't trust you," Vasiliy sneered, leaning in close. "You're not capable of compassion or sympathy. You might walk and talk like one of us… but really… you're no different to the creatures out there that I'd gladly put a bullet in!" he jabbed his finger threateningly into Quinlan's chest. Normally, if a man did that, he would already be dead. But this time, Quinlan simply stood unresponsive. "And just so you know," Vasiliy continued, "I was against the idea of trusting you from the start. It was Eph who said we could use your help. But he's not here anymore… so I got no problem putting a bullet in you." He gave Quinlan a final glare, looking him up and down, and then turned to walk out of the room.

"Fet…" Mia called softly, halting him in his steps. Her head was lowered and her hair had fallen in front of her face, hiding her troubled expression. "Can you take me upstairs? I think I need some rest…"

"Yeah… sure…" Vasiliy mumbled. "Come on…"

As Vasiliy led her across the room, Quinlan's eyes never left her; his gaze followed her, even as she walked right past him… close enough for him to reach out and touch.

Mia…

His hand extended ever so slightly towards her, and fabric of her coat brushed lightly across his fingertips. But she didn't pause as she walked by his side – her steps didn't even slow. At that moment, Quinlan felt as if he was merely a ghost and she had walked right through him. His face wrenched in anguish. He turned away, and listened to her walk out of the room.

At that moment, Malaika tried to make an inconspicuous attempt to leave. But as she walked past Quinlan with her head hung down, she suddenly felt his hand come down on her shoulder. Immediately, she cowered. She thought he would rage at her… scold her… or even clutch her throat in his hands and squeeze until her last breath – she wouldn't have blamed him if he did. However the rage never came. Instead, he only had one word for her – a word that hurt her more than any physical punishment he could have inflicted. He stood before her, and simply asked, "Why?"

Slowly and hesitantly, she looked up at him, trembling on the verge of tears. "Because she saved my life that night… so now I am saving hers."

The warehouse was quiet now – there were no clanking sounds of chores being done, no chattering of voices, or whining of children followed by the strenuous sighs of an exhausted father – perhaps everyone had retired from the long night to the comfort of seclusion. But once again, Quinlan found himself standing outside her door… silently watching her. This time, he didn't find her in his room; he found her in the room at the end of the hallway, that was previously occupied by Doctor Goodweather.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring towards the street light shining in through the window. The nightly glow illuminated the fair skin of her face, and a small breeze from a tiny crack in the window fluttered a thin strand of her hair. Quinlan stood in doorway, staring at her with longing and regret. He could have forced himself to walk away like he always did. But that night, he refused. There was already enough that he regretted, and he would not let this be another page in his book of regrets. He had walked away from her once before, and it ended with him finding her broken, stripped, and covered in blood. He would never forget that night; it changed something in him… and somehow, he knew he couldn't walk away again.

He knocked softly on the frame of the open door, and walked inside before an invitation. "I didn't expect to find you in this room," he said.

"I like the change of scenery," she jested bitterly, without turning to face him. "If you don't mind, I prefer to be alone right now…"

"I prefer to talk," he insisted, firmly yet gently.

"About what?" Mia frowned, "About how you lied to me?"

"That was never my intention…"

"Then what was your intention?" she snapped, turning her head from the window and looking directly at him. She could see the shadow of his figure standing at the end of the bed, silhouetted against the light in the doorway behind him. Her eyes glared vehemently. "How long have you known about this?"

"I've always known…"

"And you didn't think it was important enough to tell me?! Why? Why didn't you say anything?"

"It is not that simple," said Quinlan. "I am not even certain it would work."

"I don't believe you!" she said, unable to hide the scorn on her face. "You just told us earlier…"

"What I meant was, there is a chance. But it would've been cruel of me to give you such hope without any certainty."

"Hope?" Mia scowled as fury coursed through her veins. "Let me tell you about hope. Hope… is when the best doctors in the country tell you you'll never be able to see again. But still, you travel to every corner of the world… and talk to every doctor and scientist… because maybe… just maybe… one of them might tell you something different…" her words came to a halt as her emotions stole the breath right out of her. Her body tensed, trying desperately to keep it together, but she was cracking at the seams. "Do you think when a person loses their whole world, they just learn to become content with it?!" she cried, her voice shaking with hurt and anger. "I never stopped hoping for a cure… and I would've taken any chance, no matter how small… so don't give me that bullshit that you were just trying to save me from disappointment!"

"I wanted to tell you, but there was never the opportunity…"

"Opportunity? What, were you waiting for the stars to align?!" Her rage propelled her to her feet. She stood in front of him, her eyes ridden with fury and anguish. "This whole time… you've been watching me fumble around like some sort of idiot – was I just a joke to you?! Does it amuse you to see how weak, pathetic and useless I am?!"

"Mia…" he had never seen her rage like this before, and it rendered him speechless. His regret was more than he could bear. He wished he could tear himself open and turn himself inside out, to show her the feelings inside of him, that no words could have expressed. He walked towards her and gently grasped her shoulders.

"No… " she jolted back. "Don't. I want you to leave…"

"No," he said, determined.

"Either you leave or I will!"

"Mia, just listen to me…" Quinlan grabbed her shoulders once again, but she writhed away and pushed past him, heading for the door.

Reactively, he stepped in front of her and blocked her way. "You are not leaving," he said, as he reached behind him and slammed the door shut.

Mia staggered back. Suddenly, terror filled her eyes, and she froze.

"Quinlan… open the door…" she said, her voice was shaken and unnerved.

"I need you to listen to me…" Quinlan demanded, stepping towards her.

But immediately, she staggered back again. Panic spread across her face. Something had suddenly changed in her, and there was no remnant of her anger now; only fear. For a moment, Quinlan was baffled and confused. He started to walk towards her, but she backed away, terrified.

"No… please…" she uttered. Her eyes were wide and intense, and when they looked at him, they were pleading – it was the same look he had seen in the eyes of his prey… when they begged him for mercy.

Suddenly, Quinlan realized what he had done. He remembered the things she had told him about her past… about how she had been in the hands of monsters… vile creatures who would have kept her in a room, just like he did now, refusing to let her leave. And he didn't want to imagine the things that came after that. He could see in her eyes as she relived those memories, and to realize that he had done this to her, he might as well have ripped out his own heart from his chest. Quinlan looked at her with the deepest sadness in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms… but he knew it was impossible now.

He backed away from her. "There is no need to be afraid," he said, "I would never hurt you, Mia – that I promise you."

He walked to the door and opened it wide, and stood in the doorway, far away from her. He watched as her fear slowly started to subside, and then what was left was uncertainty – she was uncertain of him, but also uncertain of herself… wondering if what she was feeling was real, or merely the demons of her own mind tormenting her. And Quinlan knew that he, too, would never be free from his demons. He never intended to be forceful with her that night; it was always his worst fear – the thought of it tore him apart. He just so desperately wanted her to understand. But he realised now, that the only way for her to understand… was to tell her the truth.

Quinlan stared at her solemnly, until he could finally manage to speak. "You asked me why I kept the truth from you," he said. "It was because… I was afraid…"

Her eyes widened, staring towards him, glistening with remnants of tears.

"I was afraid of what you would see. I was afraid that… I would lose you…"

Chapter Text

Something in her face changed, and Quinlan could have stayed standing there forever, trying to read that particular expression on her face… trying to guess everything that was going through her mind at that moment. But it would have achieved no purpose. The longer he looked at her, the more it tormented him. So instead, he turned to walk away.

But after his first step, a soft murmur escaped her lips. "Wait…" she said.

The sound of the word gave him a little jolt of hope. He turned and looked back at her – her expression was tense, but she was no longer afraid; no longer possessed by the irrationality of fear or anger. This emotion that she now wore on her face was… different, and inexplicable.

"Afraid you would… lose me? I… I don't understand…" she stammered, yet something in her eyes told him she did understand. And somewhere in her words was a question, but Quinlan couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"What more do you want me to say?" he asked.

"Everything…"

Quinlan retracted his steps and walked back to the door. But this time, he would not enter.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked her.

His words were raw and plainspoken, and she suddenly felt naked and confronted. "I… I don't know what I'm afraid of… It's not you…"

"Do you trust me enough to go somewhere with me?" His voice offered her calm reassurance, but at the same time, it possessed something powerful and forceful, overruling her uncertainty.

"You mean… right now?"

"Yes."

She stood motionless for a while, her eyes flickering with nervous contemplation. Then, without asking where, and without asking why, she slowly extended her hand and offered it to him. With her invitation, he walked to her and took her trembling hand into the security of his, and led her hesitant-yet-conceding steps out of the room.

He took her down the stairs and through the dark and silent warehouse, to the door on the side that opened into a small street next to the warehouse. As he opened the door, a cool breeze blew her long hair across her face, and the cold air caressed her skin as it crawled in through the gaps of her clothes. She huddled into her coat. Her eyes were hesitant and questioning, but Quinlan placed his hand on the small of her back and incited her to walk out into the night. By then, she had already surrendered to going wherever he would take her.

In the narrow street outside, wedged between two rows of massive buildings, the sky above revealed itself in a narrow strip, hiding its vastness from the prisoners below, confined within the walls of the city. But for Mia, her confinement was not the walls, but the darkness around her; no matter where she was, the darkness was always her prison.

Quinlan led her down the street as he walked slightly behind her, watching a gentle gust of wind lift her hair to momentarily reveal the tender skin of her neck. He pulled her to a stop.

"There…" he said, guiding her shoulders to turn, "in front of you…"

Confused, she reached out and searched the space in front of her, only to find a cold concrete wall. But then, her hands fell upon a metallic structure of sorts, running up along the side of the wall.

"It's a ladder," said Quinlan, walking up behind her, standing close enough to stir the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. A phantom sensation ran down her spine, causing her body to tense and her back to arch slightly.

"Do you still trust me?" he asked, his deep voice growling softly in her ear.

"I want to…"

"Then climb up," he said. "I will be right behind you."

She stepped forward and grabbed the rails of the ladder in her hands. Her body wanted to obey him unthinkingly, but she forced herself to stop. She tilted her head up to the sky, to where she would climb, not knowing what awaited her… and she closed her eyes.

Here is a man who has lied to me and betrayed me… who frightens me more than anything… not because of what he would do, but because of what he makes me feel. And yet, still, he's the only one I want to trust…

Slowly, she lifted her foot and placed it on the first rung of the ladder, and she stepped onto it. Already, she felt as if the world was miles below her. Her heart fluttered and her hands gripped the rails ever so tightly. Then slowly and carefully, one step after another, she began to climb up and up. She didn't pause, not even for a second – she knew if she did, she wouldn't have kept going.

The ladder seemed never-ending, going all the way up to the sky. She didn't know she was near the top, until Quinlan leaped up from the steps below her and grabbed onto the ledge of the building. He pulled himself up effortlessly, and then reached down and pulled her up beside him. She had no sense of how high she had climbed; she only knew that the wind was much colder up here… and the sounds of the city were much more distant.

"Where are we?" she asked, shuddering slightly.

"We are on the roof of the old grain terminal," Quinlan replied. "Come…" he took her hand and led her across the flat, concrete rooftop to the north-facing side, where he stopped at a waist-high concrete ledge that overlooked the city. When Mia found the ledge, she leaned against it on her elbows, and looked out into the night. She shivered as another gust of wind rushed through her body like a ghostly essence.

"Can you hear that?" she said. "The wind… it carries the sound of guns and explosions… and people yelling and screaming…"

"I forget to listen," said Quinlan. "When you hear the same sounds every day, it all seems to fade away."

"Well I still hear it…" she murmured.

He leaned down the ledge beside her, mimicking her posture, resting on his elbows and gazing out into the night just as she did.

"If you look past the burning fires down below…" he said, "if you look further into the distance… you would see the Brooklyn Bridge straight ahead – the road to freedom, as some would believe. To your left is the Statue of Liberty across the murky black waters, hiding her torch in the low, grey smog. And around us is the bay – a graveyard of washed-up ships and decaying junk. Yet somehow, it is all still beautiful…" He looked over his shoulder and glanced briefly at her face, before returning his eyes to the night. "I come up here sometimes… when I want to be alone… or when I want to feel bigger and greater than the world below."

Mia laughed softly. "If you feel small, then imagine how the rest of us feel."

Quinlan smiled. He knew that bringing her up here, to this place high above the world and closer to the stars, would somehow calm her and bring her back to him. But he didn't expect forgiveness from her that night; he didn't expect anything… only the chance to tell her the truth.

"You want to know what makes a person feel small?" he said, as he watched somewhere in the distance a Molotov cocktail being hurled into the side of a tank and erupting into flames. "Fear…"

A reflection of the fire danced in his eyes, as he stared unblinking into the flames.

"When I was a child," he began, "I wandered the streets of Rome, feeding on rats and stray dogs, and whatever I could get my hands on. I was too young then to understand what I was. But still, I knew my existence was somehow… wrong. So I kept myself hidden, and I watched the world around me from the shadows, observing and learning… but never belonging.

Then one day, in a crowded street, I caught the sight of a young farmer girl selling apples. When I saw her, it was as if the rest of the world simply faded away. She was beautiful. I remember so clearly her long, golden hair… her tattered blue dress… the earth on her hands and underneath her fingernails… and how she smelled of sweet ripened fruits. It was the first time I found myself infatuated. So I began to follow her, as she walked the streets with her basket in her arm, offering her apples to those passing by. She would smile at them, and her smile was warm and radiant… but yet there was a sadness in her eyes…" Quinlan paused. He looked out towards the misty bay and stood still for a moment, listening to the sound of the waves breaking over the surface of the junk-filled water.

Then he continued.

"I followed her home that night, to a small farmhouse outside the city. I was only curious; nothing more. I watched her walk to her door, and when she went to open it, she carelessly dropped her basket of apples. They scattered all over the ground… and one of them rolled to my feet like it was destined to find me. I picked it up… and in that moment, I forgot what I was. Without thinking, I stepped out of the shadows, and I approached her, holding the apple in my hand – I thought I would return it to her.

She turned around and looked right at me – it was the first time anyone ever did. And when she saw my face… she screamed. She screamed so loud that all of Rome would have come running to her door. I didn't know what to do. I tried to calm her, but she wouldn't stop. Then without thinking, I pushed her into the doorway and cupped my hand over her mouth… and I held her there until she was quiet. I never wanted to hurt her; I only wanted her to stop screaming… and she did. She also stopped moving…

When I let her go, her body simply fell limp in my arms… like an empty, lifeless sack. At that time, I didn't understand the concept of death and mortality. I only knew that the life I had seen in her eyes, her smile, and the beat of her heart… it was all gone, and I couldn't make it come back. Then I looked down at my hand… and I saw that it was clutching her wrist; I didn't even realise I had been holding it. And in my grasp… her bones were broken and shattered – they had been crushed by my hand. That was when I realised what I was capable of. And for the first time, I saw the monster that I am…"

Quinlan looked down at his hands – large, beastly talons made for no other purpose than for killing. They were his weapons… and his curse. Yet somehow, when she was in his arms, they were also her protector. He looked at Mia and saw that she was weeping. Somehow, he knew her tears were not for the poor farmer girl… but they were for him.

Why on earth would you cry for a creature like me?

He stood facing her, as she stood facing him… and at that moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

A tear rolled down her cheek, only to be swept away by her hair fluttering across her face in the wind. "If a single mistake in our life can make a person a monster… then we're all monsters," her voice trembled.

"No," said Quinlan. "It was not what I did that defined what I am – it was the way she looked at me. You should have seen the look on her face when she saw me… the sheer terror in her eyes…" his voice trailed off. He turned away and looked back towards the bay. The fog had moved, and the waters were suddenly blacker than ever. "I was afraid you would see the monster that she saw," he said softly. "I was afraid you would see me…" 

"No… Don't you get it?" Mia's eyes gleamed with intensity, "I do see you…" she reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand, turning him back to her. "I've always seen you."

Quinlan stared into her eyes, and he felt as if they were staring right back. And in her eyes, he saw himself – he saw the parts of himself that he despised, and the parts that he had come to accept… and he saw parts of himself that he didn't know existed; in that moment, he saw all of himself the way she did. Suddenly, without fear or restraint, he took her into his arms and pulled her close to him. She let out a soft gasp; there was surprise in her eyes, but she gave no resistance. He held her in his gaze as he brushed her wind-blown hair away from her face, caressing her cheek and wiping the dampness left by her tears. She closed her eyes.

His hand circled to the back of her neck and gently pulled her in. Her heart began to race now; he could hear it galloping wildly in her chest. Her nervous hands clung tightly onto his shoulders, and her body trembled in anticipation. He made sure to learn the difference between fear and anticipation, and he made sure that she was not afraid. Only when he was certain, he leaned in towards her.

A gust of wind brought the smell of rain in the air… and as she opened her mouth to draw in a breath, her lips were suddenly sealed by the warm flesh of a kiss. In her surprise, she uttered a sound that was neither a moan nor a whimper. Her heart stopped, and time suspended in this moment as his lips captured hers. His kiss was commanding, yet ever so gentle… retreating momentarily to gage her reaction, before coming in again. His lips were warm and tender… and surprisingly human. As she overcame her initial surprise, she realised how much she had yearned for this feeling… and she began to kiss him back. She kissed him softly, with a sweet chastity that was unadulterated but full of affection.

He purred softly into her mouth and kissed her a little deeper, but never breaking through her lips. He wrapped his arms around her completely and pulled her tight against his body. At that moment, she could feel every sensation all at once – his lips moving in synchronicity with hers, his hand cradling the back of her head, and the other clasping the arch of her back, large enough to span the entirety of that sensitive spot. She could feel the strength in his arms, yet she knew they held her with careful tenderness. And his broad chest, framing him like a sturdy armorpiece, rose with his every breath to press against her, only to ease again as it fell. Suddenly, she was feeling things she had never felt before, and her senses became overwhelmed. Breathless, she pulled away from the kiss, only for her head to fall against his shoulder, and she stayed holding him. The warmth of his body lulled the chill of the wind, and she sank into his arms. Quinlan held her like this – it was all he ever really wanted.

They stayed like this for a long time, without saying a word, listening to the waves, and the distant battles… and to the beat of each other's heart. Then, she finally lifted her head from his chest and planted a brief, tender kiss on his lips; she missed the feel of them already. Then she pulled back and looked up at him, eyes wide and quivering, searching for a glimpse of him in the darkness.

"I want you to heal my eyes," she whispered softly. "Even if it doesn't work… I just want to know that we tried."

Quinlan remained silent for a long time… and then he leaned down and kissed her forehead… and simply said, "Alright…"

Chapter Text

Thunder cracked the sky and rain started to pour, drowning out the harrowing sounds of the machines of war tearing through the streets. In the distance, on the edge of civilisation, a swarm of Strigoi flocked towards the city. Desperate and hungry, and drawn by the sounds and the scent of life, they were on the hunt. In these times of scarcity, humans weren't the only ones starving for food; the creatures that dwelled the abandoned world beyond the cities were desperate for blood. Having sucked the land dry while the harshness of winter bore no new life, many creatures found their way to the cities where the sweetness of human blood awaited them in abundance. It was the same cycle every winter – cities would find unwelcomed stragglers at their borders. And every winter, lives would be lost… and cities would fall. But the stronger cities would survive come spring, when nature called the beasts back into the wild with the promise of new prey. However, there was something different about this winter. New York found more than just a few hungry stragglers at its doorstep; it was as if the creatures' presence here had a purpose this time. Perhaps they could sense the evil that dwelled within the city, and were somehow commanded by it, like servants by their master.

As the creatures flooded the city like an angry mob running wildly through the streets, Quinlan's hunters rushed to the scene as quickly as they could. Moments earlier, they had picked up a radio transmission from a military unit stationed near the northern borders. The unit had radioed for help, saying they were under attack by a swarm of infected, and they could no longer hold them off. The peril of the situation could be heard in the man's voice; it was no longer the voice of a soldier calling to his duty… but the voice of a man in his final moments, pleading for help. But help never came; the only ones who answered his plea were the hunters. But by the time they arrived, the ground was already a sea of red, and all that remained of the soldiers were their lifeless bodies, torn and mutilated. Then, when the slightest breath escaped from one of their bloodied lips, a hunter wasted no time to put a bullet through the man's head. Show no mercy to those who have been infected… even if they were your loved ones – that was Quinlan's order, and he would make sure it was adhered to… no matter the cost.

The hunters fought in the streets – six men against dozens of Strigoi like it was the Battle of Thermopylae, except the enemy was far less honourable than the Persian warriors. And today, the enemy was dozens… but tomorrow it may be hundreds… and then thousands – there was no victory in sight, only the postponement of death. The military offered no aid as they became increasingly preoccupied with their own war… and theirs was against the resistance, Nemesis. Seeing the military's weakening position in these times of chaos, Nemesis quickly took the opportunity to advance their own position. With that, they created chaos within chaos, and gave rise to gangs and criminals who cashed in on the violence for their own profit. And in a world where money no longer existed, 'profit' can only be defined by one's most carnal desires – sex, power, and bloodlust.

On that same night, a violent rebellion on a street nearby drew several military units out of their nest, diverting their attention from a closer threat. Four masked men, dressed in black, moved silently in the night towards the old prison where the military were based. The roaring thunder drowned out the buzz of their electric tools as they cut through the wire fence. And the sound of the rain silenced their footsteps as they tip-toed past the patrolling guard. The masked men moved in the shadows across the prison courtyard, and then split off into different directions – two men headed for the armory that housed all of the military's weapons, vehicles, and various supplies, while the other two crept towards the cell blocks, where hundreds of soldiers slept in the security of the concrete walls and the steel bars of the old prison cells. The four men each carried a large duffle bag that seemed to hold something of significant weight, both physically and perhaps symbolically. The four dark figures foreshadowed the coming of a momentous event, and it was all part of one man's plan to control the city… and that man was Desmond Hale.

 On the high rooftop of the old grain terminal, Quinlan and Mia took shelter from the storm beneath a narrow ledge overhanging a tall ventilation shaft. Large drops of rain shattered against the surfaces all around them, splashing wildly with no rhythm, just a constant stream of white noise like when you're standing close to a waterfall. Mia pressed back against the wall behind her, trying to keep out of the downpour that flowed over the ledge, surrounding her like a curtain of water, as Quinlan stood in front of her, with the wind and the rain breaking against his back. She held him in a gentle embrace, her hand cradling the back of his head, as she felt the cold streams of water trickling down the bare skin of his scalp.

"You're getting wet…" she said, pulling him close to her so he'd be out of the rain, but the ledge was too narrow to shelter both of them.

"I'll live…" he dismissed nonchalantly.

"You better not catch a cold!" she exclaimed, raising her voice over the loudness of the pitter-patter. And just as Quinlan opened his mouth to say that it was impossible, she gave him a playful smile that told him she wasn't being serious. "The only doctor we know is twenty miles out of the city. If you get sick, who's going to nurse you back to health?"

Quinlan snickered softly. "I thought you would be happy with the task."

Mia smiled, biting her lip. Her large hazel eyes gleamed vibrantly, blinking away the tiny drops of rain landing upon her lashes. But then, the playful gleam in her eyes faded into a more serious look, as her hand slid from around his neck to his face. She held his cheek as she ran her thumb along the ridge of his brow, sweeping away the drops of rain that had gathered there.

"I knew it was going to rain," she said, staring up at him with a map of his face in her hands. "There's always that smell in the air before it comes. I suppose we should've started walking back before we got caught out…"

"Well it's too late now…" he murmured.

A sudden gust of wind sprayed them with a cold, wet mist. Quinlan leaned over her, covering her like a blanket, with his arms outstretched and pressed up against the wall behind her. She let out a trembling breath as she felt his body press against hers, and Quinlan wondered if she'd simply gasped at the chill of the wind… or something else.

He looked down at her head nuzzled close to his chest; her hair had become wet and untamed, and tiny beads of water glistened like crystals on her skin. A slight tremble in her lips drew his eyes to them… and her eyes, gazing up at him, were alive with intensity. At that moment, there was a look of wildness about her that called to his most primal desires, and he could no longer hold himself back from what he wanted to do. He lifted her chin and once again took her lips into his. This time, he kissed her passionately.

His lips were warm against the coldness of her skin, and upon their touch, she felt the heat permeate through her entire body. The kiss felt different to the one before, and suddenly, her body felt magnetically drawn to his. She leaned forward into the kiss, and without a care, she fell under the rain. The water trickled down her face, and when a stream ran between their lips, he gently sucked it away. She let out a soft moan, surprised that the sound had escaped her lips. There was something about the night and the storm… the rain falling on her skin… and the way his body pressed against hers through the wetness of their clothes – it awoke new sensations in her that she was afraid to explore at first… but then, her body began to move on its own.

Her hand slid down to his chest, moving over the wet fabric of his shirt that clung to every groove of his body. She traced these grooves with the tips of her fingers, from the muscles of his chest, to the hollow between them that formed a channel of running water… and down to his abdomen, where her hand paused to savour of the tones of his muscular core. She never expected herself to find pleasure in a man's body, but the feel of him in her hand was nothing short of pure exquisiteness of the male form, and she could not help but admire its beauty. Her body reacted to him beyond her control. The warm sensation that had started with the kiss now grew into a liquid fire, coursing through her veins. Her breaths quickened into soft panting between intervals of deep kisses, as her hand found its way underneath his shirt, eager to feel his naked skin.

Quinlan let out a deep growl as his head fell back, welcoming the soft splatters of rain upon his face. She pulled his head back towards her as she leaned forward, pursuing his lips. But he tilted back just enough for their lips to be separated by a thin sheet of air. He took a silent deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold air, in attempt to calm the fire inside him that was burning out of control. And the way her hand traced his body was like fuel to that fire. Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and peeled it away from him, and she whimpered at the loss of the contact.

"Be careful," he warned, his voice purring deeply. "You might wake something inside me that'd better be left asleep."

Mia blinked, confused for a moment, as she stood with rain running down her pink-blushed cheeks. It took a moment for her to understand what he meant, as she had never thought of him to possess those desires of a man. She didn't know if those feelings were even possible for him, nor had she ever really wondered… and perhaps that was why she always felt so comfortable with him; comfortable enough to begin to explore her own desires, as she never felt the threat of him taking advantage. But now, she suddenly realised, with startling awakening, just how naïve she had been.

Her senses came rushing back to her, and suddenly, she could feel the coldness of the rain on her skin, and the wetness of her clothes clinging to her body like icy hands. She shivered, blinking away the water in her eyes as they stared wide open, glistening with uncertainty.

"Do you…" her voice faltered with hesitation, "feel the same… things… that humans feel? I mean… you know…" her eyes lowered diffidently.

"What if I said yes?" he asked, staring at her intently. "Would that frighten you?"

"I…" She suddenly didn't know the answer to that question. She had never been afraid of what he was, yet ironically, if any part of him could ever frighten her, it was the part that was most human. And she knew now that he burned with the same desires as any other man. 

Could I really be afraid of him? Am I really so afraid of…

She stopped and shook the thought out of her head. Not now… she said to her demons… not now. She hushed her thoughts.

The night seemed to quieten around her. In the silence of her mind, she suddenly felt a cold emptiness around her, left by the absence of his touch… and she realised how much she longed to be close to him again. And at that moment, she realised the answer to his question.

"I'm not afraid," she said, standing calmly still with water dripping from head to toe. There was a look on her face like she had something important to say, and she took a step towards him. "Quinlan, I want you to know…"

Suddenly, her words were interrupted by the rupture of an enormous explosion, shaking the night and every fibre in the air, roaring deafeningly over all other sounds. The force of the explosion rippled through the air like a wave, and a gust of hot wind hit Mia in the face, sending her hair fluttering back. She held tightly onto Quinlan as the ground shook from the roots of the building, through the walls, and up to where they stood.

"What's happening?!" she cried, sensing the enormousness of the impact. She could tell it was something big; bigger than the usual petty violence on the streets.

Quinlan turned around and looked out into the night. The sky was no longer black, but a glowing sea of amber. A few blocks from where they stood blazed an enormous heap of smoke and flames, as large as an entire city block.

"The military base…" said Quinlan, his eyes wide with astonishment. "The whole thing is up in flames."

"Is there an attack there?"

"No," said Quinlan, deadpan. "There is nothing there – the whole place is gone…"

Chapter Text

For a single moment after the explosion, everything was dead still; the only sound and movement was the blazing fire at the centre of the city, burning like a torch in the stillness of the night. But then seconds later, the stillness ruptured and mayhem broke out as if it was simply delayed, like that pause after the lightening before the thunder roars. On the rooftop, Quinlan stood overlooking the city and all its madness, as the night came to life with a cacophony of voices screaming and shouting, over a background hum of nervous whispers. People were walking out onto the streets, chattering to one another, anxious to know what was happening… while others kept their doors firmly locked, only to peep cautiously through the gaps of their curtains.

Every military post around the city lit up, and the streets twinkled with the lights of their vehicles, all moving towards a singular point. And at the heart of the chaos, through the flames and the rubble and the thick black smoke, were the cries and dying moans of those injured in the blast.

Quinlan's eyes darted across the night, fierce and intense beneath his brows. He thought it was time to leave this place… not just where they stood at that moment, but perhaps New York altogether. In his life, he had watched many great cities fall, and he had come to recognise the patterns; the warning signs before the final collapse. For New York, that day was drawing nearer. But this time, he couldn't simply walk away like he used to, and leave man to the chaos they created. This time, he was the reason for the chaos, and he knew it would follow him no matter where he went. It would follow him to the end of the world… unless he ended it right here and now.

Suddenly, he turned to Mia and took her by the arm. "Come on… let's go," he said, with stern resolution in his voice.

His grip on her arm was firm, and he pulled her brusquely across the rooftop to the ladder from where they came up. She could tell by his tone and his demeanour that his mood had hardened and his focus had become acute. In moments like these, he would seem cold and abrupt, and perhaps even brutal. But she knew this ferociousness was his strength – the strength of a man who had seen too many battles that the violence had become a part of him. But none-the-less, she treasured that part of him as much as she did the part that was gentle and tender.

As she waded through the pelting rain, following his lead with complete trust, she remembered that she had started to say something just moments before the explosion. She couldn't tell him now – the moment had come and gone. But in her mind, she played out her unspoken words – "I'm sorry," she would have said. "I'm sorry for everything you've been through… that's made you cynical and afraid of how the world sees you. But I want you to know… nothing will ever change the way I see you; you don't have to be afraid of that. I already see all the details of your face the way I feel it in my hands – every shape and every line… everything that's human and everything that's not… and it's beautiful. Nothing will ever change that for me."

Upon reaching the ladder on the other side of the building, Quinlan stopped and turned to Mia. Still lost in her thoughts, he noticed a look of pensiveness on her face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Mm… no…" she hesitated.

"Then let's get back down," he said, pulling her towards him.

"Wait…" she pulled back… and she paused, searching for her words. "Quinlan… before the explosion… I…"

"Now is not the time, Mia," he stopped her, the urgency in his voice sounding like coldness. "Soon the whole city will fall into unrest, and you cannot be out here when that happens. I want you back inside the warehouse with the others." His words were more of a command than a suggestion, and before she could say anything, he swept her up and lifted her over the ledge, placing her down onto the steps of the ladder. "Be careful – it's easy to slip in the rain."

She had no choice but to hold back her words. She hoped there would be another time to talk, however she could not help but feel as though she had missed something important in those moments before the explosion – moments that she might never get back… and soon they would be nothing more than a distant dream.

Slowly, she climbed down the ladder.

When they reached the ground below, he led her hastily down the dark and narrow street back towards the warehouse. Her small, struggling steps tried desperately to keep up with his long strides. She clutched his hand tightly as if she was afraid she might lose him, while her other hand held the front of her jacket closed, to keep the wind and the rain from blowing through to her under layers.

Then suddenly, without warning, Quinlan stopped dead in his tracks, and before Mia could realise, she walked right into his solid frame standing rigidly in front of her. She gasped out loud in surprise.

"What is it?" she asked, wrapping herself around his arm that she had just collided against. She could feel the muscles in his body grow tense, as if becoming charged with aggression.

Quinlan looked down the street, ears pricked and eyes glaring, sensing sounds that were not yet noticeable to the human ear.

"A car approaching…" he said, pulling his hood low over his head. The details of his face faded into the darkness, and he kept his head down and continued walking. He walked slower now, alert and cautious, and he stayed in front of Mia so to keep her in his shadow.

Moments later, a car swerved into the street with its headlights beaming, windows down, and heavy music blaring from the stereo. The car was an old yellow cab, and its panels had been dinted and graffitied beyond recognition. Two men were leaning out of the side of car, heads tilted to the sky and yelling wildly like drunken college boys.

"Fuck the Authorities! All Uniforms can go to hell!" they yelled, as well as other anti-State rhetoric of the like.

Their voices were muffled in the distance, as well as by the loud beat of their music; Quinlan could just make out their words if he tried. However, he was more focused on the sound of Mia's heart beating faster and faster as she became more nervous. Knowing the streets promised nothing but violence, she couldn't help her body's natural response to be afraid… even if she knew he was by her side. At that point, Quinlan would have held her close to him and reassured her she was safe by his side… but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to her, so he kept to himself.

The car sped towards them… and suddenly, out of nowhere, shots from a machine gun fired out from the car. The sound was loud and bone-rattling; no matter how often one hears it in the distance, the racket of gunfire at such closeness was cripplingly terrifying. Reactively, Mia dropped down to the ground, holding her hands over her ears. She whimpered as the bursts of the gun echoed all around her, as if the bullets were ringing right next to her ears.

"Whoooo!" the man in the car cheered as he fired his rifle into the sky. He leaned further out the window as the car passed Quinlan and Mia, and he yelled out towards them; "The city is ours, baby! Whoooo!" He shot more rounds into the air and the car passed them without slowing.

As the car disappeared down the street, Quinlan crouched down in front of Mia and gripped her shoulders in his hands. "It's alright," he said. "They're not shooting at us." He pulled her to her feet and brushed her wet hair from her face, looking into her shaken eyes for just a brief moment before taking her arm again. "Let's keep moving," he urged.

"What the hell were they shooting at?" Mia huffed, trying to shake the feeling of adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"Nothing in particular," Quinlan replied. The cool composure in his voice calmed her fear. "They were harmless – just a couple of hoodlums celebrating the fall of the State."

"They're fools," said Mia, shaking her head. "They don't understand… we need the military. I know the soldiers weren't exactly white knights, but at least they were keeping some sort of order. Without them, it'll be chaos everywhere!"

"Hn…" Quinlan snickered softly to himself. "Funny how humans all seem to want freedom, and yet they cannot be civil unless they are being controlled."

"Yeah well maybe slavery is the only path for humanity…" she muttered.

Quinlan looked at her for a moment, and then back at the road ahead. "That was what my father used to say…"

"Oh…" she gasped. "I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"

"It's quite alright," he smiled. "I suppose he was not wrong. The most wicked people often have the most accurate understanding of human nature. Perhaps that is what allows them to be wicked."

"Is that so?" she smiled. "So if you understand my nature, would you be wicked to me?"

"No…" he said, trying not to notice that playful look in her eyes, baiting him to react. "Not unless you want me to be…"

Back at the warehouse, everyone had congregated in the living room after being rattled by the loud explosion, startling them awake in their sleep. When Quinlan and Mia returned, walking in through the door, the chatter in the room stopped and all heads turned to them.

"Where have you guys been?" Vasiliy asked eagerly. "What's going on out there? We heard the explosion."

"Your friends destroyed the military base," Quinlan said plainly.

Vasiliy stood stunned for a moment, with his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something. But then he turned and paced across the room. "What's the damage?"

"The entire base," said Quinlan. "Not many soldiers would have survived, but it seems like those stationed near the borders are now returning to the city… and you know what that means."

"Shit…" Vasiliy cursed to himself, shaking his head. "I didn't think they'd go that far…"

Noah's expression grew concerned as he stared at his new companions. "Don't tell me you guys had something to do with this…?"

"The attack on the military? No… we're not part of the rebellion," Vasiliy assured. "We got nothing to do with the war between Nemesis and the State."

"Then what war are you fighting?" Noah's eyes narrowed discerningly.

"What makes you think we're fighting a war?"

"Because you don't just keep a warehouse full of military-grade weapons unless you're going to war," Noah nodded towards all the equipment lying around the room. "So what's your part in all of this?"

"It's not what you think…"

"It's not important," Quinlan interjected. "What's important is that half the soldiers in the city are dead, gangs are running amuck on the streets, and the infection is spreading like wildfire. Soon people will start ripping each other to shreds for whatever food and resources are left. We need to consider that perhaps our stay in New York is coming to an end."

Silence swept across the room as everyone stood pondering those words.

Noah stared down at the phone in his hand – the one he always kept close to him… the one he always found himself staring at in moments of silence, or when he was contemplating a difficult decision… as if he would look to it for guidance, waiting for a voice on the other end to tell him what to do. But no voice ever came through the phone, no matter how much he stared at it, waiting for it to ring. He squinted away the anguish in his eyes and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

After a moment, Vasiliy broke the silence. "So how do we get out? If people could leave this place, they would've done it already. The military has every bridge off the island blocked."

"Then we go through the tunnels," said Quinlan.

Vasiliy laughed. "Thanks, but I'd rather take my chances with the soldiers. I've seen what's down there in the tunnels and I ain't going anywhere near that!"

"Your friends seem to move their shipments through those tunnels just fine," Quinlan remarked.

"Yeah but they know the routes… we don't. Besides, they practically have a whole army! And what do we have? A few men, women and children…"

"A whole army…" Quinlan took a moment to muse over those words. Then he looked up at Vasiliy and stared at him deadpan in the eyes. "I have taken down whole armies, Mr Fet," he said softly, without boastfulness, but perhaps with an element of threat.

Vasiliy faltered for a moment in the discomfort of Quinlan's penetrating gaze, before finding confidence again in his usual sarcasm. "Sure… in the sixteenth century before machine guns were invented."

"This whole idea is crazy…" Noah muttered shaking his head. "The only way out of the city is with a pass; anything else is suicide."

"Well actually… I have a pass…" Mia said unexpectedly.

"What? How?" Vasiliy looked at her, surprised.

"It was meant for Doctor Price. He was offered a place in Washington to work for the State. But he knew that wasn't what he wanted. So when he decided to stay in New York, he forged the documents in my name and gave them to me. He told me to leave the city before it was too late…"

"Then why didn't you go?"

"I guess for the same reason as Doctor Price – I stayed for what was important to me. He stayed for his work… and I stayed for him…"

"But he's not here anymore," Vasiliy said bluntly. "It's been over a month… you could've left."

"But his dream is still here," she said, with fervour in her voice. "Everything he worked for… everything he died for… is at the lab. And now it's in Ephraim's hands, and he's risking everything to continue Graeme's work. I can't just walk away from it!"

"The research is important, I get it… but so is staying alive! We can't stay here and wait for Eph to make a breakthrough while the whole city's falling apart around us!"

"Look…" Noah interrupted, "I don't know what you guys are doing here, but I never asked to be a part of it. My family and I are just trying to survive… that's all that matters to me. So if there's a way out of the city that doesn't involve getting killed, then I need to know."

"If we leave, we'll just be running from city to city for the rest of our lives, until they all eventually fall," said Mia. "The vaccine is the only chance we have!"

"There won't be a vaccine when you, me and Eph are all dead!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Quinlan silenced the group. "The world is not going to fall apart tomorrow. Whatever we do, we need to be planned and organised… and we need to agree. Right now we clearly different agendas, and this conversation is going nowhere."

"Alright then… what's your suggestion?" Vasiliy challenged.

Quinlan walked across the room and picked up the satellite phone sitting on the workbench, and handed it to Vasiliy. "Call Doctor Goodweather back to the city – tell him the situation. Perhaps the doctor will also have some news about the progress of his work. But until then, let's not make any hasty decisions." Quinlan looked at Vasiliy and then at Noah, and when they both remained silent, he turned and started to walk away. But he suddenly paused… "And tell the doctor to bring whatever he requires to perform a blood transfusion."

"A blood transfusion?" Vasiliy puzzled.

Quinlan turned and looked at Mia. "I made someone a promise…" he said, holding her in his gaze. She showed a slight hint of a smile and a somewhat heartfelt expression, before she looked away diffidently, forcing him to also look away. Quinlan waited for a moment… and when there were no further remarks from anyone, except a severe look from Malaika who had been standing silently across the room, Quinlan proceeded to make his exit.

He walked to the stairs, and as he went to take a step, he looked up and was suddenly met with an unexpected sight – a little girl with long brown hair, sweet eyes and a face full of innocence, was walking down the stairs clutching a doll in her hand. She stopped when she saw Quinlan and she looked at him, blinking and rubbing her tired eyes. Quinlan froze; he suddenly didn't know what to do. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her, afraid to move as if it would stir the child. However, despite what he expected, the girl didn't scream or cry; she simply stood staring back at him. Before Quinlan could move, Noah saw his little girl standing there and he stormed towards her, harshly bumping Quinlan out of the way as he raced up the stairs and swept her up into his arms.

"Baby, I thought I told you to stay in the room," he huffed, making no attempt to hide the distress in his voice. "Come on… let's get you back to bed."

"Daddy, who's that?" the girl asked curiously, staring unblinking at Quinlan.

"Don't you worry about him," Noah hushed, rushing her away from the threat that he perceived. The girl stayed quiet, but she continued to stare at Quinlan over her father's shoulder, as he carried her up the stairs and all the way until they disappeared into the bedroom behind the closing door.

Quinlan stayed for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, with a lingering image of the child's face in his mind. There was something awfully confronting about her eyes and the way they looked at him – it was their innocence and purity… and somehow, it made him feel uncomfortable with the very essence of his being. But he didn't let the feeling linger for too long, as it was trivial compared to other events of the night. He shook himself free from the strange sensation and continued to his room where he would retire for the night… with a head full of new concerns, but a heart full of new affection… for the one he would do anything to protect, in this violent and decaying world.

Chapter Text

The boy, Daniel, had taken a keen interest in the weapons around the warehouse, as boys do, and Vasiliy noticed him watching intently from across the room as he unloaded the guns from the van. He could see the fascination in the boy's eyes, and that they were burning with eagerness to take a closer look.

"Hey… come 'ere," Vasiliy motioned to him.

His eyes lit up, and he jumped up from his seat and hurried over to Vasiliy.

"You like these?" said Vasiliy, laying various pistols and rifles across the table.

"Yeah… they're pretty cool…" the boy shrugged, containing his excitement.

Vasiliy picked up a handgun from the table, unloaded the clip and tossed it to the boy. "Fifty calibre Desert Eagle… that thing'll blow the head right off one of those creatures."

The boy marveled at the weapon in his hands, turning it on all angles and studying every little detail with his eyes wide open.

Vasiliy smiled to see his wonder. "I saw you shoot that rifle earlier today. You did good, kid. Your dad teach you how to shoot?"

"Yeah… he said I'm not a kid anymore – he said I gotta learn how to take care of myself… and my sister."

"Not a kid anymore…" Vasiliy chuckled. "You know, when I was your age, my dad wouldn't even let me watch the movie Scarface – he said it wasn't for kids; said it was too violent. How times have changed, huh?"

Daniel put the gun back down on the table and picked up another one – a larger rifle. "Well I still gotta wait one more year before I'm old enough…"

"Old enough to do what?"

"To the join the military…"

"Join the military?" Vasiliy asked, surprised. "Why would you wanna do that? There's a lot of soldiers dying out there."

"So?" Daniel shrugged. "There's a lot of people dying everywhere. I wanna fight."

Vasiliy looked at the boy and saw determination in his eyes – naïve determination of stubborn kid who thinks he knows better when he knows nothing at all. Vasiliy recognised that look from his own teenage years. "Who says you have to be a soldier to fight?"

"When I'm a soldier, I'll be able to cross the bridge – I can leave this place. Then I can go find mom…"

Vasiliy sighed, shaking his head. "You think they're just gonna let you leave? Send you off with a car and a gun and say, 'Good luck kiddo! Go out there and do whatever you want'? It doesn't work like that – you'll be stationed wherever they want you, and you'll do whatever job they want you to do. Besides… how are you gonna find your mom? She could be anywhere."

Broken spirited, the boy lowered his head.

Vasiliy saw his despair, and he suddenly felt guilty for his harsh words. "Look… if you're mom survived this long, then it means wherever she is, she's safe and she's taking care of herself. But if you leave, who's gonna take care of your little sister, huh? Your old man can't do it by himself… and if anything happened to him, then what's gonna happen to her?"

The boy refused to look up, too stoic to show his pain-ridden face. But then Vasiliy handed him another weapon, one he'd never seen before, and suddenly it seemed to distract him from his misery. He seemed particularly interested in this weapon – it was a crossbow. His eyes lit up once again. "Cooool!" he said, staring at it with amazement.

Vasiliy smiled. "Listen kid… you got heart, I can see that. But if you wanna fight, then fight to protect your family – the people you love. And those people are right here, so why would you go running off to join the army?"

Daniel stayed silent for a moment, thinking about the advice he was given. But like any teenage boy when given advice, he couldn't admit that someone else was right, and so he shrugged. "Whatever… I'll think about…" he dismissed, playing with the crossbow in his hands. "Hey… can I keep this?"

"Sure…"

Noah heard a knock on the bedroom door, and he suddenly paused, as if the sound startled him. He put down the storybook that he was reading to his daughter and walked cautiously to the door, opening it to a narrow gap as he peered outside.

"Hey…" Mia smiled, standing there with her hands in her pockets, huddled inside an oversized jacket.

"Hey…" Noah mumbled, staring at her blankly.

The way she stood, she almost seemed like a lost little girl on a stranger's doorstep, timid yet eager. "Can I come in to say goodnight?" she asked.

"Uhhh…" Noah raised his brow, thinking this was rather unexpected, and he didn't quite know what to say.

"Oh, I mean to Lily," Mia quickly clarified. "I haven't seen her since the apartment. I didn't want her to think… Well… I just want her to know I'm here."

"Yeah…" Noah muttered, as he somewhat reluctantly opened the door and stepped aside. "Come on in."

When Lily saw Mia walk into the room, she sat up in the bed and called out to her with excitement. "Mia! You're here!"

"She's been asking about you all day," Noah said to Mia as he led her into the room. "I promised her you'd be here… so, uh… thanks for coming back alive and not making me look like a liar."

"You should thank Quinlan and Fet," she said, breaking away from him to find her own way across the room. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them."

Noah watched as she slowly made her way towards the bed, her footsteps shuffling with uncertainty, as if there was a constant fear of some sort of mishap to come with each step. And as she walked, her hands searched the space in front of her for whatever obstacles that might be there. But somehow, watching her reach out and finding nothing but emptiness, it was almost more excruciating than simply seeing her stumble upon a wall, or a table… or anything that connected her to the physical world around her.

As Noah watched her, he felt a strange sense of despair, and it somehow frightened him. It frightened him because sometimes, when he looked at her, he felt as if he was looking at his own daughter somewhere in the distant future. Mia reminded him of her – it wasn't because she shared the same long, dark hair and large doe eyes with a look of innocence that could get away with murder. No, it was her old soul Noah recognised… that told stories without saying words… and commanded people to listen with a sheer look in her eyes – that was the sort of strength she possessed, but at the same time there was a tenderness about her that seemed almost fragile. Those things he saw in Mia reminded him of his daughter, and he could imagine that Lily might one day grow up to be a woman very much like Mia in many ways… and he wouldn't be disappointed… not at all. But he would worry for her.

Mia found her way to the bed and sat down upon it beside Lily. "So why aren't you asleep, little miss?"

"I can't sleep," Lily whined, rubbing her tired eyes. "I'm scared."

"Scared? Of what?"

"Monsters… I saw them… they were chasing us."

"I heard you were very brave today," Mia smiled.

"I don't want them to come back," Lily shook her head from side to side. "I don't like them – they're scary…" She hugged her blanket close to her chest.

Mia reached out and gently stroked her hair. "You have nothing to be afraid of. We're all here – me… Fet… Quinlan… your dad and your brother… together, we're stronger than the monsters. We'll never let them hurt you, I promise."

"Is that man also a monster," Lily asked, not with fear but with curiosity.

"That man…?" Mia puzzled.

"The man on the stairs…"

"Oh, you mean Quinlan. No, he's not a monster – he's my friend. In fact, he's here to protect us… and when he's around, no monsters will dare to hurt us."

"Come on… that's enough now," Noah grumbled from across the room, not liking where the topic was going.

"Quinlan…" Lily repeated, tilting her head curiously. "He looked funny!"

Mia laughed at the frankness of her remark. "Well maybe he thinks you look funny!" she teased, tickling her with playful pokes as the girl giggled and squirmed, forgetting her troubles. "He probably thinks what a strange, small little human you are… with long hair growing out of your head… and funny shaped ears – why aren't they pointy like his?"

Lily reached up and pulled back Mia's hair, and took a good hard look at her ears. "But your ears aren't pointy either!"

"Hmm… no, I guess not," she said. "We look so different to Quinlan – he must think we look very strange!" Then she leaned in close and whispered, "Would you like me to introduce you to him next time?"

"Alright, that's enough," Noah sternly insisted as he marched towards Mia and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. "Lilian, it's time for you to go to sleep. Say good night to Mia."

The girl recognised the sternness in her father's voice and she obediently tucked herself into bed, giving Mia a cheeky smile that she couldn't have seen, as she watched her father escort Mia out of the room.

Noah took Mia into the hallway and closed the bedroom door behind him. "What the hell are you thinking!?" he scolded, keeping his voice low so that the child wouldn't hear.

"What do you mean?" Mia asked, confused.

"Listen… I don't care if you think that thing is your friend, but I don't want him anywhere near my kids, you understand?"

"You mean Quinlan?" Mia furrowed her brows. "You know, kids are impressionable… especially at that age – they learn what we teach them. And what you're teaching her is to fear something simply because it's different!"

"I'm teaching her to protect herself!" Noah spurted angrily, raising his voice for a brief moment before forcing his words back down to a whisper. "I'm teaching her to be vigilant. I'm teaching her to recognise that there are threats out there, and that the world isn't a safe place."

"If you want to teach her to protect herself," Mia's eyes burned with fervour, "then you better realise that the worst kind of monsters in this world… the ones that will hurt her… they won't look like Quinlan; they'll look like you… they'll look like a friend, or a neighbour… or anyone walking down the street who she wouldn't even look twice at. Those are the real monsters – they're the ones you should be teaching her to protect herself against!"

Noah fell silent. There was something so raw and honest in those words, that he simply had nothing to say. And she was right… so brutally right, and somehow that made him more irritated. He turned away, scratching his fingers through his beard… and he sighed, shaking his head.

"You got kids?" he mumbled.

"No…"

"Then don't tell me how to raise mine," he said quietly. Then he walked away down the stairs, leaving Mia standing alone in the dark corridor.

She stayed standing there, weighed by a heavy feeling the conversation left on her, when unexpectedly, a voice spoke from the darkness.

"It is only natural for a father to be protective of his children."

"Quinlan," Mia uttered in surprise. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough…" he said, pacing down the hallway towards her. "You know… I do not need you to defend me."

"Oh yeah?" she said, shifting onto one hip and crossing her arms in front of her. "What makes you think I was defending you?"

Quinlan smiled; he always smiled when she gave him attitude like that. It was usually out of amusement, but this time, it was perhaps more affection than amusement. "Then what were you so passionately defending?" he asked.

"Her…" she said. "That innocent little girl who's yet to find out how vile and cruel this world is."

Quinlan could see the fire still in her eyes as he walked to her and pulled her into his arms. "Mia…" he sighed, holding her head against his chest, "always the warrior of virtue. Put your battles to rest for one night, hm?"

She closed her eyes at the lull of his voice. "Says you…" she murmured, resting herself against him.

Quinlan smiled, holding her for a moment longer, and savouring it as if he knew it wouldn't last. "It's almost sunrise," he said softly. "I'm sure you've had a long day. Shall I take you to bed?"

Mia suddenly pulled away and stood back with a rather strange expression on her face. "Take me to bed? Quinlan, I don't think I'm quite ready for that…"

Quinlan froze, his eyes wide and his expression suddenly so gravely serious. "No…" he sputtered, "I… I did not mean… What I meant to say was – I should take you to your room… and you should get some sleep…"

The look on Mia's face began to fade into a smile… and then finally, she laughed. It was the first time she'd ever heard Quinlan fumble over his words, and she thought it was priceless; she would have given anything to see his face at that moment. "I know what you meant," she laughed. "I was only joking."

Quinlan stared at her blankly. "Hilarious…" he muttered, with slight sarcasm in an otherwise emotionless tone.

"I'm sorry," she giggled unapologetically. "I couldn't resist."

"Well…" he sighed, "I wasn't going to say anything, but seeing as you broached the topic…" He lifted her chin and stared deep into her eyes. "I must say, I am disappointed…" he murmured, his voice suddenly low and domineering. "You see… where I come from… when a woman kisses a man like that… it means she would be willing to spend the night in his chambers. And if she refused, then it would be considered discourteous and deceitful."

"R… really?" Mia faltered, suddenly panic on her face. "Oh…  I… didn't think…" her hands fidgeted nervously. "So… were you expecting…"

Quinlan's lips curled into a smirk. He took her cheek into his hand, hushing her, as he leaned in close. "I was only joking," he said, with a grin on his face that could be heard in his voice.

Mia let out a breath of relief. "Oh, ha ha," she scoffed, pushing him away in playful anger. "Since when do you make jokes?"

Quinlan stared at her, studying the details of her face and remembering the first time he ever saw those perfect little details. Since you showed me the light in this world.

Chapter Text

The next day, Ephraim was overjoyed to receive a phone call from Mia. It was the first time in days since he'd talked to anyone, and he was starting to wonder if he was going mad in his solitude within these sterile rooms and long, empty corridors. In the days that had passed, there were times where he felt as if he was drowning in the silence, and all he could do to alleviate that feeling was to make conversation with himself… or with the inanimate objects around him.

But then, on that quiet afternoon, as Ephraim looked up from his work and stared through the window at the wilderness outside, thinking he could hear a bird chirping somewhere in the distance… the satellite phone, buried beneath piles of papers on the desk, began to ring. At first, the sound startled him. But then realising that someone was calling to talk to him, he leaped joyously to answer it. He was already in a good mood that day, but when he heard Mia's voice on the phone, he could've been the happiest man in the world at that moment.

She asked him how he was doing, and he was all too eager to answer her question, as if he had missed the simple human interaction of someone asking about his day.

"Well, it's kinda lonely here by myself… but the silence lets me concentrate on my work. . . . Don't worry, everything's fine. I've got food, water, electricity – basically everything I need… well, except for some company. . . . How long has it been since I saw you? I've lost track of the days. . . . Only a week? God, it feels like a lifetime…"

Then he started to talk about the progress of his work. "I feel like I'm finally starting to get somewhere! You see, I found a missing page from Doctor Price's notes; I think it was the last entry he ever made. He was working on something new… something I'd never seen in his other notes. But unfortunately he got infected before he made any real progress. But I think he's onto something… Anyway I'll explain everything when I see you." Then, as Mia waited patiently to talk to him about important matters, Ephraim finally asked, "How's things in the city?"

"Not good…" she said, with gloom in her voice. "Eph… we need you to come back… things are changing here. Nemesis launched an attack on the military base; there was an explosion… the whole place was destroyed – all the food, weapons, supplies… everything. Most of the soldiers in the city are dead, and now they've called all the units at the borders back to the city."

There was a pause. "Shit… you gotta be kidding me!" Ephraim uttered in disbelief. "So if all the border control units are back in the city… then who's defending our borders?"

"No one…"

Ephraim paced back and forth in front of his desk, with one hand on his forehead, massaging the tension in his expression.

"The infected are getting in, and it's spreading," Mia continued. "Quinlan thinks it's only a matter of time before things get really bad. We need to talk about what we're gonna do."

"Ok…" he sighed. "Just give me a couple of days to get everything together and I'll come back… just for a while so we can figure things out. But I'm not done here…" And then his tone softened. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"I've been good," she said, suddenly seeming more lively, and he could hear a genuine smile behind her words, and it made him smile. "I'm staying at the warehouse now…" she said.

"Oh that's great!" Ephraim rejoiced, before she could tell him about the horrific events that forced her out of her own residence.

"And there's a few newcomers staying with us too… a father and two children; we're helping them out for a little while. I'll tell you all about it when you get back." Then she paused for a moment. "Oh, and Eph… when you get back… I need your help with something…"

"Sure, what is it?"

"A blood transfusion…" Mia hesitated.

"A blood transfusion?! For who? Is everyone ok?"

"Yeah… everyone's fine. I guess there's something else to explain when you get back…"

"Looks like we both have a lot of explaining to do!" Ephraim jested light-heartedly. "Maybe over a glass of tank-water and a delicious stale bread dinner?"

Mia laughed. "Sure," she smiled, "that sounds great."

Spring was near, and the harsh cold had retreated. Even in the early hour of the morning, when the sun had only just woken to greet the world, there was already a mild warmth in the air. The warehouse was alive that morning with the sound of water being boiled, cupboard doors opening and closing, energetic voices chattering, and a child squealing with laughter.

"Go 'round again!" Lily cried out to her brother as she stood on top of an old pallet jack and he pushed her around the warehouse. The two whizzed past their father at high speeds as the rusty wheels of the old piece of junk squeaked like they were struggling to turn.

"Slow it down, guys," Noah gently instructed as he stood bent over the table, tuning the radio.

In the meantime, a more serious conversation was taking place in the kitchen.

"That's incredible!" Ephraim exclaimed, his voice elated with excitement. "I don't know how it's possible, but Quinlan's blood must be full of self-programming embryonic stem cells!"

"Huh? In English…?" Vasiliy raised his brow.

"This is an absolute medical breakthrough!" Ephraim went on, ignoring Vasiliy's comment. "If this works… the things it can do for humanity… I mean, can you imagine?!"

"What about the infection?" Vasiliy asked. "Can it cure the infection?"

"No," Quinlan replied, with impatience in his tone that suggested he had heard that question too many times before. "Do you think that hasn't already been tried?"

"Yeah, unfortunately it doesn't quite work like…" Ephraim explained. "The cells in his blood can regenerate damaged tissue, but it can't undo a genetic mutation such as the one caused by the virus. Either way, the question that matters right now is – can it heal Mia's eyes? You see, what I'm worried about is the fact that her condition is no longer a fresh injury." He turned to Mia and gently cupped her face in his hands, as he tilted her head up towards him. He leaned in close and looked into her large hazel eyes that opened wide for him. Somehow the scene made Quinlan feel uncomfortable and he turned away, gazing towards the children playing in the other room.

"Hmm… it's completely healed over," Ephraim observed, as he studied Mia's eyes. "If the body doesn't recognise it as an injury, then it might not work…"

Suddenly, a loud knock on the warehouse door startled everyone into silence. The conversation came to an abrupt end, and even the children halted in their laughter and their play. Everyone looked towards the door, as a firm fist banged persistently and impatiently, rattling the heavy metal door, until finally Vasiliy went to open it.

Upon opening the door, he was greeted by two soldiers in uniform standing firmly in place, with unfriendly faces and rifles in their hands pointed down towards the ground. But their fingers lingered close to the trigger.

"Name?" one of the soldiers sternly requested.

"Uh… Vasiliy Fet…"

"ID card?"

Vasiliy pulled out his card from his pocket and showed it to the soldier, who snatched it out of his hand and studied it for a moment before handing it back.

"How many people in this residence?"

"Umm…" Vasiliy counted the numbers in his head, almost counting Quinlan and Malaika before remembering they didn't exist in the citizen database. "Me and five others; two of them are children."

"We'd like to come inside," said the soldier, as he pushed the door wide open and motioned to enter. But Vasiliy stood unmoving in front of him. Although he kept his composure on the outside, he was panicking on the inside. He knew if the soldiers were to see all the weapons in the warehouse, the military's own stolen weapons, then they would all be arrested, interrogated, perhaps even tortured… and then killed. Not even the children would be spared.

"Is there a problem?" Vasiliy asked calmly.

Without answering, the soldier discourteously pushed him aside as he and his comrade walked in. But after a few steps into the room, they stopped. At the bottom of the stairs stood Mia, Ephraim, Noah, and the children, lined up as orderly as young cadets on their first day, waiting for their orders.

"Are these the other five residents?" the soldier asked.

"Yeah," said Vasiliy, trying desperately to hide his nerves.

The two soldiers walked down the line, observing each person carefully. "I need you all to come with me right now."

"What's this about?" Noah asked, holding tightly onto his children, one under each arm.

"Just routine procedure."

"Is there something we should be worried about?" Vasiliy probed.

"Well that depends on you…" said the soldier, holding Vasiliy in a firm gaze, long enough for it to feel uncomfortable. Then he turned to the rest of the group. "Make sure you have your ID cards. Let's go."

"Wait… mine's upstairs," Mia stammered nervously, realising her ID card was in the pocket of her jacket, which she had hung up on the bedroom door to dry after being caught out in the rain.

"Then go get it," the soldier told her unkindly. "And hurry it up."

Mia made her way up the stairs as she felt hostile eyes behind her, watching her every move. She was nervous… no, terrified, of how this event would unfold. In recent times, she had witnessed the world had become a strange and adverse place, and there was no saying what people would do in times of desperation… even those once sworn to protect the innocent – the once noble soldiers and the government for which they worked.

She made her way into the bedroom at the end of the hallway, and she found her jacket hanging behind the door where she had left it. But when she searched the pocket for her ID card, she found that it wasn't there. Confused, she searched all the other pockets just to be sure. But it wasn't in any of them. She started to panic now.

Shit… come on Mia, where did you put it?

She crouched down and searched the floor around her, hoping it had simply fallen out… but again, she found nothing. She stood to her feet, flustered, trying desperately to think of where it could be. Then suddenly, a voice spoke quietly from behind her. "Are you looking for this?"

A hand gently took hers and placed a card into the palm of her hand.

"My ID card…" she gasped.

"You dropped it in the hallway last night," said Quinlan.

"Thank you," she said, clutching the card tightly to her chest. "Quinlan… the soldiers… they're rounding everyone up. They're taking us somewhere…"

Quinlan could hear the fear in her voice, but there was nothing he could say or do to comfort her at that moment. In the realm of monsters, he could fight to protect her. But in the realm of men and their politics, he felt powerless.

She stepped forward and put her hands up against his chest, and she looked up at him, her eyes wavering with insecurity. "I'm scared…" she whispered.

Quinlan put his hands over hers and held them against his heart. But before he could say anything, he heard a sound. His ears pricked up, and he stopped and listened. "There's someone coming," he said. He pulled her back away from the door, and he gripped her shoulders firmly in his hands and leaned in close. "Listen to me," he said; his voice was stern and brash, "you have to go with them. You don't have a choice right now."

"What do you think they want with us?"

"I don't know…" he stopped again to listen to the footsteps walking down the hallway towards them, coming closer and closer. He knew he had little time left with her. "If anything happens, I will come for you… I promise. Just stay with the others and do not let them take you anywhere by yourself, do you understand? Now go…" he urged, pushing her away.

"Quinlan… wait…"

As the footsteps reached the door, Mia felt Quinlan quickly retreat… and suddenly he was gone and she was standing alone in the room, unable to sense his presence anywhere around her.

"What's taking so long?" a cold and firm voice asked. It was one of the soldiers from downstairs.

"I… I was just looking for this…" she held out the ID card in her hand.

The soldier walked in. With slow and heavy steps, he paced around the room, observing various details of the place, although he found nothing of particular interest. Then after picking up and putting down a book on a table, he slowly circled towards Mia. Quinlan watched him through a gap in the closet door, with eyes like a hawk and talons ready to tear through flesh. The soldier stopped in front of her and looked at her, his gaze lingering for a moment – a moment too long. Quinlan's eyes burned a vicious fire, and his muscles were tensed… ready to kill… ready to inflict the utmost pain imaginable… if that man laid just one finger on her…

The soldier continued to stare at her. "Your eyes… they can't see, right?"

"Yeah… I'm blind," Mia answered calmly, keeping her composure. "I'm sorry… that's why it was taking so long."

"You seem to move around pretty well for a blind person…"

"I… I can see shapes of things…" she stammered, her nerves getting the better of her.

The soldier reached out towards her… and as Quinlan saw this, he felt a violent jolt through his body that almost propelled him to launch at the man. But right before the point of no return, he realised the soldier was only reaching for the card in her hand. Saved by just mere seconds, Quinlan's rage simmered down… but it did not disappear.

"Mia…" said the soldier, reading the name on her card. He tapped the card against the palm of his hand as he stared down at it for a long time. Then he looked back up at her. "That's a nice name."

In her discomfort, she found herself shuffling back a step. But the soldier persisted with a step forward, and then he stood silently, not saying a word. Amidst the silent tension, Quinlan could sense her fear, and his blood pumped with adrenaline and the urge to take control of the situation. He waited silently in the darkness for the precise moment to act.

Then finally, the soldier spoke. "My wife's name was Mia," he said softly. There was a sudden change in his tone. His eyes flickered down again to the card in his hand, although he wasn't really looking at it anymore; his gaze had fallen blank. "Well… her name was Amelia… but I always called her Mia…" he paused. In that brief moment, he spoke not as a soldier, but as a man; his voice possessed sheer humanity and all the vulnerabilities that came with it. Then, as quickly as his tone had changed, it reverted back to harsh formality. He cleared his throat and stood himself a little taller, and handed the card back to Mia. "Alright, get moving – we haven't got all day."

Quinlan watched Mia walk out of the room, and the soldier behind her. After they were gone, his head fell back against the wall behind him, and he closed his eyes and let out a long breath, as the fire inside him began to calm. It had taken him every effort to contain his rage in those previous moments, and he was relieved that he did not lose control, or rather, he did not have a reason to. He unclenched his fists and felt the blood rush back into his fingers.

He opened the closet door and walked out into the room, and he found himself walking to the exact place where she had been standing. He could still sense her presence there, as if some part of her still lingered… or perhaps it was just her scent. He looked back towards the closet; it was only a few paces away – he had been so close to her this whole time… and yet in those moments, he had felt so far away.

He stood there for a moment, and then abruptly turned and marched out of the room. He walked down the stairs and saw that everyone had already gone. The sound of a heavy vehicle could be heard driving away from the front of the warehouse. Suddenly, the place seemed so quiet, as if there was an empty void left by those who were once there.

However, not everyone had gone. Malaika stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up to Quinlan for direction.

"Follow them," he said to her. "If anything happens, call me right away."

With determination in his stride, he walked across the room and grabbed his long coat from the back of a chair and flung it over himself in a swift motion. Then he walked towards the door to leave.

"Where are you going?" Malaika called after him.

"I need to find someone."

Chapter Text

When the soldiers escorted everyone out of the warehouse, Vasiliy was surprised to see a bus parked on the street, with two more soldiers standing at the front, motioning for them to get in. It was an old-looking bus with rusted white panels, and its windows were small and barred by a wire mesh; clearly not for the purpose of allowing its passengers to enjoy a scenic journey. It looked like a prison bus, and its destination was surely no more luxurious. But none the less, Vasiliy put aside his questions and followed the soldiers' instructions, stepping onto the bus as the rest of the group followed behind him. Inside, he found it was already half full of other civilians, huddled nervously in their seats – men, women, children, the elderly… there seemed to be no discrimination, and this reassured him a little – at least now he thought it was unlikely to be an arrest or interrogation.

Vasiliy walked down the middle of the bus, observing each passenger as he passed them. He briefly made eye contact with a woman who sat clutching a young boy to her bosom. She looked up at him with tired and fearful eyes, and stared at him for a moment, before her attention turned back to the boy in her arms as he let out a weak murmur. Vasiliy sat down in the seat diagonally behind hers. He looked to the front of the bus where Noah was sitting with his children, and Ephraim was still standing in the aisle, politely asking a young man to move one seat back so he and Mia could sit together.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," he could hear Ephraim apologising. "We need to stay together… she can't really get around on her own… because…"

"Yeah whatever," the young man muttered impatiently as he stood up, preferring to simply move than to listen to some long-winded explanation.

"Thank you… thanks… appreciated it…" Ephraim gabbled somewhat awkwardly as the young man, almost twice his size, squeezed past him in the aisle.

As Vasiliy watched the doctor and his airs with quiet amusement, the sound of hoarse cough turned his attention to an man old sitting in the seat beside him. Vasiliy hadn't noticed him until now. He was a large-framed man, but with no meat on his bones to fill out that frame; he seemed to be in ill health, like he'd barely survived winter with no more than the tattered jacket on his back to battle the elements. He had wiry black hair mixed with aging silver strands, and rough sand-papery skin like that of an old farmer's. But it was hard to tell his age, as the harsh times would often add years to a person's appearance. The old man coughed again, clearing the mucus from his chest. And as Vasiliy looked at him, he looked at Vasiliy in return. Vasiliy gave him an amicable nod, and the old man took this as an invitation for conversation.

"Always something happening in this city…" he muttered shaking his head. His voice was as hoarse as his cough, and his accent was quite heavily Italian, matching his harsh Mediterranean appearance. "Every day something new, huh?"

"Yeah…" Vasiliy mumbled; what more could he say?

"My father used to tell me stories," the old man continued, speaking loudly as if he had no care for being heard, "about how the Germans came to his village and took all the people… put them in a truck and drove them away… like they are doing to us now. But pray we meet a better fate…"

Nearby passengers turned their heads.

"Maybe now's not the best time to be talking about that," Vasiliy quietly suggested, as he noticed nervous glances from the passengers around them. But the old man didn't seem to notice at all, nor realise the grimness of the subject, and he continued with his father's stories of the war and the cruelty of the Nazis… and how history was doomed to repeated itself. Vasiliy had stopped listening. The woman with the young boy had turned around now, and she looked at him again – there was a pleading look in her eyes, like she was begging for someone to help her, and she seemed helpless and afraid. Vasiliy looked at the boy in her arms, no more than five or six years old – the boy looked as sick as a dog, pale and gaunt, as his skeleton fingers clung lifelessly to his mother. Vasiliy looked away; he didn't want to acknowledge her plea… because he knew there was nothing he could do to help her.

Near the front of the bus, Ephraim sat huddled close to Mia, trying to think of something to say to break the silence and the mood. But every time words came to his mouth, she seemed to turn further away towards the window beside her, staring blankly at the shapes and shadows outside, bathed in the morning sun.

"So… I guess there's a chance you could see again…" he finally said. "A small chance, but a chance none the less. That must feel pretty surreal, right?"

"I don't know…" she murmured without turning from the window.

"Hm ok… what about this…" Ephraim tried again, "say if it works… what's the one thing you'd look forward to if you could see again?"

She paused for a moment – not because she needed to think about the answer, but because she already knew the answer, and she wanted to absorb it for a moment. "Having my freedom again," she said. "Just being able to do something without someone holding my hand; I've almost forgotten what that's like. When I had Caesar, that was the closest thing I had to freedom… but even then…" her voice trailed away.

Ephraim shuffled closer to her in the seat. "Hey… um… Fet told me what happened to Caesar. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how hard it's been… "

She turned to him now; the look on her face didn't show gratitude for his sympathy, but rather, there was a slight look of bitterness.

"I don't want to hear that right now," she said, "not from you."

"What do you mean not from me?"

"Eph… you lost your wife and your son. I can't accept your sympathies for a dog – it just seems so… insignificant…"

"No, that's not true at all!" he exclaimed. "It not insignificant; it's important. It's important to you… and therefore it's important to me."

She fell silent, not knowing what to say… not knowing how to reciprocate his kindness. She put her hand on his arm as her eyes lowered in submission and gratitude.

He stared at her face for a moment, and then he pulled his gaze away from her spell. "It's never easy losing something you love," he said, "it doesn't matter who or what. I'm sure everyone here has lost something important to them…" Then he paused and smiled. "Well, except for the guy in the front row – he looks like he could afford to lose a few rations. I mean, seriously… how do you manage to have the BMI of a baby elephant during a famine?! No wonder there's a food shortage!"

Mia's expression suddenly livened as she almost burst out in laughter, not expecting to hear him say such a thing. "Shhh… he might hear you," she whispered, nudging him with her elbow and trying to restrain her own amusement.

"Well if he ends up kicking my ass… please don't let him eat me!"

As Ephraim watched her laugh, he smiled gleefully, having successfully managed to lighten the mood. Then, when her laughter ceased, she seemed to be more animated and in the mood for conversation. Her posture had changed, and she now sat facing him, open and unguarded.

"So what did you want to tell me the other day?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"On the phone, you mentioned something about finding new information in Graeme's notes…"

"Oh… that's right!" Ephraim said excitedly, before glancing at the soldiers nearby and then quickly adjusting his tone to a whisper. "I found a couple of pages that had fallen behind his desk. In those pages, he mentioned this idea that maybe the key to the vaccine was in the virus itself. You see, the virus only interacts with human DNA… as if it was programed to respond only to a very specific genetic code. If you change the code, the virus becomes ineffective. Now think about this – what does the virus do? It changes our DNA. And by changing our DNA, it makes us immune!"

"Hang on a second," Mia interjected, irony in her tone, "so what you're saying is… the vaccine for the virus… is to get infected?!"

"No, no… what I'm saying is, if we can identify the key in the virus that triggers the genetic mutation, then we can re-engineer it to alter our DNA in a way that makes us immune to the virus… without the full mutation that turns us into one of those things!"

"Okay… I'm trying to keep an open mind here…"

"I know it sounds crazy, but think about it… genetic mutations occur naturally all the time. They can change our DNA sequence without changing what we essentially are. Over generations, we simply call it evolution. Think of this as kickstarting evolution… in a really, really accelerated way!"

Mia stared blankly, biting her lip with a look of uncertainty, but giving away no more of her thoughts. He found her silence unbearable; he wanted nothing more than for her to believe in him. And the more he thought she doubted him, the more he wanted to prove himself. "It's gonna work, Mia. Trust me… it's gonna work."

The bus came to a stop, and the door opened. Three of the four soldiers got off the bus and stood waiting outside, while the remaining soldier ordered everyone to stand up and make their way out of the vehicle in an orderly line. As Ephraim and Mia were seated near the front, they were among the first to get out. Once outside, Ephraim saw that they had arrived outside the old James Madison High School, where he had once given lectures to aspiring young doctors at an early point in his career. At that time, it had been a prestigious school known for producing Nobel Prize winners and senators. But now, the large red-bricked building stood tall and proud in its hollow ruin, surrounded by empty fields on which world-class athletes once nurtured their talents.

As Ephraim looked around, he saw that another bus full of civilians had arrived just moments earlier, and the people were being directed to walk down the footpath beside a line of armed soldiers.

"Follow the line," a soldier motioned to the group of new arrivals.

Ephraim clutched Mia's arm and pulled her close to him as they began to follow the crowd, making their way towards the school grounds. Every now and then, a soldier would unthreateningly nudge someone with the tip of their rifle to move them along. Then moments later, another bus pulled up with yet another group of civilians, who were given the same instructions.

The soldiers ordered everyone into a large fenced-off area that had once been the school's football field. Already, there were hundreds of people gathered there, some looking like they've been pulled right out of bed, and perhaps they had already been standing there for hours. The soldiers herded the new arrivals into the field through a gate in the tall, wire fence. And as Ephraim stepped through the gate, his boots trudging down on a muddy slush of melting snow, he felt like a sheep being herded into its pen. He looked through the crowd – there was a sea of nervous faces, and a rustle of voices chattering anxiously. Everyone looked frightened and confused, and the air around them was filled with tension, thick enough to cut with a blade.

"What's going on?" Mia asked, moving closer to Ephraim.

"I don't know," he said. "Looks like they've got the whole city here. Probably just an announcement or something… I wouldn't worry too much."

He put his arm around her. She noticed his arms did not feel as secure as Quinlan's, but none the less, she stayed close to him.

As more buses arrived, bringing more and more people, the large space began to quickly fill with people. Vasiliy had found a quiet spot to stand near the back of the crowd and away from all the commotion, as everyone else seemed to be pushing eagerly towards the front. Several armed soldiers stood on the outside of the fence, ordering the crowd to stand back, using methods of reassurance rather than threat… for now.

"Everyone move back… this is just routine procedure; nothing to panic about. I'm sure most of you will be back home by the afternoon."

Most of you…Vasiliy noted the words.

His eyes darted through the crowd… and suddenly, a familiar face caught his attention – one that would stand out amongst any crowd, and the sight of it was always the flint for his flame. But now, seeing her face suddenly brought a feeling of dread. But it was too late for him to walk away, as she had seen him. At first, she quickly looked away, perhaps also thinking she could avoid the encounter, but it was too obvious that they had seen each other, and she looked back at him and smiled awkwardly. Then, after some deliberation, she began to make her way through the crowd towards him. Vasiliy sighed. He wondered what he would say to her; perhaps he'd finally tell her to go to hell – oh how he had fantasized about that moment… ever since she left him the first time, but especially after the night she came back to him… only to break his heart all over again.

"Hi…" she said, standing in front of him with her hands in her pockets, and her blonde hair tied back messily, with loose strands framing her narrow face.

"Hey…" Vasiliy exchanged awkwardly, followed by a long moment of silence. "What are you doing here?" He glanced around, unable to look her in the eyes.

"I'm a registered citizen," she said, "they have my information. If I wasn't here today, they'd eventually come looking for me, and I'd rather deal them on my terms."

"Aren't you worried what this is all about?"

"Nope," she shrugged casually. "I know what it's about – they're testing for the infection. It's been spreading through the city and they're losing control of it. The only thing they can do is test everyone. So unless you're infected, you've got nothing to worry about."

"How do you know this? Oh wait, let me guess… still in bed with the General, huh?"

"Hey!" she shoved him hard in the shoulder, eyes lit with anger. "I am not sleeping with the General! I know I've done some less-than-respectable things in my life, but do you really think I would…"

"Woah… hey, calm down…" Vasiliy stopped her in her rant. "It's just a saying… you know, like 'he's in bed with the mob'. I didn't mean you're actually sleeping with him."

"Oh…" she blushed.

"Anyway, I thought you guys had a good thing going with the General; so why the attack on the military base?"

"General Presley's losing control," she shook her head. "The new troops answer directly to Washington, and they were sent here with the sole purpose of wiping out Nemesis. They were already questioning Presley on why he never searched the tunnels for our location. They wanted to send a team down there, so we had to do something; it was a means to an end…"

"Yeah… the end of New York," Vasiliy muttered.

She rolled her eyes. "The city doesn't need soldiers who fight for a dictating government; it needs soldiers who fight for the people." Then she looked around to see if anyone was listening, and she leaned in close and spoke quietly and secretively. "We have an army now; we're hundreds in numbers. We're so close to taking back the city and bringing an end to this oppression!"

"How about bringing an end to the infection?" he said, shrugging. "Or the famine, and the violence on the streets… you know, the things that really matter."

"Cure the infection and save the world…" she smirked sarcastically. "Like what Eph's doing, right? How's that coming along anyway?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself? He's just over there," Vasiliy pointed towards the front of the crowd.

Dutch stood on her toes and stretched out her neck, looking through the crowd until she spotted Ephraim… and also the pretty brunette who he had his arm around.

"Oh… he has a new lady-friend," she teased. "Looks like he's keen on that one!"

Vasiliy chuckled. "Not sure if the feeling's mutual though…"

"She looks sweet and naïve… surely he could charm her with his handsome looks and suave moves."

"Ha… somehow I don't think handsome is her type," Vasiliy remarked. "And since when did you find Eph handsome and suave?!" he suddenly exclaimed as if just realising her words. "Did you always think that? Even when we were all living together?"

She laughed. "Don't worry; self-pitying alcoholics aren't my type either."

"No… you prefer the narcissistic psychopaths," Vasiliy muttered. "That's why you and I would never have worked…"

He fell quiet after those words, and he looked away from her, hiding the secret that she would have seen in his eyes. But she didn't need to see his eyes to know what he was thinking or feeling; somehow, she always knew. And at that moment, the look on her face told that she knew.

"Hey Fet…" she began hesitantly, "about the other night…"

"Look, don't mention it," he shrugged. "It was my fault too – I let old feelings get in the way. But if there's anything I've learned it's that I need to move on. We weren't right for each other… and I realise that now."

"Oh…" the word escaped her, as her expression fell for a moment before recovering again. "Well I'm glad…" she said, trying to sound indifferent, but there was a hint of disappointment in her voice that she couldn't hide. And now it was she who couldn't look him in the eyes. "So what made you come to the realisation? Did you meet someone?" she tried to smile, forcing eye contact for a brief moment before looking away again.

"Meet someone? No… but maybe one day," he said. "I mean, look at Eph – if the apocalypse isn't stopping him from pursuing new romance, then why should it stop me?!" he joked.

She gave another half-hearted smile and then looked through the crowd for an excuse to leave. "Oh look, there's some of our newest recruits," she said, nodding towards a couple of punkish kids who looked barely old enough to be called men. "I should probably go say hello… and make sure they don't do anything stupid. Well… it was good seeing you again, Fet. I'll see you around…"

"Yeah… see you around, Dutch."

This time, he didn't watch her walk away like he used to; he didn't glance at her at all… and nor did she turn around to see his newfound indifference towards her. But she didn't need to.

Chapter Text

The morning sun rose high in the sky as the last of the buses took the remaining citizens to the gathering point. As the whole city converged on the frosted fields of the old high school, the streets became empty and all was as still as a painting… except somewhere down a lonely street, a thin plastic bag danced in the wind as it drifted across the pavement. Behind it walked a solemn figure in a long black coat and heavy black boots, marching tall and staunch, as if he beckoned the world around him to bow at his feet as he strode across the land.

As Quinlan walked these lifeless streets, past empty buildings where faces once peered from behind windows, and past silent street corners where people once gathered to chatter and gossip, he felt as if he was walking through the set of a movie after the actors and crew had gone; the silence and stillness of the streets was both surreal and serene. For a moment, he entertained his imagination of what it would be like walking through a ghost city at the end of civilisation. The streets would be as quiet as this… and he could walk them without a single person condemning his existence. But still, he felt this empty world was not meant for him… no more than he felt he belonged in the world of men.

He was close to the outskirts of the safe zone now, where the streets were narrower and the buildings were smaller, and each one stood in desolate ruin. It was as if the world had left these streets behind as death cast its shadow over the land, and decay had spread in from the dying world outside. No one lived in these parts of the city, except maybe gangs and criminals hiding out in the wreckage of an old house. And as Quinlan walked past one of these empty ruins – a hollow brick edifice entwined within a spiny overgrowth of trees and shrubs – a noise from inside caught his attention. There was a loud thud – a heavy metal object dropping to the floor… and muffled voices of several men, though barely audible. Quinlan paused in his steps; although he thought it was best to ignore such trivial distractions, a part of him felt the urge to investigate; perhaps out of curiosity… and perhaps also out of hunger and thirst. As he was in no particular hurry that morning, with the soldiers gone and the city preoccupied in its own affairs, he allowed himself to follow his natural predatory instinct.

He began to walk towards the house, weaving through the leafless winter branches at its front, with footsteps as quiet as a cat, ever so softly snapping the twigs beneath his feet. The front door of the house was nothing more than a flailing piece of wood on rusty hinges, and it swung open with a gentle push of his fingertips. He stepped inside. The floorboards beneath him let out a soft creak under the weight of his body. He paused. He could hear voices at the back of the house – sounds of wild men laughing and yakking, and glass bottles clinking. The air inside the house reeked of booze and fresh blood.

Quinlan followed the scent of blood; it led him away from the voices and up the stairs to a dark room with an open door, from where broken rays of sunlight beamed through the darkness from the gaps in the wooden boards nailed across the window. As he stood in the doorway, peering inside, he found a macabre scene that would have unsettled anyone who looked upon it. But Quinlan didn't flinch; he didn't even falter as he stared down at the two naked bodies lying on the floor. They were both women; their bodies were small, pale and delicate… and had been violently broken. One lay on an old tattered mattress on the floor, stained with blood fresh and old, as well as other marks of filth. Her face was covered in blood, brutalised beyond recognition, and the colour of her hair was no longer determinable as it sat matted around her head like a tangled mop soaked in crimson red. Beside her lay a metal pipe, decorated with splatters of blood. It was the sound that Quinlan had heard from the street – the metal pipe dropping to the floor after being used to take a life in the most violent manner.

The other body was a tiny figure that looked ever so fragile, lying face down on the hard wooden floor in the middle of the room. Her cold, dead skin had already begun to turn blue; she must have been there for at least a day or two. Unlike the other body, there was not a speck of blood on her… except a small smear on her inner thigh between her wide-spread legs. Even in her death, she lay with as little dignity as the final hours of her life.

Quinlan approached the lifeless figure and crouched down beside it. He reached down and touched the cold, smooth skin of her shoulder as he turned her onto her back. He examined the body; there was not a single cut or bruise on her perfect porcelain skin. But still, he knew that she had suffered in her death. He brushed her soft blonde curls back to unveil her face… and as he looked at her delicate features, like a lifeless doll, he saw that she was just a child, no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Her eyes were wide open with a frosted glaze, yet he could still see the fear and pain frozen within them. As her hair fell away from her shoulders, the mystery of how her life ended revealed itself in a ring of purple and black bruising around her neck – the only visible mark on her otherwise unscathed body.

As Quinlan looked down at the girl, something inside him began to change – his usual indifference towards death and violence was beginning to waver, and he felt a growing sense of uneasiness. This time, he didn't just see another dead corpse before him; he saw the innocence that had been brutally taken from this young girl. He saw the life that had been robbed from her, as well as her chance to fight; to grow into a woman, strong and determined to fight against everything that the cruel world can do to try to break her spirit. And the pain he saw in her eyes… he had seen that pain before…

Mia…

Quinlan sprung to his feet. Suddenly, rage coursed through his veins and hatred burned deep in his heart. He turned and strode out of the room and back down the stairs, where he could hear those savage animals still laughing and taking pleasure in their vileness. His senses locked on them like a predator locking on its prey. As he stormed through the house, wild with adrenalin and eyes burning blue fire, the only thing he could see was the steps in front of him, closing the distance between him and his kill.

In the back room of the house, five men sat around a table. The tabletop was littered with glass bottles and cigarette butts, and a few guns sitting in front of their owners next to their filthy feet resting upon the table. The men, relaxed in their naïve sense of security, barely had time to react as Quinlan stormed into the room. Immediately, he grabbed the man closest to him and slammed his face down onto the table in front of him. The impact was so hard and violent that his skull cracked beneath Quinlan's hand with a loud pop, and all structure of the head gave way like the flimsy shell of an egg. The other men went to reach for their guns on the table, but Quinlan kicked the table into the air, sending two men on the other side flying back. Another pulled his gun from his pocket. But before he could aim, Quinlan grabbed his arm and rammed his shoulder into the back of his elbow, snapping the arm like a twig. The man wailed in pain. Quinlan twisted the flaccid limb back towards the man and forced his gun under his chin. Before the man could finish his words, "No… please don…", Quinlan squeezed his finger on the trigger and watched the bullet burst out from the top of his head. He let the limp body drop to the floor.

He moved quickly to the next man, who started to back towards the wall as he looked at Quinlan and saw his own demise in the eyes of the relentless demon. As Quinlan approached him, the man swung a desperate punch. But Quinlan tilted back with inhuman speed and reflex, moving merely an inch as the man's fist flew by his face, barely grazing the tip of his nose. Quinlan recovered quickly… and now it was his turn to strike. His large, powerful fist landed solidly on the man's jaw, unhinging it completely so that it was left hanging by only the skin of his cheeks. But Quinlan didn't stop there; he pushed him up against the wall and beat him bloody with his fists. Then after he was done, he threw the lifeless sack of flesh through the glass window beside him, and the limp body lay draped over the windowsill like a rag.

One of the other men crawled to reach for a gun that was on the floor, but Quinlan stopped him in his tracks and hauled him onto his feet by the back of his jacket. Quinlan turned him towards the broken window, framed by shards of jagged glass, and he pulled the man's head back and rammed his throat down on a piece of protruding glass. The man gurgled and groaned as blood spewed from the opening in his neck, and his breaths escaped his severed windpipe in raspy whistling sounds as he died slowly and loudly.

The last remaining man tried to make a run for the door, but he felt powerful talons yank him back and throw him hard onto the floor. Lying on his back, winded and hazy, he looked up at the monstrous figure standing over him. In his terror, all he could do was beg for a quick death… though his words came out a jumbled mess. But it didn't matter whether or not he begged, because Quinlan already had plans for him. Those plans didn't involve a quick death like his fortunate friends… but instead, they involved him lying there, pinned down and helpless, and feeling every drop of blood being slowly drained from his body… transferring through a grotesque organ latched onto his neck… to sustain a beast who had a thirst for his lifeforce.

When it was over, Quinlan stood in the carnage of his creation, viciously exhilarated. He looked at the bodies scattered around him, and he basked in their silence as the death around him slowly calmed his raging fire. He stood there for a moment, allowing his mind to return from a beast to a man. Then he bent down and picked up a box of matches on the floor, and two almost-full bottles of liquor, and he returned to the room upstairs where he had found the bitter scene. He didn't know why or since when he cared, but for some reason the human part of him wanted better for these two souls than for their bodies to lie on display in testament to the indignity done to them. He decided he would give them the only burial he could – a burial by fire.

He picked up the rigid body of the young girl in his arms, and carried her to the mattress and placed her down beside the other lifeless body. Then he took the bottles of liquor and poured them over the two sleeping angels. As the burning liquid splashed onto the bloody face of the girl had been bludgeoned, her body suddenly jerked as her eyes sprung open and she gasped for air. Quinlan was rarely startled by anything, but this time, he jolted as he didn't expect the lifeless body to suddenly and so violently reanimate.

The girl wheezed as she tried desperately to breathe air into her broken body. Her vision tried to focus on the figure standing over her, but she couldn't… unaware that one of her eyes had ruptured in its socket from the blunt force of the steel pipe. And her skull on that side of her head had almost completely caved in. It was a miracle that she was still alive… though only barely. She was dying… slowly, but surely; she would not survive the hour. Her arms tried to reach up towards the dark, hazy figure… but they didn't have the strength, and they fell to her side as her bony fingers clawed at the mattress, as if desperate to cling onto life.

"Hel-p… m… me…" she barely managed to murmur. "H… help…"

Quinlan stared at her with pity. Those men never intended for her to wake up, and it would have been better if she never did – she had suffered enough.

"I will help you," he said. He reached into his coat and moved his hand over the cold metal grip of his gun. He pulled it from its holster and pointed it unwaveringly to the girl's head. He had no words of comfort for the suffering soul, or any words of sentimentality; he did the only thing he knew how to do – he pulled the trigger. She would suffer no more.

Without a flinch of emotion on his face, Quinlan returned to finishing what he started. He doused the bodies on the mattress with the remaining liquor, and then lit a match and held it in front of him. He stared into the dancing flame for only a brief moment, before letting it drop onto the pyre. He turned and walked away as the flames erupted behind him, beckoning him to turn around with their swooshing sounds and the warmth on his back. But Quinlan didn't turn around; he didn't stop… he didn't waver… he simply kept walking.

Chapter Text

Back at the high school, the military had rounded up all of the city's residents… and the old, abandoned football field had become a sight of New York's dwindling population, as barely a thousand people stood gathered on the grassless pitch. Since the beginning of winter, the city's population had almost halved, with hundreds dead, infected, or missing… while others found their way to the underground, where the army of the rebels steadily grew their numbers. Some of them had chosen to relinquish their former lives on the surface world, while others delved into the underworld and still continued to play their part as a citizen… and they were Nemesis' eyes in the outside world. Many of them stood in the crowd that day; the military knew this, but had no way of knowing who their enemies were amongst the crowd, and perhaps that was why they treated everyone with suspicion and hostility.

In the mild midday sun, as the final remnants of winter's frost melted away, the last of the buses arrived at the site. By then, those who had been there since early hours of the morning had grown tired and weary, many sitting down in the dirt with heads hung in sombre silence… whereas the newcomers were much more restless. But everyone was restless when they first arrived… before the passing hours forced them into silent resignation. One could almost tell how long a person had been there by how despondent they appeared.

Then, as the last man walked through the gate, the soldiers closed it behind him and secured it with a lock. This caused a stir amongst the crowd, as it suddenly aroused a sense of doom, like they were all being caged for slaughter. Yet no one dared to try to escape over the tall wire fence that surrounded the field, as armed soldiers guarded its parameter, ready to shoot anyone given a reason. After all, an uncertain fate was still more preferable than certain death.

Now with the city all gathered – or at least as many people as they could account for – a voice began to blare from a screeching loudspeaker. "Citizens, can I have your attention please? Can I have your attention?" On a row of benches overlooking the field, a soldier stood against the backdrop of the great red-brick school building, shouting into a loudspeaker. "On behalf of the New York State Authority, we ask you for your co-operation."

After repeated calls for silence, the crowd finally settled and listened to the speaker, though not out of obedience for authority, but out of eagerness to find out why they were here.

"In a moment, we will be calling you out in groups based on your names," the soldier continued. "When you are called, you will make your way to the school gymnasium for a routine check-up. But for now, I need everyone to form a line along the back fence. Please all move back," he instructed, waving the crowd back with his arm. "Keeping moving… all the way back…"

Some people obeyed unquestioningly, while others hesitated, looking around nervously as a hum of whispers stirred through the crowd once again. The soldier tried to control the crowd with both persuasion and reassurance… until finally, and reluctantly, everyone followed his instructions. "There is no cause for alarm," he reassured a final time. "Your co-operation is much appreciated."

As the crowd settled along the back fence, Vasiliy used the advantage of his height to look down the long line of people spanning across the field. Leaning forward, he could see Noah standing several paces to his left, holding little Lily in his arms as Daniel stood valiantly at his side. Noah's thick brows were drawn low over his dark eyes, narrowed in pensiveness, quietly observing and analysing the situation around him. As Vasiliy looked at him, he caught Vasiliy's gaze. Noticing his uneasiness, Vasiliy gave him a nod of reassurance and a slight smile that suggested everything was going to be alright. Noah gave him a nod back, though his brooding expression did not change.

Further down the line, Vasiliy noticed Dutch standing ever so casually leaning against the fence, arms crossed and gazing away almost as if she was bored. Her cool composure reassured him that there was no danger awaiting them, and he trusted her judgement on the matter. He would never trust her as a lover, never again, but he trusted her as an informant… and he swore to himself that that was where the trust ended.

Then looking in the other direction, far away near the front of the line, he saw Ephraim and Mia standing close together and talking quietly with each other. This whole time, Ephraim paid no attention to anything else; his eyes never once wandered through the crowd despite Vasiliy trying to catch his gaze. Typical… Vasiliy thought.

Moments later, the soldier with the loudspeaker returned with a clipboard in his hand, and he briefly glanced down at it before addressing the crowd again. "Those with surnames A to D please step forward. Surnames A to D please step forward and have your ID cards ready."

"That's me…" Mia realised, as her heart suddenly sank.

"Don't worry… I'll go with you," said Ephraim.

"But your name wasn't called…"

"It doesn't matter… I'm staying with you."

"I repeat, surnames A to D please step forward," the soldier called again, impatience growing in his tone as only a few people in the crowd moved at all.

"Come on," said Ephraim, leading Mia forward. He rubbed the back of her hand that was linked around his arm. "It's gonna be ok."

Two soldiers now re-opened the gate and stood on either side of it. "If your name was called, come this way," one of them shouted to the crowd. "Line up at the gate. We'll check your IDs as you come through."

At first, there was hesitation from the crowd. But eventually, those who stepped forward lined up as they were instructed, and the soldiers began to check each person's ID before moving them through the gate. On the other side, people were greeted by several armed soldiers, who proceeded to lead them towards the school building.

As people approached the gate, many accosted the soldiers with desperate pleas – "What's going to happen to us?", "Are we going to be ok?", "When will we be given food?", "Can you spare any medicine for my sick child?". The soldiers were hounded with questions one after another, and it only seemed to stoke their irritation as they began to roughly push people forward to keep the line moving.

In front of Ephraim and Mia was an old man, so small and frail that it seemed as if the breeze would blow him away. He stepped up to the gate with no ID in his hand… only a photograph. This disobedience of instructions was enough to put the soldiers in an even fouler mood.

One of the soldiers bent down to the old man's miniscule height and shouted in his ear as if he was deaf, "Your ID!"

"Please… will you look at this photograph?" the old man begged in a weak and shaky voice, as his trembling hand held up a photograph of a young woman. "This is my granddaughter… I… I'm hoping somebody might have seen her…"

"Where – is – your – ID?" the soldier shouted again, slowing his words as if he was speaking to a half-witted person.

"She's been missing since last week… Please…" the old man pleaded. "She's only seventeen… she's a good girl – a kind and gentle soul. If something had happened…" he choked, pausing for a moment as he struggled to find his voice. "Please… I… I just need to find her…"

As Mia stood behind him, she could hear his old heart breaking, and from the agony in his voice, she could feel his pain as if it was her own. She wished someone would help him… anyone… even God. But the world had come to know that God doesn't take pity on the weak… no more than the soldiers did. And neither would alter their plans for the compassion for one man.

As the soldiers began to lose patience, one of them secured the old man from behind and began to search him aggressively, pushing and shoving, and grabbing at his tattered garments. Ephraim found it hard to watch the helpless senior being handled so roughly, and a voice in his conscience writhed to protest. He wanted to step forward and cry out, "Take it easy – he's just an old man!" But something inside him compelled him to stay silent. Instead, he hugged his arm around Mia and held her close to him. They were up next.

"Found his ID card; he's good to go," the soldier called out, as he forcefully shoved the stumbling old man through the gate. Still holding up the photograph, the old man was promptly given another hard shove by a soldier on the other side, and was left with no choice but to painfully clutch the photograph to his chest and follow the others in the line.

As Ephraim and Mia stepped up to the gate, the soldiers snatched their IDs out of their hands before Ephraim could even attempt the amicable greeting that he had planned.

"Goodweather… your name's not up yet," said the soldier looking at Ephraim's ID. "A to D only."

"No, no… we're together…" he said, pointing to himself and Mia.

"Doesn't matter. Go stand back with the others until you're called."

"You don't understand," Ephraim explained, holding Mia tighter, "she's blind; she can't get around by herself. I need to stay with her…"

"We can take her from here," said the soldier, as he took Mia's arm and tried to pull her away.

"Hey! Get your hands off her!" Ephraim cried out, pulling her back and stepping in between her and the soldier. He felt a rush of anxiety as he relived the memory of the last time she was taken from his arms. His hands were beginning to tremble. "She's not going anywhere without me!"

"Are you looking for trouble?" the soldier sneered, stepping forward and pushing his face up close to Ephraim's. "I said… stand back!"

"Eph… stop it…" Mia cried, pulling him back away from the soldier. "It's ok… just let me go. I'll be fine."

"But… but I made you a promise…" he staggered. "I said I would stay with you. Mia, I'm not gonna let them take you this time…"

"Eph," she silenced him, squeezing his shoulders. "Listen to me… it's ok." There was as much resolve in her voice as there was reassurance, and the look in her eyes told him not to contend with her decision. She took his cheek into her hand and gave him a tenacious look, then pushed him aside and stepped around him.

"Mia…" he tried to reach for her hand, but she pulled it back.

"Don't worry, Eph… I'll be fine." She gave him a reassuring smile, before allowing one of the soldiers to take her arm and lead her away.

Deep down, she might have been afraid at that moment… more than she was letting on. But then somehow, just recently, no matter how much she was afraid, she always felt a sense of security that seemed to stay with her no matter where she was. And as she followed the soldier to whatever unknown fate that awaited her, she remembered Quinlan's words, "If anything happens, I will come for you… I promise."

Meanwhile, Quinlan found himself in a dark and forgotten world deep beneath the city; a world he thought he would never go back to, even if it was for no other reason than his pride and principle. Yet here he was, walking through the underground labyrinth of cold stone walls and damp earth floors, laid by smugglers during the great American prohibition.

The stench of death wafted through the dank, musty air. Ahead, in the pitch blackness of the entombed passage, Quinlan could see the heavy wooden door that he had walked through not long ago… where he faced the forsaken creatures that he so deeply despised, yet could find no justification to kill – it was the place where he last saw the Ancients.

As Quinlan stepped up to the door, reaching for the handle, a voice suddenly spoke from behind him. "If you're looking for the Ancients, they're not here."

It takes a certain kind of person to be able to sneak up on Quinlan undetected; a certain kind of skill… perhaps one learned from Quinlan himself.

"Vaun…" Quinlan sighed, unable to help but let a smile of irony slip on his lips. He turned around to see the familiar face smiling back at him; a smile that almost appeared to be mocking him.

"Quinlan… I didn't think you'd be back so soon. Did you miss me so much you just couldn't stay away?" he grinned.

"Where are the Ancients?" Quinlan asked impatiently.

"Always straight to the point with you," Vaun tsked, shaking his head. "No time for a short exchange with an old friend?"

"You are out of your mind if you think we were ever friends," Quinlan sneered.

"Well then, now that we're here… just you and I… why don't you tell me what it is about me that you so despise?"

Quinlan knew question was to bait him rather than one of genuine curiosity; he could tell by the wicked grin on Vaun's sprite-like face. But he decided to answer it anyway. He paced towards Vaun and looked him up and down – still every bit of the warrior that Quinlan once knew; strong and powerful… and the quickest of them all.

"I trained you and the others to be the deadliest weapons against this evil," said Quinlan, "and yet you choose to waste it by being servants to the very monsters who created it."

"You think I'm a servant?" Vaun asked, as he started to pace around Quinlan. He tilted his head back and laughed. "After all these years, I thought you'd know me better than that. Oh how you break my heart, Quinlan," he dramatized, clutching his chest. Then he stopped and stood in front of Quinlan, locking his gaze, eye to eye. "I serve no one," he said with sudden seriousness. "The reason why I choose to side with the Ancients is because I know extinction is coming for us… for our kind."

"Then it must be my lucky day," Quinlan sneered.

"When we're gone, who do you think is going to replace us in the pecking order, hm? It's not the humans… they'll be gone too. Let me tell you – it will be a world full of day-walking strigoi, with no aversion to sunlight, and no weaknesses. They will drain the earth dry… and every one of them will be born from the bloodline of Thomas Eichhorst… or should I say… the bloodline of your father…" he gleamed, knowing those words would certainly spark a reaction from Quinlan… and it did.

Quinlan launched forward and grabbed him by his collar, strangling the fabric in his fists as he pulled him in close. "Then tell me how to stop him!" Quinlan growled, fury burning in his eyes. "I've had enough of this game of cat and mouse! It needs to end… and I am going to end it!" His cold blue eyes stared deep into the burning red of Vaun's – ice meeting fire, and the result was violent steam. And when the steam finally cooled, Quinlan released his grip and took a step back, regaining control of his rage. "The Ancients know where he is hiding… they must. That is why I came here – tell me where I can find him."

"What makes you think I know?"

"The Ancients have been keeping their eyes on me," said Quinlan. "That is how they knew exactly where to find me; they keep their eyes on everything. They must be tracking his movements too…" he looked at Vaun, almost as if to seek confirmation.

Vaun laughed, shaking his head. "Are you aware that your blood is what he needs to fulfil his goal? If you go to him, you might as well serve him the world on a silver platter!"

"I will kill him before he ever gets his hands on my blood…"

"And you would have to kill me before I ever tell you where he is," Vaun replied, his eyes glaring with persistence.

"Do not tempt me…" Quinlan murmured, his voice a low rumble, as a twitch in his fingers caused him to clench his fists. He knew Vaun would never yield. For as long as Quinlan had known him, he was someone who would always stand firm in his stubbornness… even till his death. And Quinlan would be disappointed if he didn't this time.

The two stared each other in the eye, neither one relenting, and both holding a look that dared the other to make the first move. Then finally, breaking the tension, Quinlan stepped forward and struck not with his sword but with his words…

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once." Then he leaned over Vaun with his imposing frame, a stark reminder of who was the stronger of the two, and he whispered viciously, "You… are a coward."

Chapter Text

Vaun stood without saying a word. There was a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, but also admiration, as he watched Quinlan walk away down the dark passageway.

Quinlan knew he would not find the answer he was looking for that day. Irritated but still ever so determined, he left the underground and returned to the streets outside. As soon as the light of the sun greeted him up on the surface world, the phone in his pocket began to buzz. He had been expecting Malaika to call with news of Mia and the others. But as he realised his phone would've had no signal in the underground, he suddenly felt anxious, wondering if she had tried to reach him earlier. He answered it as quickly as he could.

"What is it?" he asked brusquely, without any form of greeting.

"Where are you?!" an annoyed voice yelled through the phone. "Do you know how long I've been trying to reach you?!"

"Well you've reached me now. What's the situation?"

"The soldiers have gathered everyone at an old high school down south," Malaika informed. "It looks like the whole city is there."

"That would explain why the streets are so quiet," Quinlan muttered. "What are they doing there?"

"I don't know… I can't see much. There are soldiers everywhere; I can't get any closer."

"Do you see any sign of trouble?" he inquired urgently.

"I don't think so… things seem calm for now."

"Alright, keep your eyes on the situation. I'm returning to the city now."

The radiant glow of the sun had disappeared, and the fresh outdoor air was replaced by the musty smell of the inside of an old building. Mia listened as the voices around her echoed off a high ceiling and faraway walls, and footsteps resonated like beating drums on the hollow, wooden floor beneath. She knew she was standing inside the large, empty hall that had once been the school gymnasium. She stood with the others in her group, those with surnames A to D, who were called forth and brought to this place without knowing the purpose. Most people were nervous, some more than others… while the naïve ones seemed less concerned, blindly trusting that their government would do them no harm.

The soldiers had made everyone stand in a single line down the length of the gymnasium. While everyone was looking around eagerly to see what was happening, all Mia could do was listen to the sounds around her. To her right was a family with teenage boys, who she could hear bickering with each other about who had eaten the last packet of instant noodles… and every now and then, the parents chimed in with effortless attempts to try to settle the dispute. While it was all rather entertaining, another voice caught Mia's attention – to her left, she could hear a woman whispering words of reassurance to her child, even though her own voice wavered with distress. It was the same woman that Vasiliy noticed on the bus that morning – the woman with the sick child. She stood next to Mia, holding the quivering boy in her arms as she struggled with the weight of his body slumped against her.

"Shh it's ok," the woman soothed as the boy let out a weak moan. "We'll be back home soon."

"My chest hurts when I breathe…" the boy murmured.

"Oh sweetheart…" Her voice trembled as she hugged him close to her chest. "You just need to rest. You'll feel much better tomorrow… I promise…"

"Is he ok?" Mia asked, attempting to ease the woman's nerves with conversation.

"Huh? Oh… he's fine," she answered, somewhat jittery. "It's just the winter, you know… it's been so cold… everyone's getting sick…"

"Well it's almost spring," Mia smiled. "Things will get better from here."

"Yeah…" she muttered, sounding unconvinced.

"Your son… how old is he?"

The woman looked down, hiding her anguished expression… and she paused for a moment before she answered. "It's his birthday next week… he's turning six…" Her voice trailed off and she said no more.

Mia understood. "Well happy birthday for next week…" Mia said solemnly with an attempted smile. Then she turned away and left the mother and child to their solitude.

Down at the end of the line, a soldier had begun to scan each person with a small hand-held device, starting with the first person in the line, and then moving to the next. The device was similar to a flashlight, but it emitted UV light. And when shined onto human skin, it would show if an individual was infected by revealing the worms beneath the skin. It was the easiest and surest way to tell if a person was infected. This method was in fact discovered by Doctor Goodweather back when he was assigned by the CDC to lead the research on the outbreak… that was, before the funds got pulled from his team, and then later from the entire organisation. Today, Ephraim would certainly have a good chuckle, perhaps with bitterness and resentment, to see the government still using his methods despite how callously they dismissed his research.

The soldier with the device made his way down the line, carefully examining each person by holding the light to their face and their neck. As each person was cleared, he moved onto the next.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man in the line bolted across the room, trying to make a run for the door. He ran as fast as he could, desperate and fearless… and completely reckless. But it was a futile attempt; there were eight soldiers in the room, and before the man could get anywhere near the door to his escape, two soldiers standing nearby tackled him to the ground. Gasps of surprise escaped the on-lookers as they watched with alarm… but no one moved.

"Scan him!" one of the soldiers called out to the examiner as he restrained the man face-down on the ground.

The soldier with the device walked over and they flipped the man onto his back, then pulled up his shirt and scanned the skin of his abdomen.

"He's infected!" the examiner cried out. "We got an infected one here!"

Again, gasps of surprise sounded through the crowd. The two soldiers restraining the man reactively staggered back; no one wanted to be near an infected person.

"When did you get infected?" the examiner questioned the man, who was now cowering on the floor. "Answer the question! When did you get infected?"

"T… t… two days ago…" the man stuttered, terrified.

The examiner turned to the two soldiers standing beside him. "He's probably got another two days. Get him out of here; put him in quarantine."

The two soldiers reluctantly approached the man and pulled him to his feet. The man did not try resist or make another attempt to run; he simply sobbed, repeating to himself "please god…" as the soldiers escorted him out of the room.

The examination continued, but the mood was much more tense now. Every time a person was being scanned, all eyes were on them… anxiously awaiting the outcome. And one by one, as each person was given the clear, there would almost be a silent breath of relief amongst the crowd.

Soon it came to be Mia's turn. She stayed calm and cooperated with the examiner as much as she could, holding still as he scanned her face, and then tilting her head so he could scan the skin of her neck. She was calm because she knew she had nothing to worry about… and soon it would all be over and she could return to the warehouse… to her safety… to him.

Just as she expected, she was cleared within less than a minute of the examination… and the soldier moved onto the mother and child standing next to her.

Still holding the boy in her arms, the woman trembled as the soldier brought the device to her face. And as he scanned her, she held her breath as if every passing second was an hour. Her nerves were tense, on the verge of snapping, as if at any moment, she was expecting something to happen. Seeing her anxiety, people were starting to suspect that she might be infected, including the soldier examining her… and so he took extra precaution to examine her more thoroughly. But to his surprise, she was clear.

The soldier then reached for the boy in her arms.

"No…" she suddenly staggered back, holding the boy close to her chest. "He's… sleeping. I… I don't want to wake him. You see, he hasn't been well… he really needs to rest…"

The soldier looked at her curiously, and then at the boy in her arms, whose face was nuzzled against her neck.

"Sorry ma'am, we need to examine everyone. Please turn him towards me."

The woman took another step back, now on the verge of panic. "No… please… let him sleep. It's the flu, that's all. He… he just needs to rest…"

At this point, the soldiers, as well as everyone else, were becoming suspicious of her behaviour.

"Hey! Scan the kid!" a man in the crowd yelled out.

"Yeah, scan him!" another concurred. "He doesn't look too good. I bet he's infected!"

The crowd broke out in uproar, some defending the woman, and others condemning her. But either way, the soldiers surrounded her, prepared for trouble. The examiner stepped forward and tried to turn the boy's face towards him. But again, the woman jerked back. However this time, she backed into the soldier standing behind her, and he seized her by her shoulders and held her firmly in place. Another soldier began to pry the boy from her arms. The boy woke to the terror of menacing strangers and their violent hands around him, and he began to wail. His eyes, wide with fear, stared desperately to his mother for help. "Mommy!" he cried.

The woman screamed… and there was no sound more chilling than a mother screaming for her child. "No! Please! Please don't take him! Please don't take my son!" she was hysterical. With her arms still around her child, she refused to let go. She held on as tight as she could, without caring if she was hurting the boy; she only cared that they didn't take him from her.

"Let go of the boy!" the soldier instructed as he pulled her back with his arms around her waist. "Do you hear me?! Let him go!"

With considerable amount of force, they managed to separate the mother and child, as both screamed, reaching out for one another. The examiner scanned the boy and confirmed that he was infected, and ordered him to be taken into quarantine.

As this point, the mother turned and lashed out at the soldier restraining her. She kicked and trashed and scratched at his eyes like a rabid animal, leaving him no choice but to land a solid punch to her face. The woman flew back and fell at Mia's feet… and the soldier wasted no time to aim his gun at her, anticipating her to get back up.

Mia quickly kneeled down and took the injured woman into her arms. "Don't hurt her!" she pleaded to the soldier standing before her. "She's not a threat; she's just protecting her child. Please… just give her some space to calm down." Mia held out her hand, requesting the soldier to back off… and although he did not move, it was perhaps Mia's brave gesture that stopped the situation from escalating any further.

Dazed and shaken, the woman tried to get back onto her feet… but Mia held her tightly. "No… don't," Mia whispered to her. "If you don't calm down, they'll shoot you."

She didn't seem to hear Mia's words. She reached out her arms towards the soldier carrying her child away. "Where are you taking him?" she sputtered, tears streaming down her face and blood gushing from her split lips. "Let me go with him… I'll stay in quarantine… please! Wait! Just tell me what's going to happen to him!"

Again, she tried to scramble to her feet, but Mia pulled her back. "Listen to me…" Mia cupped her face in both her hands and leaned close to her. "Listen to me," she said sternly this time, and the woman finally stopped and listened. "Those soldiers will kill you, do you understand? You need to stay calm… for your son. Because he needs you alive. What good are you to him if you're dead?"

The woman looked stunned for a moment… and then she burst into tears, collapsing in Mia's arms.

"Shhh…" Mia cradled her head against her chest, stroking her hair. "It's okay… just breathe… There you go…"

"What do you think's going to happen to him?" she sobbed.

"I…" Mia started to speak, but then she stopped. "I'm sure they only want to monitor his condition," she changed her words from what she had intended to say. "They'll take care of him; its their duty to take care of all of us. Don't worry… it's okay…" she hushed, swaying gently back and forth. "Everything will be okay…"

As Mia held the trembling woman against her bosom, her blood and tears soaking through the front of her shirt… she felt plagued by guilt… because she knew what she just told her was a lie. 

After everyone had been examined, and no more people were found to be infected, the soldiers let everyone out through the back gate of the school so that they wouldn't cross paths with the others who were yet to be examined. Perhaps the soldiers didn't want word of the examination spreading, in case it aroused panic amongst those were infected and cause them to act brashly.

The same soldier who led Mia to the gymnasium now returned to escort her out.

"I remembered you needed help getting around," he said to her as he took her arm. "So when I heard your group was done, I told them I needed a bathroom break so I could come back to get you."

Mia smiled. He had a kind voice, and she could tell he was young; perhaps just a boy, not yet corrupted by the power of his uniform and the gun in his hand. But kindness doesn't survive in this world; sooner or later, he would become like them… and she shuddered at the thought.

Around the back of the school, the same buses from the morning were waiting to bring them back to their homes.

"Where are you headed?" the young soldier asked her.

"Red Hook…"

"Ah ha, Red Hook… that's this bus over here. Looks like it's not leaving just yet… but I gotta get back to duty. Just wait here. I'll make sure the driver doesn't leave you behind."

The young man ran up to the bus driver who was sitting on the side of the curb, and said a quick word to him as he pointed at Mia. Then he hurriedly ran off, calling out a brief goodbye, and he was gone before Mia had a chance to thank him.

As Mia stood with the others who all seemed to be waiting for the buses, she suddenly felt a tug on her jacket sleeve.

"Psst… over here…" a familiar voice whispered close to her ear. "Come on… let's get out of here before they see me."

"Malaika?" Mia whispered back… following the hand that had already begun pulling her through the crowd. "What are you doing here?"

"Quinlan told me to follow you."

"You shouldn't be here; it's dangerous. There are soldiers everywhere."

"They'll just think I'm part of the group," she shrugged. "Come on… the car is parked two blocks from here; you better walk faster."

In the car on the way home, Malaika seemed more chatty than usual, asking question after question about what happened at the school. "How many were infected in your group? . . . How do you think a child got infected and not the mother? . . . So where did the soldiers take them? What do you think will happen to them?" And most of Mia's answers were, "I don't' know".

Arriving at the warehouse, Malaika helped Mia inside and then returned to the car and drove away without alluding to where she was going. Perhaps she was going back to get the others, Mia thought. Or just to snoop on the situation as her curiosity would often have her doing. Either way, she knew Malaika could take care of herself out there; she never really worried about her… and neither did Quinlan, it seemed. Perhaps Malaika had been with him long enough to know how to stay in the shadows.

Mia walked into the silence and stillness of the empty warehouse, and she took the opportunity to let her mind unwind in the quietness of her solitude; it had been too long since she'd had any time to herself… and she welcomed the temporary silence before the others returned.

She made her way to the kitchen sink, and she turned the tap and ran the icy cold water. She slipped off her coat and rolled up her sleeves, and then leaned over the sink as she cupped the water in her hands and doused her face and neck. The coldness of it made her flinch at first… but then she found it to be rather soothing and refreshing. She would have preferred a bath… but it would be too much effort without someone to help, so she settled for this temporary relief.

Across the warehouse, she heard the metal door creak open, and she quickly turned off the tap. As she lifted her head, the water on her cheeks ran down her neck, creeping beneath her shirt and down the bare skin of her chest. A shiver ran down her spine. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her forearm as she stood leaning against the bench, listening to the footsteps walking across the room towards her.

Quinlan had returned… and just moments ago, he had received another call from Malaika saying she had brought Mia back to the apartment. For some reason, Quinlan had never felt so eager to see her, and he didn't know why. Perhaps because he had not had the best of days, with Vaun and the Ancients refusing to cooperate… and he was no closer to finding Thomas Eicchorst. This time, Quinlan was more desperate than ever to end Eicchorst's plague of madness… because this time, he was fighting for something more than his own vendetta. But that wasn't the reason why Quinlan felt anxious as he walked into the warehouse. And it wasn't the reason why he felt the need to hold Mia tightly in his arms. The reason was something else… 

Quinlan's mind had become plagued with the image of the two girls he found in the house that morning. He could still see their naked bodies lying there… broken and violated. And every time the image flashed through his mind, it would send a rush of adrenaline through his body. Somehow, his only consolation for these violent visions was the thought of seeing Mia, and knowing that she was safe… and that she will never be just a broken doll lying somewhere in an abandoned house. 

As he walked into the kitchen and saw Mia standing across the room, he instantly felt relieved. He started to walk towards her… but then he suddenly froze. He stared at her, his eyes wide and his heart suddenly pounding. The adrenaline that had subsided now raged again with more vigor than ever. He rushed towards her and grabbed her shoulders in his hands. She let out a gasp, taken aback by his forcefulness.

"What is this?" Quinlan asked, panic in his voice.

"What is what?"

"This…" said Quinlan, holding the front of her shirt in his hand. "There is blood on you… What happened?! What did they do?!"

She could hear the frenzy in his voice. For a moment, she didn't know what he was talking about… but then she remembered how she might have gotten blood on her shirt.

"Calm down…" she hushed. "It's ok… it's not my blood."

With his body close to hers, she could feel the tension in his every muscle; hard and contracted, on the verge of bursting with rage.

"Quinlan… it's not my blood," she said again, gripping his hardened forearms and shaking him out of his spell. "I was helping a woman who was injured; I didn't even know she was bleeding. Quinlan…"

Finally, the words sank in for him, and realising his over-reaction, he eased. He let go of her and turned to the bench, leaning over it on his hands. He hung his head down and breathed deeply.

"Is everything ok?" she asked, sensing that he was somehow different – anxious and frazzled. She walked behind him and wrapped her arms around his sturdy waist, and leaned her head against the hardened muscles of his back. "Did something happen?" she said softly.

Her soothing voice and the sanctuary of her embrace comforted him. He turned to her and wrapped his arms around her entirely, pulling her against his body. He held her tightly, just has he had wanted to do all day… and she had wanted it just as much. She sank into his arms.

She never felt threatened by his large and powerful form, and she never felt small and helpless in his arms, even if she was. But instead, whenever he held her like this, she felt as if she could take on the whole world, and that she possessed his strength as well as her own, like it somehow combined through their embrace.

In the safety of his arms, she nuzzled her head against his chest and closed her eyes.

"I witnessed something today that made me afraid," Quinlan said softly.

"Afraid?"

"Afraid of man's capacity for cruelty."

"What did you see?" she asked.

"Nothing new… nothing I hadn't witnessed before. But only this time I was afraid…"

"It's unlike you to be afraid…" she murmured

Quinlan snickered. "And how would you know?"

Mia lifted her head from his chest and pulled back slightly. "I guess I don't…" She looked up towards him, biting her lip inquisitively. "So tell me… what are you suddenly afraid of? You've lived over a thousand years – you've seen the worst of man's cruelty, yet you're still here. So what's different this time?"

"You…" he purred softly. 

Mia looked confused, like she wanted to say something… but didn't know what.

Quinlan pulled away from her and paced towards the dining table, where he sat down heavy-heartedly onto the chair. He sat silently, plagued with trouble, as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

Then suddenly, he asked, "What happened that night when I found you in that room… covered in blood?"

"W… what?" she faltered, taken aback by the question. "You've never asked me about that before. Why are you asking now?"

"Because I want to know," he said straightforwardly.

"Why?"

"So I can stop replaying that night over and over in my head… asking myself what really happened…"

Mia stood speechless for a long time… and then finally, she shook her head. "No… that's not it; that's not why you're asking me. I think something happened today, and it's made you angry… and now you're just looking for ways to feed that anger, aren't you? Well I'm not going to let you do that."

Quinlan couldn't help but chuckle, amused by how well she could see straight through him. And perhaps she was right; he simply wanted to be enraged, because rage is more familiar than fear. 

She found her way over to him as he sat in the chair. She stood beside him and gently pulled his head towards her, cradling it against her stomach. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're brooding," she teased, her voice soft and gentle.

Quinlan let out another chuckle, but didn't say a word.

Then she walked around in front of him and lowered herself down onto his lap. She sat upon his knees with her arm wrapped behind his neck, and her other hand softly at the side of his face, her fingers trickling behind his ears. At this point, all of Quinlan's troubles ceased to exist. He couldn't help but let his arm slide around her waist, his hand slipping ever so slightly inside her shirt so that the roughness of his palm was against the soft skin of her back. Mia felt as though she could feel every texture of his hand against her naked skin… even every swirl of his fingerprint… like tiny currents of electricity on her skin. She wanted this feeling to stay forever.

She pulled herself closer to him, and he looked up into her eyes, gazing longingly. He sighed.

"After everything that has happened to you," he said, his voice low and gentle, "how does rage not consume you?"

"It does," she said softly. "I am full of rage… and you've seen it; you've seen what it can do. But that's not me, Quinlan… that's not who I am."

"Then who are you?"

She turned away, looking down towards the ground. "Maybe I'm just a little girl waiting for her mom to come home…"

Chapter Text

"Sometimes I get these flashes of my childhood, where I can't tell if it's a memory or a dream. They always come to me in fragmented pieces – some are vague… and others are so clear it's like I'm right there." Mia gazed across the room with a faraway look in her eyes, as if she was lost inside one of her dreams. "Sometimes I see my childhood home… and it's like I'm in my old room again. I see the window from as if I was lying in my bed… and all the details of the wallpaper – it had these small blue and yellow flowers, and the colours were all worn and faded; I never liked how it looked. I remember sneaking into my mom's room one day and stealing her red nail polish… and I painted all over the walls! I wanted to paint the flowers red because I thought it would look prettier."

"Hn…" Quinlan smiled. "Sounds like you were quite the artist…"

"No, it looked terrible!" she laughed. "I can still see the expression on my mom's face when she saw what I did – she was appalled! But she never yelled at me. Instead, she went out and bought me a paint set the very next day. She told me I could paint whatever I wanted… as long as it wasn't on the walls…" Mia smiled, looking down for a moment, as if to hold the memory a little dearer. Then she continued. "I also remember there was a lake behind the house… and I have these vivid dreams of swimming in the water on a hot summer day. In those dreams I'm always happy…" she reminisced longingly. "I always feel so… safe… and serene. It's the place where I go when I want to escape. I go back there… in my mind… I go back to that house by the lake…"

"You were happy then…" Quinlan said softly. "How did it all change?"

"Everything changed after my mom died… I was eight…" her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes tightly. "God, I wish I could remember more of her. I can barely picture her face. But every now and then I'd get a glimpse of her smile, or catch a scent of her clothes… or hear a vague sound that I think might be her voice. But then it's gone and I can't hold on to it…"

Quinlan looked up at her as she sat upon his lap. He reached up and brushed her hair back from her cheek. "I know…" he murmured. "There are certain memories from my past that once meant so much to me. But then the years passed… first decades, and then centuries… and then one day I woke up wondering since when did those cherished memories become nothing more than a distant dream…"

"Maybe what it means is that we should we cherish what we have right now," she said.

"Perhaps…"

Quinlan stayed silent for a long time. Then, as if driven by sudden impulse, he swept her up into his arms and stood to his feet. He turned to the table behind him and set her down upon the edge. He stood before her with his hands at the curves of her waist, holding her there in front of him. Upon the height of the table, her face was now close to his, and it was the first time he looked at her from this angle, eye to eye; she was more beautiful than ever… and so easily within reach – he could have leaned forward and kissed her at that moment. He could have embraced her completely, moving his body closer to hers… positioning himself in that gap between her knees, if she would let him… not to be improper, but only to be closer. But he took none of those opportunities. Because that was not the reason why he held her in this position; he wanted to face her… and he wanted to tell her…

"Tonight, when Doctor Goodweather returns… we will try the procedure," he said with unwavering certainty. "We will perform the blood transfusion. But you have to understand, there is no guarantee it will work. The nature of your injury is not like others I have healed. I have no idea what the outcome of this…"

"Stop…" she said, hushing him. "Let's not talk about the things we don't know; let's just try it… I have nothing to lose. And either way, your blood can't hurt me, right?

"Unlikely, though I'm not certain."

"Well I'm certain that no part of you could ever hurt me," she said, full of guileless trust.

Quinlan leaned down onto the table, his large hands spanning across the tabletop, holding solidly his weight, as his arms stood like two sturdy posts on either side of her, encaging her. He hung his head and chuckled softly. "If you truly believe that, then you are naively presumptuous."

Although his words were meant in playfulness, she couldn't help but notice the coldness in his tone. But he quickly remedied it by placing a warm and gentle kiss upon the naked skin of her shoulder, where the loose neckline of her shirt hung just below. The kiss lingered long enough for her to become fully aware of its warm, and of the tender sensation on a part of her body where she did not expect to feel such sensuality. But before she could savour the feeling, he pulled away. He let out a deep and low sigh, accompanied by the soft rattle of his stinger. Then he gently pulled her shirt across to cover her exposed shoulder, where his gaze lingered for a moment… and then he turned and walked away.

Sometimes, there were moments where she felt as if he didn't really know what to say to her… and now was one of those moments. But she didn't mind; she didn't need him to always know what to say, or to show her the sort of affections that humans have come to expect… because every time he touched her with such care and gentleness, she would be reminded… that here is this extraordinary creature, beautiful yet ferocious, whose wildness she could never dream to tame… nor would she ever try. Yet he chose to share with her a part of himself that he shares with nobody else. For Mia, this was enough.

Later that afternoon, Vasiliy and Ephraim walked out together from the examination; they had been in the same group, as determined by their surnames – Fet and Goodweather. Malaika was sitting across the road waiting for them, and as soon as she saw them walk out, she sprung up to her feet and hurried towards them.

"Tell me the news," she said eagerly. "How many were infected in your group?"

"Six," Vasiliy replied.

"Six?! Mia said there was only two in her group."

"Lucky for them…" Ephraim commented.

"Not lucky for the infected," said Malaika, walking alongside them through the crowd of people all coming out of the examination. "One was just a young boy. Mia said the mother almost got killed trying to stop the soldiers from taking him."

Vasiliy's expression changed. His thoughts immediately turned to the woman he saw on the bus that morning, who was carrying the sick child in her arms. He remembered how she had looked right at him, and for some reason he couldn't shake the image of the desperation in her eyes. He wondered why she had looked at him. There was nothing he could have done for her; there was nothing anyone could have done.

Vasiliy sighed.

At the corner of his eye, he noticed Malaika observing his sudden glumness, and so he shook it off as if it was nothing, and he stopped and turned to her. "Hey look… Eph and I are gonna take the bus back to the warehouse. Why don't you stay here and keep an eye on Noah and the kids. Make sure they get back safe."

"Fine," she shrugged.

"And don't get up to any trouble," Vasiliy added as they walked away. He and Ephraim made their way towards the crowd of people waiting for buses, and when he looked back in Malaika's direction, she was already out of sight.

She had snuck into an empty office building across the road, where she had spent most of the day perched on the rooftop overlooking the school, watching the commotion through her binoculars. She made her way back to the rooftop and sat down in the same position once again – it was starting to become a bore now, as there was nothing exciting happening. She pulled out a half-eaten energy bar from her pocket and munched on the stale bar, as she lifted her binoculars and resumed her watch. Amidst the crowd of people, she found Vasiliy and Ephraim in her sights – they were chatting to each other as they stood waiting for the bus. She watched them for a while, wishing she could read their lips and know what they were saying, though she doubted it was anything interesting. Then when she became bored with that, she looked around for the next distraction.

"I'm glad Mia made it through ok," said Ephraim. "Sounds like her group had it easy compared to ours."

"There's nothing easy about being infected… not for anybody," Vasiliy muttered.

"Yeah well two is still better than six. Hey, you know what…" Ephraim jumped to his next thought, "I've been thinking about the thing with Quinlan's blood… and healing Mia's eyes. I don't like the thought of pumping her full of his blood; who knows what that stuff might do. But if there's a chance she might see again, then it's worth a shot, right?"

Vasiliy chuckled, shaking his head in a somewhat patronising manner.

"What?" Ephraim asked, annoyed by his reaction.

"You like her, don't you?" Vasiliy grinned.

"Like her? No… I just…" Ephraim found himself stumbling over his words. "I mean… I guess she's beautiful…"

"Nah… I've seen you around beautiful women. But this is different."

"How is it different?" Ephraim asked, becoming somewhat irritated.

"Well, for one, you haven't tried to sleep with her yet."

"Oh, so you think I try to sleep with every beautiful woman I see?!" Ephraim raged.

His touchiness made Vasiliy laugh even more. And then finally, when Vasiliy was done mocking him, he took a more serious tone. "Look man… I know you care about her, but I just…" he paused. "I just don't think it's a good idea…"

"Is this still about that time at the lab? Come on, I thought you were past that. I thought you two were friends now."

"It ain't that…" Vasiliy mumbled, struggling to find the right words to say. "I got nothing against her. I just don't want you to be in over your head, you know. Besides… what if she already likes someone else?"

"What? Did she say something to you?" Ephraim asked anxiously. "Wait a second!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Is there something going on between the two of you? Is that what you meant by 'she already likes someone else'?"

"What?! No!" Vasiliy cried out in surprise. "That's not what I meant."

"Look… if there was something going on, I wouldn't be upset," Ephraim tried to sound amicable, though Vasiliy could see the disappointment in his eyes. "You guys have been living together and spending a lot of time with each other… so it's only natural…"

Vasiliy laughed. "Trust me, there is nothing going on between us. She hates me… just like every woman on the planet."

"Then what are you talking about?" Ephraim asked, confused.

"Uhh… nothing… forget it. I just meant hypothetically," he shrugged. "All I know is, she's gonna break your heart, man. You heard it from me first, and I don't wanna end up saying 'I told you so'."

Ephraim laughed somewhat uncomfortably. "I appreciate your concern, but it's not like that; we're just friends, that's all."

"Ok… if you say so."

Evening came, and the General paced down the long and empty corridor of the old high school. He stopped outside one of the classrooms, where a dim light shined from inside the room through a small window on the door. As he approached the door, the two soldiers who were standing guard stepped aside. The General stood up to the window and peered inside, looking at the group of people huddled in the candle-lit room – they were those from the examination who had been taken into quarantine. Amongst the group of thirty-or-so people was the young boy who had been ripped from his mother's arms; he sat alone on the ground with his back against the wall, sick and trembling and afraid, without any consolation from the others in the room, who under different circumstances might have attended to the child. But everyone was burdened with their own dismal fate, for every person in the room was infected… and all except the boy, who believed he was merely ill, knew the inevitability of their fate.

"Any of 'em turned yet?" the General asked the guards.

"No sir."

The General sighed as he took a cigar from his pocket and put it to his lips, and then struck a match to light it.

"What do you want us to do with them, sir?" one of the soldiers asked.

The General didn't answer; he simply stared at the soldier until his gaze faltered in discomfort. And then General asked, as if he was merely testing, "What do you think we should do with them?"

"I don't know sir… "

"Get rid of 'em," he said simply.

"Get rid of them…?" The soldiers looked at each other with hesitation. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir…" said the other.

"I mean… get rid of them," the General repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Or would you rather wait for them to turn?"

"But… there are women and children…"

"They're not human!" the General exclaimed. "Not anymore. You better get your head around that or you'll end up just like them!" Then he leaned forward and looked the men in the eye, from one to the other. "Don't ever let me see you hesitate when it comes to doing your job to protect the city, do you understand? And that means keeping the infection out at all costs."

"Yes sir," the men nodded.

"Good."

"How do you want us to do it?"

"Goddamnit, do I need to tell you how to take a piss?!" the General grumbled. "I don't know… drown them in the bay, burn them, gas them… whatever… I don't care; use your imagination. Whatever you do, just do it quietly and make sure nobody sees you. Oh and don't waste any ammo – we don't have enough as it is."

At that moment, another soldier came running down the long corridor, holding a phone in his hand. "Sir, a phone call for you."

"Not now," the General snapped.

"But sir…" the soldier huffed, catching his breath, "it's from Washington; it's the Secretary of Defence."

The General paused for a moment, and then reluctantly took the phone from the man's hand. He held out his cigar to one of the soldiers he had just been speaking to. "Go on… take it," he nodded. "Share it between you. I trust that you'll get the job done tonight."

Chapter Text

The phone call from Washington bore bad news for the General. As soon as he put the phone to his ear, the man on the other end began to speak – his words came pouring out without intermission, and his tone was brash and commanding. The General listened impatiently, and every so often he would start to say, "What? . . . No . . . You can't . . ." But every time, he was given no chance to speak. The General's face grew redder by each second. He tugged at the collar of his uniform, feeling the steam release from where his fingers pulled the thick material from his neck. It was rare for the General to find himself in a position of such powerlessness… but he knew that power was only a hierarchy, and no matter how high you are, there is always someone further on top. In this case, it was the Secretary of Defence – a man younger than himself, yet was his superior… and that often made him furious.

"Mister Secretary…" the General finally managed to cut in, "I assure you, I have everything under control here . . . No, that won't happen again. They got lucky that time; they caught us off guard. But I still have over fifteen hundred able-bodied men, and I've ordered a sweep of the city . . . I'm confident this time. Those bastards are getting careless now; they're exposing themselves. It's only a matter of time before we find them and…" the General spoke hastily, his eagerness coming across as insolence. And when he was interrupted again, his temper grew shorter.

"What? . . . The infection? Ha!" the General laughed. "Those are rumours, sir… rumours. There's not a single infected person under my jurisdiction. If you don't believe me, come down here and test 'em yourself! You can't see the situation from where you are, but I can tell you… we have not lost control of the city! . . . Mister Secretary, I…" The General paced back and forth, fuming as he was interrupted yet again.

This time, the Secretary spoke for a long time, and the General had no choice but to listen, as he breathed heavily through his nose, trying his best to supress his outrage. Then, when there was finally silence on the other end of the phone, the General slumped down into his chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"You're making a big mistake, you hear me? A big mistake," the General said gravely, nodding his head in a slow and hypnotic manner. "I don't care if the order came from the President himself; this is gonna have serious consequences. And I'm not talking about the thousands of lives here; I'm taking strategically – you need New York. You need this city standing! You can't…"

Beep… beep… beep…

The Secretary had hung up.

Still holding the phone to his ear, the General sat unmoving, squeezing the phone so hard it was as if he wanted to crush it in his hands. Then all of a sudden, he leaped to his feet and slammed the phone down onto the desk with all his might and rage, over and over again… until the plastic case cracked open and its tiny parts came flying out.

"FUUUUCKKKKK!" the General roared at the top of his lungs. His large round face had turned so red, with throbbing veins protruding from his forehead, that anyone who saw him would think he was having a heart attack.

The General stood bent over his desk, his chest heaving and sweat glistening on his forehead, as he tried to process the situation he was faced with. But before all other concerns, he first wondered if anyone had heard him just now… in his moment of vulnerability, screaming like a man of desperation. He wondered what his men would think of him if they saw him right now… and what would happen to the respected and reputation he had worked so hard to earn. Either way, he could not hide his defeat; his men would eventually find out what had been discussed on the phone, and he would be the one to tell them… and the only thing he could do was to pretend it was a part of his plan all along.

Alone in his office, once the principal's office – the large mahogany-furnished room on the third floor of the school building – the General walked to the window and looked out into the school grounds. In the darkness of the night, under the moon and the stars, he saw a few of his men escorting the group of infected civilians into the back of a truck. Even though their hands were cuffed behind their backs and their legs were also cuffed in heavy chains, the civilians walked compliantly towards the vehicle. At one point, the young boy, who had been ripped from his mother's arms earlier that day, stopped and turned around, and looked back at the school building. Perhaps he was looking for his mother, wondering why she wasn't there with him. Then, the boy's gaze drew to one of the windows on the third floor, where he could see a man standing in the dark, like an eerie ghost looking out into the night. The General looked down at the boy as the boy stared back up at him, and both held their gaze for a moment, before a soldier came and coaxed the boy into the truck with the others. "Come on son… let's get going. We'll take you home…"

When all of the infected civilians were on board, the truck drove out into the night, with no headlights, only the quiet rumble of its engine to alert to its otherwise stealthy presence. The General didn't know where the truck was headed, nor did he care to know; as long as business was being taken care of… it didn't matter how.

The General's orders had been very clear – the infected were to be terminated, no ammunition was to be used, and it must be done without anyone else knowing. One of the soldiers had come up with the idea to tell the infected civilians that they were to be transferred to a medical facility in Washington. It worked like a charm; the people were all too eager to get into that truck, as everyone wanted to go to Washington – it was the city of hope. And as for the chains and handcuffs, well… it was simply a precaution, they were told; in case any of them turned during the journey. The proposition was completely believable, and no one would have a clue that they would never make it to Washington… and that the truck would end up at the bottom of the bay, as it had been planned… and their lives would end that night… in agony, surrounded by darkness, as murky black waters filled their lungs. But they were all going to turn anyway; why did it matter? It didn't matter… at least that's what the soldiers told themselves to sleep better at night.

Mia lay on her back, staring up at the bright fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling… and in its glow, she could see the silhouettes of three figures standing over her, looking down at her as she lay on the bed. She felt as if she had been taken into an alien spaceship and laid on a table under bright lights, as alien creatures stood over her, examining her with curiosity. In this case, the alien creatures were Quinlan, Ephraim and Vasiliy; they stood gathered around the bed, indeed staring at her with curiosity, and it make her feel somewhat uncomfortable. Not only that, but everyone had gathered in the room, and all of their attention were on her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ephraim asked, nervously fiddling with the syringe in his hands.

"I'm sure," she nodded.

Ephraim looked to Vasiliy for some sort of affirmation, but Vasiliy could only sigh and shake his head. "It's not my place to stop you if you wanna do something stupid," he said. "But tell me again why you think pouring acid in your eyes is a good idea."

"It's not as crazy as it sounds," said Mia. "Eph said Quinlan's blood won't work on my eyes because it's not a fresh injury, right? So we'll make it a fresh injury! We'll use the acid to burn my eyes… then Quinlan's blood can restore the damage. And if I'm right about this, it'll also restore any previous damage because it'll regenerate completely new tissue."

Vasiliy exchanged hesitant glances with Ephraim. "What do you think, doc?"

Ephraim took a deep breath and held it for a moment… before breathing out in a long sigh. "I think it's the best chance we have," he said, though there was uncertainty in his voice. "I mean, scientifically speaking… her theory makes sense." Again, he looked around the room at the others, as if looking for reassurance.

Across the room, Noah stood leaning against the doorway, intrigued, but still untrusting of this so-called 'half-breed' and whatever inhuman properties his biology possessed. If he were in Mia's position, he thought, he wouldn't want that creature's blood anywhere near him.

"And what if it doesn't work?" Noah asked cynically, crossing his arms. "What if this magical blood doesn't heal you at all, and you end up losing what little sight you have now?"

"What little sight I have now…" she said, furrowing her brows. "I'd give that up in a heartbeat for even the smallest chance to be able to truly see again!" Fervour burned in her eyes – there was a look of utter determination.

The room fell silent; no one knew what to say.

She turned to Ephraim and looked at him with anticipation. "Well, Doctor? What are you waiting for?" she smiled, but behind her smile there was nervousness.

Reluctantly, Ephraim stepped forward with the syringe in his hand. "Here… let me give you something for the pain…" his voice wavered slightly. "This won't put you to sleep… but it should be strong enough. Hopefully you won't feel much…"

He held her hand as he injected her with the sedative, watching the contents of the syringe empty into her veins. Then after it was done, his gaze lingered on her face for a moment, perhaps searching for some sign of hesitation from her, and it would have given him the excuse he wanted to call off the whole procedure. But she gave away no emotion. Ephraim reluctantly turned back to the table behind him, where various pieces of medical equipment laid spread across the tabletop, and he picked up a small glass bottle containing a clear water-like substance… and he simply stared at it.

"Nitric acid…" said Vasiliy, nodding to the bottle in Ephraim's hand. "You told me to get the strongest stuff I could find; apparently this is it. The guy who sold it to me said this'll definitely do some damage."

"Yeah…" Ephraim muttered, still staring down at the bottle in his hand. "Yeah… it'll do some damage alright…"

Finally, with a deep breath, he carefully opened the bottle and placed the lid down onto the table, and in exchange picked up the dropper next to it. With the dropper, he extracted a small amount of liquid from the bottle, and then he turned to Mia and walked slowly to her bedside, trying desperately to hide the tremble in his hand.

"The sedative should've kicked in by now," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm on a cloud…" she smiled dreamily as her eyelids started to become heavy, slowly falling closed. She lay still for a moment, as if she had drifted off to sleep. But then, with her eyes still closed, as if in a dream, she started to giggle to herself. "Imagine if we all lived on clouds…" she mused, speaking as if she was drunk and as if as her mind had drifted into another realm. "Like… each cloud is a city… and we float by one another and wave to strangers on the other cloud…" She laughed again.

The others in the room chuckled quietly to themselves… except Quinlan, who appeared rather concerned. "What is happening to her?" he asked anxiously.

"It's the sedative," Ephraim replied. "It does that to people… makes them act a bit strange sometimes."

"In other words, she's high as hell right now!" Vasiliy exclaimed.

Quinlan looked at Ephraim and studied his expression – if the doctor didn't seem concerned about her condition, then she must be alright. Quinlan's nerves eased.

"Alright," Ephraim suddenly emboldened. "Let's get this over with."

At this point, Noah ushered his children out of the room. Acid burning one's eyes wasn't exactly something he wanted his children to see. "Come on guys, time for bed."

"Aww, but I wanna see what happens!" Daniel whined.

"You'll find out in the morning. Bed… now."

Quinlan shot Malaika a look that told her to leave with the others, and she unwittingly obeyed.

After the others left the room, Ephraim looked down at Mia and took a deep breath, preparing himself to begin the procedure. She was now drifting in and out of consciousness, occasionally mumbling things that made no sense. Whatever she was saying, it was probably rather adorable in her current state… but he tried not to pay any attention, and he tried not to look at her face; in fact he tried not to look her at all. If he was going to do this, he had to see not the person but the medical subject in front of him. But no matter how hard he tried, it was impossible; all he could see was her.

As he gently opened her eyelid and brought the dropper to her eye, he could feel his hands trembling out of control, and they were sweating profusely beneath his rubber gloves. At that moment, a hundred thoughts raced through his head – Is she really sure about this? What if the sedative isn't strong enough? What if she feels the pain? And after everything… what if it doesn't work…?

As a suspended drop of nitric acid lingered over her eye, Ephraim's heart pounded in his chest. Suddenly, he sprung up and staggered back away from the bed.

"I can't do it!" he cried, shaking his head. "I… I can't hurt her…"

Chapter Text

"I can't do it…" Ephraim repeated, holding the dropper in his trembling hand. He walked back to the table and placed the dropper down next to the other medical instruments. A tiny bead of acid seeped from its tip, dripping onto the wooden tabletop and immediately eroding the thin layer of varnish.

Ephraim peeled the rubber gloves off his hands and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. "I know she wanted to do this… but… it just feels wrong…"

"Come on Doc, you're the one who said it could work… right?" Vasiliy's tone inflected with slight uncertainty.

"It's not that…" Ephraim paced across the room, running his hand over the soft regrowth of his shaved head. He stopped for a moment, then paced back towards the bed.

"Years ago," he began, "when I was doing relief work in India, I treated a woman who was a victim of an acid attack. It was a common thing over there – mutilating women with acid as a means of torture and punishment. You see, acid doesn't just burn the surface of your skin – it essentially boils the water inside your cells; it burns you from the inside out. When this woman came to the hospital, her face was completely disfigured – she'd lost both of her eyes… and she was in so much pain that the only thing we could do was put her in an induced coma…" his voice trailed off.

He looked down at Mia as she lay on the bed, with her long dark hair strewn around her like in paintings of sleeping maidens. She looked ever so serene in her dream-like daze, rendered by the effects of the drug. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she opened her eyes for a moment and looked up at him with her perfect, hazel jewels… and in that moment, he knew there was no way he could ever mutilate those beautiful eyes.

He turned away and hung his head, and clamped his eyes shut as if in deep contemplation.

Then suddenly, he looked up at Quinlan with a rather severe expression on his face. "You do it," he suddenly said.

Until now, Quinlan had been lost in his own thoughts. But now his gaze darted up in full attention as he looked at Ephraim with eyes wide open.

"Me?" Quinlan uttered, somewhat taken aback. For a man who usually kept his reactions carefully guarded, this one was awfully candid. There was a slight look of dismay on his face. "Would a doctor not be more suited to the task?"

"Doctors don't mutilate their patients," Ephraim replied. "It's just not in my human nature to feel okay about doing that to someone… especially a friend."

Quinlan sneered at how he needlessly emphasized the word 'human'.

"But you…" Ephraim continued, "you don't exactly live by the same moral code as the rest of us. I've seen you kill people without even the blink of an eye. So this would be nothing to you, right?"

Nothing to me? Quinlan's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared; he suddenly felt anger coursing through his veins. He stared at Ephraim with wrath in his eyes. However he could not articulate in his mind why those words enraged him so much, nor did he have a response to Ephraim's request. All he could do was stand there unmoving, frozen in his own turmoil.

From the corner of his eye, Quinlan could see Vasiliy observing his reaction, waiting to see what he was going to do. And for some reason, this made him feel as if he owed a response. Not only that, but by his own principle, he believed that if a man is called out by his name, then that man must step forward… or else he is a coward.

And so Quinlan stepped forward… not really knowing what he was going to do. His feet unwittingly carried him to the table, where he picked up the dropper containing the dangerous liquid. He stared down at it in his hand, just as Ephraim did. But as he stood staring at the small plastic instrument, a sudden whim compelled him to do something irrational.

Without thinking, he held the dropper over his own hand, and squeezed the bulb ever so slightly, so that a bubble of liquid formed at its tip. And with another gentle squeeze, a drop of acid fell onto his palm. He anticipated the pain straight away. But to his surprise, it didn't come. It simply felt cold at first, like a drop of water from an icy lake; it almost felt pleasant. But then the coldness turned into a tingling sensation, which quickly intensified to feel like hundreds of tiny needles pricking into his skin. Then moments later, the sensation of heat began to set in, and with that came the pain… mild at first, but then it grew and grew, until it became like a burning hot coal in the center of his palm. Once it began, it was unstoppable; it burned deeper and deeper, devouring his flesh.

Quinlan held out his hand and looked at the spot of blistering skin. Such an injury seemed so insignificant on his roughened hands – those large, beastly talons, marked by countless battles and atrocities; they would hardly have the same sensitivity as the human eye. The pain he was feeling would never be comparable to hers.

Quinlan closed his hand into a fist.

As he stood immersed in the burning sensation, he recalled the night when she found out about the secret of his blood. The memory suddenly came to him, and he could picture every detail of that night – the look on her face, the words that were said, and the vehemence in her voice. Oh how furious she was at him… and she had every right to be. He knew he should have told her sooner, and he should have been the one to tell her, not Malaika… not anyone else. It was unfair for her to find out the way she did. He didn't deserve her forgiveness, he thought. In fact, he didn't deserve her at all. Yet after everything, she still gave him her trust… and even her affection when he thought no one ever could, let alone a soul so beautiful, though undeniably broken. He knew he would do anything for her… even if it meant hurting her.

Quinlan walked slowly towards bed. As he passed Ephraim, he stopped and turned to him. "I see her courage," he said. "But where is yours, Doctor?"

"Desperation is not the same as courage," Ephraim retorted, defensive to Quinlan's insult. "She's so determined to find a cure, she's willing to take any chance."

"And who are we to deny her the chance?"

"I…" Ephraim faltered, "I'm just worried that she hasn't thought this through…"

"No," Quinlan said simply, looking Ephraim dead in the eyes, "she has thought this through."

Quinlan's contempt for the doctor showed on his face as he turned away and proceeded towards the bed.

Mia opened her eyes at the sound of his steps as he approached, and she smiled at him; the kind of smile that was only meant for him… that told him that she knew it was him.

Upon seeing her smile, Quinlan's courage faltered for a brief moment. But like the warrior that he was, he pushed past the feelings of hesitation and trepidation, and focused on the task. He could feel eyes around the room watching him, scrutinising his every behaviour. He knew that if they were to ever discover the deepest and most human extent of his emotions, it would be now. But he wasn't going to let that happen – he'd rather these men continue to see him as the vicious and uncaring monster they believed him to be; perhaps he felt more comfortable behind the walls of that façade.

Quinlan looked down at Mia.

"Is it over?" she murmured, drowsy from the sedative.

"No," he replied, "it hasn't been done."

"Wh… what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he reassured. But the worry on her face told him that she didn't believe him.

Quinlan leaned down and looked into her eyes, as she looked back up at him.

"Tell me again that you want this," he said quietly to her. "Tell me that you are certain…"

She didn't reply. She simply stared at him, her eyes flickering across his face, studying all the shapes and shadows of his features… and all the blurs and refractions of light that formed a picture in her mind. Then finally, she said, "What colour are your eyes?"

"Why do you ask?" Quinlan puzzled.

"Because it's the only part of your face that I can't picture," she smiled, a glimmer of affection in her eyes.

At that moment, Ephraim stared at her with his face frozen in perplexity, like when a computer freezes if it tries to process something it simply cannot. He had been a man long enough to recognise, by a woman's smile and the tone of her voice, when her intentions were amorous. But in this instance, he couldn't make sense of it; his instincts recognised her cues, but his logic told him it was impossible. He thought his imagination had gotten carried away. Or perhaps the effects of the sedative had rendered her irrational; there could be no other explanation.

Ephraim then looked at Quinlan, searching for a reaction that he might recognise as a man; ironically, for the first time, considering the possibility of Quinlan's humanity.

But as always, Quinlan responded matter-of-factly. "Blue, I suppose," he answered. "Light blue… perhaps almost white."

Mia smiled. Then she reached out and found his hand, and squeezed it in hers. "I want to do this," she said. "I'm ready."

It was the response Quinlan expected. Now he knew what he had to do.

He reached down and gently opened her eye with his fingertips, and positioned the dropper over the centre of her eye. His hands didn't tremble like Ephraim's, but his heart wrenched just as much. He didn't allow himself to think about what he was doing; he didn't allow himself to pause… not even for moment. He simply did it. And perhaps to those watching, it seemed like he felt no hesitation. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

His fingers lightly squeezed the bulbous end of the instrument, and one perfectly formed crystalline bead of acid fell into her eye. She twitched at the first sensation of it… and then she fell still. But Quinlan knew this stillness wouldn't last. He stepped back and stared at her in fearful anticipation.

Suddenly, she jolted, inhaling a deep gasp of air into her lungs. Her back arched, lifting high off the bed as if a violent spirit had suddenly entered her body, and all her muscles so hard it was as if her bones would snap from the force of the contraction. Her hands clawed rigid and her arms flailed, as if desperately searching for something to grab hold of. She grabbed the first thing she could, which was Quinlan's arm, and she squeezed hard, digging her nails into his flesh. Her pain was intense, and he could feel it. But this whole time, she didn't scream.

"Hold her still!" Ephraim cried, watching from the side. "And keep her eye open; don't let the acid spread anywhere else!"

"I have it under control!" Quinlan growled, holding her down as she writhed under his grasp. "Get the equipment ready for the blood transfusion… now! And Mr Fet, hold her steady while I finish the task."

Vasiliy quickly stepped in to help. He caught Mia's hands just as she tried to claw at her own face, desperate to tear away the pain. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them down above her head, and she fiercely fought against him. Quinlan averted his eyes from the sight, otherwise he might not have been able to control his protective instinct. He reminded himself that it needed to be done.

Quinlan prepared to carry on with the task. But when he looked at her again, he noticed a small stream of blood between her lips at the corner of her mouth, and it started to flow down her cheek. He immediately knew that her jaw had clamped down on her tongue; he had seen this many times before, usually among injured soldiers whose pain were too great to bear.

Without wasting a moment, he put his thumb to her mouth and parted her lips, and he tried to force his finger in between her teeth. But her jaw was clamped tightly shut. Reacting quickly, he reached down with his other hand and unfastened his belt, and pulled it loose from his hips in one swift motion. He folded the thick leather in half.

"Open your mouth," he instructed her, as his thumb pulled down on her chin.

She let out a soft whimper through her clenched jaw.

"I know this is painful, but you must listen to me – open your mouth!"

Somewhere between the pain and the sedation, barely conscious, she somehow managed to hear him, and she tried her best to do what he told her. Her muscles couldn't quite work to open her mouth… but she tried.

As soon as she released her jaw, Quinlan pried open her mouth and wedged his belt in between her teeth.

"Bite down on this," he told her. "Bite down hard. It is not over yet. . . . Alright now, are you ready for the next one?"

Her only response was a muffled cry. But regardless of whether or not she was ready, it was too late to turn back now.

As Quinlan administered the next drop, her body had lost its energy to fight back; she simply whimpered now, her sounds muffled by the thick leather in her mouth. Her arms no longer tried to pull away from Vasiliy's restraint, and so he eased his grip, and she lay somewhat still, though her body was still rigid in agony. Her breaths were heavy and rapid, seen in the rise and fall of her chest. And every now and then, a hiccup or a sob broke through the sound of her whimpers.

After it was over, Quinlan stepped back, and Ephraim rushed to her side. Quinlan stood in a daze, staring at the scene as if seeing it for the first time. It was as if his mind had previously stepped outside of his body, allowing him to act without a conscience. And now his mind had returned to discover the horrors of what he had done. But it was the only way he could have done it… like another time in his life, many centuries ago, when his soul left his body so he could do something that would have otherwise torn his soul apart. But he did it without any thought or any emotion. And perhaps after that incident, his soul never found its way back… until now; until he met her.

"Quinlan… Quinlan! You with us?"

Quinlan realised Ephraim had been calling to him.

"I need you over here," said Ephraim, waving a long tube in his hand. "I need your arm for the blood transfusion."

"The blood transfusion… yes, of course…" Quinlan muttered.

"Alright, we're going to do a direct transfusion, which means a direct line from your body to hers. It's a more difficult method, but it'll get the blood to her quicker. Now, this needle goes into your radial artery, and this tube essentially creates an anastomosis, which is just an artificial connection between two channels…"

Ephraim's voice droned; Quinlan had stopped listening, though he was intently watching the doctor at work. He watched Ephraim bring the other end of the tube to Mia's arm, and then he watched as the needle broke through her delicate skin, before disappearing into her flesh. Moments later, he saw his own white blood flowing through the clear plastic tube; flowing from his body into hers. He stared transfixed at the hypnotic flow of the liquid inside the tube. It was the strangest sensation, though perhaps not a physical sensation at all.

The whole room stood and watched in silence, as if anticipating something more to happen… but it didn't.

Within a few minutes of receiving his blood, Mia began to quieten, as if the pain was starting to subside.

"How much of this stuff does she need?" Ephraim asked.

"I have no idea," Quinlan replied.

"Alright, well let's keep this in for about two hours – that's roughly three units of blood. It's a little more than a standard blood donation, but I'm sure you'll be fine," Ephraim shrugged. "I'll come back and check on her in about an hour. Just… don't move," he said to Quinlan, "and don't touch anything."

Ephraim then sighed exhaustedly as he walked to Vasiliy and slapped him lightly on the back. "Come on, let's go. I need a drink…"

"I thought you quit the booze," Vasiliy commented, as he followed Ephraim out of the room.

"I meant water," Ephraim clarified. "Haven't had a single drop all day, and it's been a damn long day!"

As the doctor had instructed, Quinlan didn't move. But he wouldn't have moved anyway; he wouldn't have done anything other than stand by her side, looking down at her; watching over her like some sort of guardian angel. Although there was nothing angelic about his protection – it was more… violent… and untamed, than anything heavenly.

For the next twenty minutes, he simply watched her sleep.

As he looked at her, he suddenly noticed a scar on her neck that he had never seen before, perhaps because it would normally be hidden in the shadow of her chin. But from where he stood now, he could see it ever so clearly. The scar was deep and long, and ran horizontally across the base of her throat. It was too precise to be from any sort of accident… and far too vicious.

A knife wound…

Quinlan suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. But before his mind could start generating imaginations of how this injury might have happened, Mia started to wake. She let out a soft moan, and she moved her shoulders a little, wriggling her back into the bed… before slowly opening her eyes. She squinted at first, at the bright light hanging overhead, and then she turned her head to the figure standing beside her, blinking as it came into focus… well, as much focus as it could.

"How long has it been?" she asked wearily.

"Not long," Quinlan replied. "How is the pain?"

"I… can't really feel it…"

"Good," he said. "Either the sedative is working… or my blood is already starting to heal you."

"Your blood…" she uttered, suddenly more livened and attempting to sit up. "Is the transfusion done?" she asked eagerly.

"It is happening as we speak."

"Let me feel it," she said, reaching for her arm, but not coordinated enough to find it. "Let me feel the line…"

"Easy now…" Quinlan took her hand and carefully guided it to where the needle was embedded in her arm. And then he let hers fingers trace the line up to where it connected in his own arm.

"A direct transfusion?" she asked.

"Yes," Quinlan replied. It was what he heard the doctor say.

Mia smiled. She sank back down into the bed and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, and her body visibly relaxed. She stayed silent for a while, and Quinlan thought she had fallen asleep again. But then she started to speak.

"It's like we're… connected…" she murmured hazily, drunk on the sedative. She clutched her arm at where the tube was inserted, and her thumb caressed the skin around it, tracing in circles. "Is it strange that I can feel it? I mean your blood… I can feel it inside me. I can feel a part of you inside me – it's almost like making love… isn't it?"

Quinlan almost choked when she said those words. He wasn't expecting her to say such a thing, especially considering how guarded she usually was about these things.

He couldn't help but let a smirk show on his face. "You are quite heavily sedated, you know," he said, trying his hardest not to dwell on her words. "Perhaps you do not realise what you are saying."

"Maybe…" she muttered, her eyes closed and her mind drifting off somewhere far away. But then she drifted back. "Come sit with me," she said, patting the bed beside her.

"I'm afraid the doctor's instructions were to not move…"

"Oh? And I guess you're the type to follow instructions?" she teased.

Quinlan smiled. "Let's just say, I consider advice when it comes from a professional opinion."

"Well, my professional opinion is that you should sit down… right here next to me." she grinned, a glimmer of playfulness in her intoxicated eyes. "You know, it's dangerous to be standing up when you're losing blood."

Quinlan chuckled. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy her uninhibited disposition in this altered state. He figured he might as well play along. "Well… if you put it that way…"

He turned and sat down on the edge of the bed, in the small space made by the curve of her waist. As he sat down, he lifted her arm that lay at her side, and placed it down across his lap to make more room for himself on the bed.

As her arm rested weightlessly in his lap, with her wrist turned up, exposing the tube that connected their bodies, Quinlan couldn't help but notice the delicateness of the skin on the inside of her arm; it was like perfect, smooth porcelain, with a milky translucency that revealed the thin, blue veins beneath its surface, now running full of his blood. The colour of her skin there was much fairer than other places, telling him that it was a part of her body that rarely saw the sun; always kept hidden… and somehow, that idea made this rather ordinary part of her body suddenly seem sacred and intimate.

Without thinking, Quinlan reached down and touched the back of his fingers ever so lightly against the inside of her wrist. Her fingers twitched slightly at his touch. Then he began to slowly caress up her arm, from the base of her wrist, following the path laid by her veins, to the inside of her elbow where the needle was imbedded… and then back down, feeling the roughness of his own skin against the softness of hers, and savouring every sensation.

He continued to stroke her arm, up and down, ever so slowly, being as gentle as a butterfly's wings. Mia closed her eyes and tilted her head back on the pillow. A soft moan escaped her lips; a sound that was undeniably of sensual nature, confirmed by her expression wrought in pleasure. As Quinlan heard the tantalising sound, he stopped and looked at her, his eyes deep and penetrating, his heart rate elevated, and his primal senses tingling. The expression on her face told him he could've done anything to her at this moment, and she would've welcomed it. But he knew if he let himself explore those desires, he would never be able to turn back. Besides, he knew her rationality was obscured at the moment… and if he encouraged this to go any further, what would she think when she wakes up from the effects of the drug? Perhaps she would be horrified… or worse.

"Why did you stop?" she murmured, opening her eyes.

He brought her hand up to his lips and lightly kissed the round of her knuckle. "Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I took advantage of a helpless and sedated woman?"

"Sedated… yes. But far from helpless," she replied, still with that playfulness in her eyes.

"That I believe," Quinlan said softly in a low voice.

Then her expression became serious for a moment. "You're always so afraid to be close to me…"

"Was I not close enough to you that night on the rooftop?"

"No…" she smiled, biting her lip.

Quinlan snickered softly. "You know, I do rather like this delirious version of you. Perhaps we should have you sedated more often."

She laughed softly, but didn't retort in her previous playful manner, as another bout of drowsiness kicked in. Her eyelids started to feel heavy again as she struggled to keep them open.

"You should get some rest," said Quinlan. "Doctor Goodweather will be here soon to check on you."

"Mm…" She didn't have the energy to disagree with his suggestion, and so she simply closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax.

"Quinlan…" she murmured, as she slowly drifted away.

"Yes?"

"See you in the morning…"

Then she was asleep.

Her last words played in Quinlan's mind – see you in the morning.

"Perhaps you will…" he muttered.

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, with a slight sadness in his eyes, as if it would be the last time he'd ever kiss her. He knew that things may never be the same again.

Chapter Text

It was late in the night and the warehouse was quiet… as was the world outside, for a change. Earlier that day, the assembly held by the military had the whole city rattled; everyone was on edge. So those who usually ran amok on the streets decided they would take the night off from their normal affairs.

Amidst the unusual silence, Malaika could hear soft voices in the room next door. Ephraim and Quinlan were speaking quietly by Mia's bed as she slept. Their conversation seemed awkward and sparse in words, bringing light to the fact that the two of them never really spoke outside of necessity. But tonight, mutual interest brought them together unavoidably.

Then, when their conversation ended, all was silent.

A soft clink downstairs caught Malaika's attention; the sound was too gentle to have been made by Vasiliy. Curious, and rather than lying restless in her bed, she decided she would go down to investigate.

It was dark inside the workshop; all the lights were off, except for a small wall-mounted light above the workbench, with a single bulb that glowed a dim red hue. It illuminated the large space with an eerie incandescence, which faded into darkness as it reached the outer edges of the room. At the centre of the glow, standing beneath the light, was the boy, Daniel. He stood at the workbench, fiddling with the various weapons and equipment that lay spread across the benchtop, running his hands along the different metals and picking up the ones that interested him.

"What are you doing?" Malaika's abrupt voice startled him.

He quickly put down the magnificent Desert Eagle he was holding in his hands and stepped away from the bench.

"Just looking…" he shrugged.

"You shouldn't be touching them," she scolded.

To her irritation, the boy laughed. "And what, you make the rules around here? I thought these belonged to Fet… and he lets me touch them. In fact, he said I could keep this one…" Daniel grinned as he picked up the crossbow from the table and held it up proudly.

This further irritated Malaika.

"Do you even know how to use it?" she scoffed.

"Are you kidding? I'm probably a better shot than you are!"

Her eyes narrowed. As far as she was concerned, the boy had just proposed a challenge. "Fine, then let's see."

She stomped across the room to a row of light switches on the wall, and with a swipe of her hands, she flicked down the switches. The fluorescent lights on the high ceiling above lit up in a bright flash. As Daniel stood squinting and adjusting to the sudden brightness, Malaika had already marched to the other side of the room, where she stood lining up a row of random objects on a shelf full of miscellaneous junk.

Then, when she was done, she walked brusquely back to where the boy stood.

"Hit that empty can over there," she said, pointing across the room to one of the items she had lined up. "The blue one…"

Daniel looked across the vast length of the room, to where a tiny, crinkled can sat on the ledge of a metal-framed shelf. A slight look of hesitation showed on his face for a brief moment, but then he stood himself a little taller and shrugged casually as if he wasn't bothered at all by the challenge.

"Okay," he muttered as he picked up an arrow from the bench and loaded the weapon. He carefully took aim, looking down the length of the arrow, lining up the target and trying his hardest to keep his hands steady; but with the pressure of an audience, he found it more difficult than usual.

With wavering confidence, he released the arrow. He watched it fly out in perfect alignment with his target, and he was relieved. But then… CLINK! The arrow hit the metal frame of the shelf; too low.

Malaika couldn't help but let a smile show on her face. In fact, she almost let out an audible hiss of laughter.

Daniel frowned. "My eyes are still adjusting to the light," he grumbled. "Gimme another shot!"

"Fine… if you want to embarrass yourself again."

Seeing how pleased she was at his failure, he felt all the more eager to prove himself. He loaded another arrow. This time, he was too focused to let his nerves get the better of him. And he felt more confident now that he had a better feel for the weapon. He'd underestimated the drop of the arrow before, but this time he knew to aim a little higher.

Malaika watched his face, stern with concentration. Though just a boy, his eyes burned with the determination of man. He was no doubt his father's son; the son of a deer hunter who spent his years in the woods with his rifle rather than with simple creature comforts. The same look of wilderness could be seen in the boy's eyes.

With his brows tensed low over his eyes, he took the shot. The arrow few out, swirling through the air… breaking through space… until it embedded itself precisely into the centre of the can.

"Bingo!" he uttered under his breath. His lips curled up in a one-sided smirk. He looked over at Malaika, his face full of pride. "Now your turn," he said, handing her the weapon. "Go for that yellow box."

Pouting, she snatched the crossbow out of his hands. She wasn't intimidated by the challenge; she knew she was a good shot. Without hesitation, she loaded weapon, took aim… and fired. The arrow went straight through the cardboard box.

Malaika turned to Daniel, straight-faced, without even a smile of triumph. She simply shrugged and handed back the weapon.

"Well… I did give you a bigger target," Daniel muttered. "Let's go again. Best of five?"

"You will regret it!"

The game continued, each round becoming more competitive, and each target becoming more difficult. Both had some misses, as well as some strikes, but the whole time they were close on each other's backs.

In the heat of the competition, as their voices raised in excitement and objects clinked loudly around the room, a deep voice behind them suddenly yelled out.

"Hey! What the hell's going on down here?!" Vasiliy came storming down the stairs, and Noah close behind him.

"Uh… we're just playing a game," Daniel replied. "Seeing who's a better shot…"

"Are you outta your mind?!" his father exclaimed as he came rushing over. "These are weapons… not toys."

"But you always encourage me to practice shooting…"

"That doesn't mean you can just pick up any ol' weapon and start shooting at things! Especially when the weapon doesn't belong to you."

"Well actually," Daniel started argue, "Fet gave me this crossbow, so technically it's mine."

Noah shot Vasiliy a reproving glance, and now Vasiliy felt obliged to speak up.

"I gave you the crossbow, but not the arrows, kid," he attempted to remedy. "Besides, you're breaking all of my stuff down here!"

"Oh come on, it's all just junk anyway." Daniel looked at Malaika, hoping she would come to his defense; it was her idea after all. But she didn't say a word.

Before Daniel could say anything else, his father took the weapon from his hands and gave him a shove in the back. "Either way, that's enough practice for tonight. Go to bed… and don't wake your sister when you walk in. We'll talk about this…" he waved the crossbow… "tomorrow."

For a moment, Daniel considered arguing back. But he knew it wouldn't change the outcome; it would only make the difference of who would have the last word. And as much as he would normally want it, it didn't seem as important to him that night. He simply sighed and hung his head. But before he started to walk back to his room, he turned to Malaika and said to her quietly, "Nice shooting… I think you won." He gave her a quick smile, and then promptly left the room.

At that moment, something unexpectedly shattered Malaika's bitter indifference, like an arrow straight through her wall of ice. As she watched the boy walk away, she felt… angry, at first… but then confused.

He smiled at her. No one had ever smiled at her before.

That same night, at the top of the stairs leading up from the old, desolate train platform, Desmond Hale greeted the General with a forged smiled on his face.

"General Presley," he welcomed, and though his lips formed a smile, his eyes remained cold. "I'm happy to see you alive and well."

"Don't give me that bullshit," the General grumbled as he pushed past Des and marched straight through the place as if he owned it. "You know as well as I do that you were hoping I never made it out of that blast!"

The General strode through the old subway station… and as he walked, heads turned and eyes followed him; everyone knew who he was. The people of Nemesis saw him as both the enemy by his uniform, and also the hand that fed them. But his betrayal of his own people made others look upon him with much disgust. As he walked through the enemy settlement, the looks on people's faces were less than welcoming. Some would say it takes a brave man to walk into the den of wolves… but then, among wolves, the General saw himself as a lion.

He walked down one of the many passageways branching from main hall of the station, and headed down the familiar path towards the old ticketing office, where many previous discussions had taken place between himself and Des. The General flung open the door and let himself into the room.

Des followed him in, with narrow eyes glaring behind the General's back. As Des closed the door behind him, the General turned around, his face glowing red.

"For fucks sake, Hale… what the hell were you thinking?! You killed over eight hundred of my men, put the whole damn city in jeopardy because now our borders are defenseless… not to mention you blew up my goddamn armoury! Those were your weapons in there, Des! I would've given 'em to ya… but now we both got nothing."

"You would've given them to me?" Des raised his eyebrows, suspended for a moment, and then burst out in laughter. "Well I'll be damned!" he cursed in his Texan accent. "You've been telling me for months that you got nothing for me. Now I find myself a new supplier, and suddenly you had my guns all along?" He tsked reprovingly, shaking his head.

"New supplier?" the General looked confused. "Who in this hell hole could possibly be supplying you weapons? We control all the weapons around here!"

Des laughed again. "How much do you really think you control? Let me tell you Kurtis, you can't control what you don't see… and you only see the surface."

With his trickster smile, one could never be sure when Des was telling the truth. The General wondered if he was simply trying to get a reaction out of him.

"Either way," the General sighed, "you're not my problem anymore. You see, because of your little stunt with the fireworks, Washington has decided to pull us out of the city."

Suddenly, Des' smile faded. And when the General saw this, his own smile grew.

"Yeah, that's right," the General continued, "you're on your own. It's no longer viable for us to keep this city running. We're pulling all units and all resources… including food, water, electricity… Basically, New York will be nothing more than a black hole on the map of the United States… just like Boston."

For the first time, Des didn't have a response. He was fuming… but more than that, he was deeply concerned. By reputation, Des was a man who didn't know fear. But what the General saw in his eyes at that moment might have been the closest thing.

The General knew very well that Nemesis was dependent on the military's support, as was the whole city, including every thug and every street rat. He knew Des never wanted to destroy the military, but he simply wanted to weaken them enough to control them, and control their resources. But without their support, the city would be damned to hell. Food supplies would deplete, there would be no one to man the power stations, and no one to fight the war against the creatures on the surface – New York would become hell on earth in its final days… before it falls into oblivion… and no one would survive.

All of these realisations could be seen in Des' eyes.

"Come on, Des… don't look so down," the General smirked. "You started this war, and now you've won. We're waving our white flag and handing the city over to you. Isn't this what you wanted?"

The mockery in his tone and that smug smile on his face sent Des into a violent fantasy. He imagined himself reaching for the glass bottle on the table and smashing it over that ugly pig face, before stabbing its jagged edges into his throat. Perhaps it wasn't a fantasy… perhaps it was a premonition; a plan.

But then suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted whatever sinister ideas were flowing through Des' mind.

A young man opened the door to a crack and peeked into the room. He didn't enter until Des gave him a nod. The man hurried in and handed Des a note, before quickly making an exit, as if to not disturb the affairs taking place. Des held the note in his palm and kept it close to his body. He looked down at it for a moment, his brows furrowed and his lips curled in a snarl. Then he scrunched it up in his hand and tucked the note into his pocket.

He looked back up at the General. "Well… I'm sad to hear that you'll be leaving us. It's been a pleasure doing business with you," he smiled. Then he walked casually to the door and opened it, standing to the side, allowing the General to leave. "I have other business to attend to. I'm sure you can find your way out."

The General stood unmoving for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat, as if he had recognised that look Des' eyes just before, and knew what awaited him if that murderous trance had not been interrupted. Now, relieved, the General quickly took the opportunity to walk through the door while it was still open.

He walked past Des with his head held straight, avoiding looking into those Devil eyes for the last time. But then suddenly, he felt a hand come down on his shoulder.

"By the way, General… you never told me how you survived the attack at the base…" There was something about the way Des was staring at him that penetrated his every defense.

"I…" the General cleared his throat, "I was at one of the outposts that night…"

"Oh? Is that right?" Des exaggerated his surprise. "I thought the outposts are for grunts and gunners… not for the General."

"It's my job to check up on my boys every now and then… make sure they're doing their jobs."

Des smiled. "Well I'm glad you suddenly had the urge to go check up on one of your outposts the very night that my men attacked the base. I mean, no, really… I'm glad. You know I'd never let any harm fall on you, right? I told my men to plant the bombs away from your quarters, so you were always gonna be okay."

Des let his penetrating gaze linger for a moment longer… and then he took his hand off the General shoulder and let the man walk away.

"Goodbye, Kurtis."

Des walked out into the main hall, where busy men and women worked to keep their little subterranean town alive. He stood from afar and watched his people, like God watching over his creation. He stared at every man and woman; he looked at their faces, memorising them. One of these people had betrayed him; one of them warned the General of the attack; one of them saved that pig's life.

Chapter Text

It was the first day of spring. Winter had finally retracted its icy hold over the land, making way for new life and vibrancy through the city… with fresh leaves sprouting from dead winter branches, young seedlings budding out of cracks in the pavement, and creeper vines waking from their slumber to continue their conquest of man-made ruins. Though winter's chill still haunted the nights, the days now had some mild warmth in the air, as the dark clouds finally gave way to the sun.

But despite the world becoming brighter and Mother Nature becoming more vivacious, the fate of mankind turned bleaker than ever. As military presence in the city dwindled, crime, violence, and the infection grew out of control. By the time people were desperate enough to beg the soldiers to return to the streets, it was too late – the city was no longer their problem. The General and his men had planned their retreat; to abandon the island city that had once been their stronghold, and cross the bridge back to the mainland. It was not the outcome anyone wanted – the city was the General's pride and power; a position he did not want to lose, and having it taken from right under his nose was an insult to his authority.

As for Nemesis… they'd become victims of their own inflated sense of security, for when they rattled the eagle's nest in attempt to steal its eggs, they did not expect the whole nest to come crashing down and the eggs to smash on the rocks beneath. And now they're left with nothing… except a rotting kingdom where they can call themselves king.

In the bedroom where Mia slept, a bright ray of sunlight burst through the window, beaming across the room and falling upon her face like a beacon from the heavens. She woke up to its warmth on her skin, and she could sense the brightness through her closed lids before she even opened her eyes.

The warm glow veiled her in a dream-like haze, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, the things that happened, or the time that passed. She felt as if time never existed, and she had woken up in her childhood again, where she had fallen asleep basking in the sun, dreaming by the lake behind the house.

She was lying on the old wooden pier that stretched out over the lake, and when her hand fell over the edge of the bed, it had fallen over the edge of the pier, where the cool water below waited to grace her fingertips. But before she could touch the water, she heard her mother's voice calling to her in the distance.

Mia… Anna…

Girls, come inside now…

She knew it was time to wake up.

Still lost inside that hazy dream, she lifted her hand to her face and shielded herself from the gleaming light. Then slowly, she began to open her eyes. Upon first glimpse of the world, her vision was immediately consumed by a blaring white light, so bright it almost hurt. She quickly shut her eyes again and buried her face beneath her arms.

The residual glare burned in the back of her eyes. For a moment, she couldn't move; she simply lay there with her arms crossed over her face, allowing her body to wake as she slowly regained her senses.

Now the dream began to fade, and she realised that there was no lake or voice calling to her – there was only the walls of the warehouse, and the bed in which she slept. As the haze that clouded her mind began to lift, fragments of reality started coming together like pieces of a puzzle, falling into place one by one… until suddenly, in her wakefulness, it all came back to her.

Quinlan's blood…

My eyes...

At that moment, her heart beat a heavy thud in her chest. For some reason, she suddenly felt terrified – like a deep sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know why she felt this way, as she had been so hopeful until this moment. But this was the moment that she had to face reality… and in the face of reality, hope withers away… and a person surrenders themselves to uncertainty and chance. The uncertainty of the outcome was what terrified her.

She knew that in front of her eyes right now, concealed by merely the thin skin of her lids, was the answer that she desperately wanted to know. All she had to do was to open her eyes. But instead, she held them tightly shut. She knew the answer could only be one of two possibilities: pure joy… or pure heartbreak – this was the cruel game of chance.

She wanted to keep her eyes closed forever, because maybe it would be easier to simply never find out. But at the same time, she felt an overwhelming sense of hope that made her heart flutter with anticipation.

Tears began to flow down her cheeks. She didn't know why she was crying, but some intense emotion had possessed her and she couldn't control it. Her inner war between hope and despair was tearing her apart.

You need to face the truth, she told herself. You need to open your eyes.

Whatever happens now, you can't change the outcome.

Come on Mia… just open your eyes!

She took a deep breath and held it. The moment felt like an eternity.

Her eyelids trembled.

Then… in a thoughtless instant… her eyes sprung open.

Whiteness…

Glowing sun…

A sea of light…

She blinked and squinted at the indecipherable image in front of her.

Gradually, the glare began to settle, and the engulfing light receded back to a single window across the room. When she shifted her gaze away from the light-filled window, the shape of the room slowly came into view. She could see colours, though mostly dull shades of industrial grey, as well as vague shapes of furniture and objects contrasted against the austere walls. But everything was a blur, like a photo that had been taken with water spilled over the lens. It no more or less than what she was able to see before.

At least the acid hasn't completely destroyed my eyes, she thought; it's a good start.

Then, as she turned her head to the side, she noticed a strange object next to the bed, sitting on top of what she guessed was a nightstand. The object stood about a foot tall, and was made up of bright green and purple colours all swirled together. The colours were rich and radiant; more vibrant than anything she had seen since before the winter washed away the colours of the land. For some reason, the sight of it filled her heart with hope. Even though she couldn't see the details, she thought perhaps her eyes just needed to adjust.

She focused on this object, watching the shape shift back and forth in some strange optical illusion – writhing, as if the object itself wanted desperately to come into view. She focused harder, trying to force the details to materialize. But the more she tried, the more its edges became blurred, and the image slipped further from her grasp. Determined, she tried closing her eyes and then opening them again, as if resetting a faulty machine. But when she looked again, nothing had changed; she saw the same distorted image, and the same meaningless blotches of colour and light.

Her desperation grew. She tried rubbing her eyes, she tried squinting, and straining her vision in every way possible. But no matter what, nothing seemed to work; the image just continuously warped back and forth, but never coming into focus. Though every now and then, it taunted her with moments of hope, by almost seeming to form a picture… only to disintegrate again. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't hold on to those moments of hope… until eventually, she watched the image completely disperse into the air.

Her heart sank. She felt a wave of sickness rise in her stomach.

Quinlan's blood… it didn't work…

The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks. Her body went cold and numb… and suddenly, she felt nothing and everything all at the same time.

No matter how much she had prepared herself for this outcome, nothing could have prepared her for how it would feel. She had gone into this thinking she had nothing to lose… and now she felt as if she had lost everything. She had lost hope, and that was her everything; it was all she had left.

She wanted to cry… but crying wasn't enough – this pain was far deeper than what her tears could release. But she needed to release it before it suffocated her. She had known this feeling before, and she knew it was the beginning of an uncontrollable bout of anxiety that would soon render her frantic and senseless. She tried desperately to fight it back.

Through her tears, she continued to stare at the object, only now she was no longer trying to see it, but merely letting it be an anchor for her mind. It was something that Doctor Price had taught her – he once said, "If you ever feel like things are spiralling out of control, just focus on one particular thought… or one particular object. Let it be your anchor… hold on to it… don't think about anything else." She always remembered his words, and how he used to remind her to breathe.

"Just keep breathing," she heard his voice just now in her head. She took a full and deep breath, and felt the leash around her demons tighten just a little – just enough to regain a little bit of control.

She focused on her anchor.

The object continued to warp in front of her eyes, bending and twisting like some sort of alien sea creature.

Then after a while, she began to notice something strange – somehow, it seemed as if the object was shrinking. Or rather, the fuzzy halo that surrounded it seemed to be closing in. And at its centre, the object was growing denser, like a wispy apparition starting to take a solid form. Even the light around it seemed to be pulling in, like space and time puling towards a black hole.

She lifted her head off the pillow and looked at it more closely. She had never seen light move in such a way. Although her eyes had created strange distortions before, she had never seen anything like this. Thinking it was just a momentary spell, she expected the phenomenon to eventually stop. But it didn't; in fact, the strange effect only intensified.

As the hazy aura around the object continued to shrink, she noticed its edges were starting to become more defined. Lines were becoming sharper… and the shape was becoming more distinct. Its colours were no longer intangible flares of light, but becoming solid and real, as if she could reach out and precisely touch it.

Then, she started to see individual shapes that made up the larger object… and within those shapes, textures began to appear… followed by more and more details… until suddenly, the image stopped moving and held dead still.

The picture came into perfect focus.

As clear as day, she could see that in front of her eyes, this green shape she was looking at, was a leaf – a single green leaf… small and perfect, shaped like the head of a spear. She saw only one at first… but then moments later, others materialized before her eyes, popping into focus one by one… until eventually she could see that all of the green colour was made up of leaves – small green leaves held together by thin and delicate stems, in an intricate network of vibrant foliage.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. At first, her mind was riddled with doubt; she thought she must have imagined it, because in all her years of being blind, she'd learned that the blind's dearest instrument is their imagination. She had always relied on her mind to create pictures of her otherwise pictureless world, and she wondered if that was what was happening now.

But it couldn't be. It felt different this time; it felt too real.

She looked at the purple colours now. She could see ever so clearly that they were beautiful purple flowers… with thin, blade-like petals sprouting from a centre of bright yellow filaments. She could see each individual petal and their smooth, vinyl-like texture and gradients of colour, with frayed tips and tiny creases along the lengths of their fibres. The details were astounding!

This can't be… Am I really seeing this?!

She needed to know that it was real; she desperately needed to see something else. Her first instinct was to look at her own hands. And when she held them out in front of her, she saw that just like the flowers, the details of her hands were as vivid as ever. She could see the distinct shapes of her fingers and the wrinkled skin at their joints. She could see the tiny ridges on the surface of her nails, and the texture of her skin graced by lines as fine as threads of silk; they were barely visible, yet she could see them with absolute clarity. At that moment, she knew that it was real!

An intense rush of life flowed through her body, and she sprung up, sitting straight in her bed and inhaling a deep gasp of air, as if taking her first breath after waking from a long and endless coma. She felt as if she had been brought back from the dead, and her heart was pounding with the awe of life.

Her brand new eyes gazed out into the world – every colour, every shape, every line and every texture… all reached out and grabbed her soul. The visual sensations were like fireworks simultaneously going off inside her brain, and she could barely decipher all the things she was seeing.

But then one image startlingly jumped out above everything – suddenly, she found herself staring into a pair of large brown eyes, opened wide and staring back at her. She gasped, not expecting to see someone there. Or rather she had forgotten what it was like to see anyone at all… and this was a less-than-gentle introduction.

After initial surprise subsided, she looked at the little face in front of her, with large round eyes full of simple inquisitiveness… and she realised it was a little girl sitting at the end of her bed. It seemed like the girl had been sitting there for a while, watching her, perhaps even through those previous moments of turmoil when she thought she had been alone. Now suddenly, she felt naked and exposed… and she reactively pulled the blanket in her lap up to her chest.

The little girl tilted her head and looked at her curiously, studying her. "Can you see now?" she asked, her little voice full of childish innocence.

Mia recognised this voice – it was the first familiar thing since waking up in this strange new world, and at that moment, she felt like she had come home.

"L…Lily…?" Mia stammered, barely able to utter a word. "Is that… you…?"

The little girl smiled and gave a big, proud nod.

Mia tried to speak, but no words came out; she just stared in reverence at the vision in front of her. She felt like she wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time, and these emotions bubbled inside her for the longest time… until finally, it all poured out… and she simply cried.

She cried with happiness because she could see the world again; she could see the people around her – those that she'd come to care about… and she could look into their eyes and know their joys and pains; she could share their world and all their experiences… and she'll no longer be alone – no longer be trapped in a senseless and disconnected world.

Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. When the Lily saw this, she stared at her with her little brows furrowed with worry.

"What's wrong, Mia?" Lily fretted, as she inched closer and tugged at her arm. "Are you sad? Don't cry, Mia… please don't cry."

Mia reached out and cupped the girl's cheeks in her hands. "Oh no, I'm not sad, sweetheart," she said, smiling and sniffling through her tears. "I'm crying because I'm happy! You see, sometimes when people are really, really happy… they also cry."

She stared at the worried little face in her hands, and smoothed her thumbs over her soft, round cheeks. She studied her little button nose and pouted lips… and her soft, brown curls that framed her cherub cheeks. But what captivated her most were the child's large brown eyes, full of innocence that was so pure and untainted, it could only come from not having seen the true, ugly nature of the world. In those eyes, Mia saw a reflection of her own lost childhood that she so dearly missed.

She ran her hand through the child's soft hair, and watched each strand slip through the gaps of her fingers. "I can't believe it," she whispered in reverence. "It's really you. I mean… I can see you – I can see everything…"

Lily pulled away and shuffled back slightly. She climbed onto her knees and sat crouched on the bed like a little pup, staring at Mia. "Did the doctor make your eyes all better?" she asked.

"Yes, he did."

"I go to the doctor when I'm sick too! He gives me medicine that makes me better." Then Lily thought for a moment. "Why didn't you go to the doctor before?"

"Well, I've been to many doctors before… but none of them could fix my eyes," said Mia. "But this time… we had something very special – something better than any medicine."

"What did you have?" Lily asked, with such genuine intrigue that children always have.

Mia paused for a moment.

"We had Quinlan," she smiled.

"Quinlan…" the girl repeated, scrunching her nose. "You mean that weird man?"

"Weird? I suppose," Mia laughed, "if by weird you mean different. You see, Quinlan is different… but different isn't necessarily bad, you know?"

Lily stared at her with confusion.

"Hmm…" she wondered how to explain such a thing to a child. Then, an idea popped into her head. "Tell me, do you like superheroes?" she asked.

"Uh huh," Lily nodded. "My brother likes The Avengers! We watch the movies together. I like Thor… and Iron Man. They're my favourite!"

"Well, all superheroes are a little weird, aren't they?" Mia suggested. "They're not like everyone else – they're different. They all look kinda strange, and have strange powers… and some of them aren't really human. See, that's just like Quinlan."

Lily's eyes lit up. "Is Quinlan a superhero?" she asked with amazement. "Is that how he fixed your eyes? With his superpowers?"

Mia laughed. "Yeah… I guess so."

"Really?! He's a real superhero?!" her wide eyes beamed. She climbed down from the bed and hopped excitedly to Mia's side. "What other powers does he have?" she asked, tugging at Mia's arm as if to pull her out of bed. "Can he show me? I wanna see, I wanna see! I wanna see a real superhero!"

The girl's excitement was infectious, and suddenly Mia found herself just as eager as a child to see all the magic in the world. In a way, she was indeed a child again – she had been reborn… and everything in the world was new and exciting.

She pulled off the covers and looked down at her pale, bare feet. She wriggled her toes and smiled seeing them again. Then she swung around and stepped down onto the cold, concrete floor… and she stood up onto her feet. Her legs felt steady that morning, and her body felt strong. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she felt so good.

She looked down at little Lily standing at her legs, and with a burst of happiness, she swooped her up into her arms and lifted her high above her head.

"If I was a superhero, I'd want to fly!" Mia exclaimed, as she twirled around, holding Lily high up in the air.

Lily tilted her head back and laughed happily and freely, squealing with the untamed excitement of a child. Such pure and innocent joy; it was one of the few beautiful things left in this world. At that moment, Mia promised herself would do anything to protect that innocence. She lowered the girl down into her arms and hugged her tightly against her chest. She pressed her cheek against her soft hair, and closed her eyes as she paused in the pure joy of the moment.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway… and they stopped outside the bedroom door.

Mia opened her eyes.

She set Lily back down onto the ground, and then stood to attention, staring towards the half open door. She didn't know who she was expecting to be there, but for some reason her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She felt the same nervous anticipation that she had felt earlier, except this time, there was no fear – just unbearable excitement that made her heart flutter.

Slowly, the door creaked open… and against the dark hallway outside, she saw a silhouette standing in the doorframe. He wore a dark jacket, and had a bare head with no hair.

Chapter Text

The figure at the door walked into the room, and as he stepped out of the dark corridor and into the light, Mia saw a handsome, dark-eyed man with a gentle and friendly face.

He stopped when he saw her standing there… and he looked at her with an expression like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated.

For a moment, their eyes locked… and in his eyes, she found a sense of familiarity. His eyes showed a man with a mild demeanour, who at times appeared almost lost and vulnerable. But at the same time, in those dark grey eyes, she saw a stubborn intelligence that held a darker disposition. She recognised these eyes, as well as a virility about him that was not like other men – it was not brute or physical, but a reflection of his mind and intellect, and the etiquettes of a once civilised world that he seemed unwilling to leave behind.

"Eph!" she cried, as she recognised her friend standing before her.

His eyes grew wide when she called his name. He almost cried out with excitement… but then uncertainty held him back – he wanted to be sure that it was indeed what he assumed. So he looked at her, searching for the answer in her eyes… and when he saw the way she was looking back at him, he knew without a doubt that the procedure had worked. From the glimmer in her eyes and the expression on her face… and the depth of her gaze locked unwaveringly onto his, he could tell that she wasn't merely looking at him, but she was seeing him… all of him… as the man that he was, standing before her. For the first time, he saw recognition in her eyes, and it was all he ever wanted since the day he promised her he would finish Doctor Price's work.

His mouth fell agape with a big, gawking smile that made him look like a child on Christmas morning, seeing all his presents under the tree.

"You… can see me…" he stammered with excitement. Before he finished stumbling over his words, she ran to him and threw her arms around him in happiness.

"Eph… it's you!"

He caught her in his arms, and at that moment he felt like he never wanted to let go. He squeezed her ever so tightly, with his cheek pressed firmly against her temple, trying to savour every little bit of this unlikely reality. He was afraid that if he let her go, he would find that it was all just a dream.

Suddenly and uncontrollably, tears filled his eyes – they were tears of joy, relief and triumph. But the triumph wasn't only hers; it was his as well, for he felt like he had accomplished more at that moment than he had in his entire medical career… and he suddenly remembered why, all those years ago, as a young man full of hopes and dreams, he decided to become a doctor – he wanted to make a difference… and he finally did.

"I can't believe it!" he cried, after a long moment of silent reverence. "It worked… I can't believe it worked!"

"I know…" she smiled, with her eyes closed and her chin on his shoulder.

"This . . . I just can't . . ." his words began and ended without any form, as there was nothing he could think to say… and so he simply laughed. He cackled uncontrollably with overwhelming joy, and she laughed with him, even though there was nothing funny… but their laughter was a substitute for the words they couldn't find.

The two of them stood like drunkards, both laughing and crying at the same time, while holding each other in an avid embrace and swaying from side to side. When their fit of exuberance finally ended with a sigh, Ephraim pulled back from the embrace and held her by her shoulders.

"Holy shit, Mia… this is incredible!" he exclaimed, looking into her eyes. "You can really see me?"

She nodded, as her eyes scanned his face, noting all the details that she could see, while remembering those same details from many years ago. She never told him this, but the first time she saw him was at one of his conferences in Atlanta – it must've been more than ten years ago now. She was sitting in the audience, fifth row from the stage, on which he stood immaculately, with lights and cameras flashing in his face.

It was a press conference where Doctor Goodweather spoke on behalf of the CDC, covering up a trail of faulty US-made vaccines that were being distributed in south-east Asia. Mia didn't remember much of what he said that night, but she remembered his face – she remembered it vividly because he was constantly looking in her direction that night. But he wasn't looking at her – she was only nineteen then, bare-faced and plainly dressed – not much to look at for a man ten years her senior, and who was constantly surrounded by extravagant women. That night, his gaze had been on two female journalists who were sitting in front of her; they were beautifully made-up, with red lips and styled hair, wearing fitted suits that seemed to accentuate every part of the femininity. Ephraim frequently looked over at them; he would smile and make gestures with his eyes, and they would giggle like schoolgirls and whisper to each other about how attractive he was.

Mia remembered turning to Doctor Price, who was sitting beside her at the time, and remarking how unprofessional these ladies were, and then went on to say, "If they paid more attention to the facts rather than his looks, maybe they'd realise that he's lying about the vaccines!"

Doctor Price simply smiled and said, "Shhh… I want hear what he's saying." Then after that, Mia sat quietly with her own thoughts.

She remembered how angry she was that night – angry at a complete stranger for standing up there in his expensive suit and perfect hair, smiling at the audience with his charming smile, and looking them straight in the eyes as he told them blatant lies. She remembered despising the kind of man that he was, but at the same time, she had been in complete awe of him, though she never would've admitted it back then. And perhaps that night, a part of her had been a little angry that he never once looked at her.

How things have changed since that night at the conference – she wasn't nineteen anymore, though still bare-faced and nothing like those two beautiful journalists… yet somehow, he was looking at her now… and she was looking at him. She realised that she had judged him harshly back then, for underneath that suit, he was merely a man. Now, as she looked at him standing before her with tears in his eyes, she saw the man beneath the suit, stripped of all his airs… and he suddenly looked different to how she remembered – it wasn't because he had shaved his luscious brown locks, and that his expensive suit had been replaced by a knitted blue sweater and dark denim jeans; it wasn't the fact that he had aged ten years since then, and that he looked tired and worn like everyone else in this god-forsaken world; it was something in his eyes – a hidden pain. Perhaps it had always been there, but she never saw it until now.

"Well?" Ephraim asked, looking at her with anticipation. "Is this how you imagined me to look?"

"I imagined you with more hair," she grinned, deciding not to tell him that she had seen him all those years ago.

He chuckled, running his hand over the thin layer of hair growing back on his head. "I figured it's easier to maintain… seeing as there aren't many barber shops around these days," he said. Then his gaze wavered when he saw her large, deep eyes staring back at him. He turned away slightly, rubbing his chin and suddenly wondering when was the last time he shaved. He suddenly felt naked and self-conscious in front of her, and he had never felt that way in front of a woman; he was usually proud and confident. But then again, he didn't have much left to be proud about.

"It suits you," she quickly said, sensing his insecurity.

He gave her a smile without looking into her eyes.

"Oh!" he suddenly remembered as he glanced across the room. He walked over to the bed and picked up the bunch of purple flowers on the bedside table. "I got these for you," he said, bringing the flowers to her. "To be honest, I didn't think the procedure would work… but I thought… if it did… then the first thing you see should be something beautiful. So I picked these for you. They're just from the side of the road, nothing special…"

The first thing you see should be something beautiful… she lingered on those words. The flowers were indeed beautiful, but they were not the first thing she wanted to see.

"Thank you," she said, taking the flowers from his hand and bringing them to her nose like it was habit, though the flowers had no fragrance. "You know, they actually were the first thing I saw," she smiled… as genuinely as she could. She did truly feel grateful for his friendship and his kind gestures, and she always wished she could give him more in return.

There were other footsteps coming down the corridor now… and moments later, a group of people gushed into the room, eager to see what was happening. There were two men… a boy… and a dark skinned girl – too many faces for her mind to process all at once, and suddenly she felt like she was in a room full of strangers.

"Well?!" a loud and enthusiastic voice called out. "Did it work or not?"

That voice… Vasiliy Fet.

She looked towards the man that spoke – he was a tall, well-built man, whose age was hidden by his scruffy black hair and ungroomed beard. But his voice and his demeanour suggested he was a younger man than Doctor Goodweather; perhaps in his early thirties, closer to Mia's age. He was dressed the way one would expect an ex army veteran to dress – tactical and masculine, with dark and solid colours. His one-sided smirk was exactly the cockiness Mia expected to see… but what she didn't except was the sensitivity hidden in his hard, stoic eyes.

Next to him was an older man, late forties, who looked like he didn't belong in the city but on a ranch somewhere down south. He wore a faded green flannel jacket, old denim jeans and heavy, brown boots. His dark hair and beard were laced with silver strands, reflecting his age, complemented by the lines around his eyes and forehead that accentuated his serious and brooding expression. By the look on his face, Mia could tell he was a man of few words, stubborn morals, and valiant character.

He must be Noah, she thought. Beside him stood a teenage boy who was the spitting image of his father, with the same deep, dark eyes, and strong nose and heavy brows. But despite these features, he didn't look ready to become a man, though the world didn't seem to give him a choice. Although he stood tall and strong like his father, he was still just a boy, and his stoicism barely masked his fears.

Finally, Mia's gaze shifted to the dark-skinned girl standing in the corner of the room. She knew in an instant that it was Malaika – not because of her dark skin that matched her exotic voice… but because of the way she stood withdrawn from everyone else, and her cold demeanour as she crossed her arms and leaned back uncaringly against the wall. She had wiry black hair that was cut all the way back to her head, accentuating the prominent shape of her skull, as well as her exotic features – she had thick lips and high cheekbones, and a long neck that brought some elegance to her otherwise harsh features. She wore a studded leather jacket that seemed out of place, yet it complimented her perfectly at the same time.

When Mia looked at her, her eyes lit up and her chin lifted a little with some sort of response.

"Guys… it worked!" Ephraim exclaimed, answering the question on everyone's minds. "The blood transfusion worked! She can see!"

"Well I'll be damned," Vasiliy muttered, with genuine surprise on his face. "So that freaky white blood actually works."

"Yeah," said Ephraim, his eyes flickering with thoughts. "The blood actually works better than I thought."

"You know, Mia," said Vasiliy, "I really thought I was gonna walk in here to find you with your eyes burned out by that acid."

Mia lauhed. "Oh…" she said, raising one eyebrow, "Thanks for picturing me with my eyes burned out – that's quite a lovely image."

"Speaking of lovely images… now you finally get to see this," Vasiliy grinned, pointing to himself. "In case you're wondering who's this fine specimen you're looking at… it's me… Fet."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out," she teased. "And I'm guessing this is Noah…" she nodded towards him, "and Daniel… and Malaika…"

Her gaze lingered a little longer on Malaika, who looked at her in return. Although they said no words to each other, they shared a look that spoke more than words… and their silent conversation ended when Malaika said, with a slight smirk, "I guess you will see me around…" before she stood up and walked out the door.

Mia turned back to Noah.

"I'm glad it worked," he simply said, not witty enough to make a joke like Vasiliy, and not sentimental enough to share her joy like Ephraim. "You got a whole lot of catching up to do with the world… but I gotta warn you, it ain't all pretty." He walked to Mia and put his hand on her shoulder, in a way that was almost fatherly. "Either way… I'm glad," he said, with a smile in his eyes that didn't extend to his face.

"Me too," she whispered, showing a faint smile that returned his sentiment.

Then Noah turned to his children and ushered them towards the door. "Come on, guys… go get dressed and head on downstairs for breakfast. Then after that, make sure you finish your homework from yesterday, okay?"

"It's the end of the world and you're making your kids do homework?" Vasiliy exclaimed.

Noah paused in the doorway, where he stood watching his children scamper down the hallway. "The only thing you can do with knowledge is keep passing it on," he muttered. "And maybe one day, they can use that knowledge to rebuild the world."

The others had all left the room, and it was just Vasiliy, Ephraim and Mia left standing there now.

"Come on, I'll show you around," Vasiliy said to Mia. "I guess you already know this place, but I'm sure you wanna see everything, right?"

"Um… sure…"

"Woah, wait a sec… guys…" Ephraim suddenly intercepted, holding out his hands to stop them from leaving. There was urgency and excitement in his voice. "I think I might have an idea…"

"Ok, I know that look on your face, Doc. What's goin' on?"

"Well… you know how scarce medicine is these days, right? And how valuable it is…" Ephraim continued, his eyes growing wider as he spoke. "Well, we just might have something even better medicine!"

He looked back and forth between Vasiliy and Mia with excitement and anticipation, like a comedian waiting for laughter from his audience after telling a joke. But in this case, his audience didn't seem to understand the joke, as they looked at him with confusion.

"I'm talking about Quinlan's blood!" he exclaimed. "That stuff works better than any medicine out there! It can heal almost anything – wounds, infections… and god knows what else. People are gonna want this stuff! We can extract it, and find a way to distribute it."

"What?!" Mia uttered, with pure shock on her face.

"No no no… that's a baaad idea," said Vasiliy, shaking his head. "We can't go around injecting people with that stuff…" then he turned to Mia and said offhandedly, "no offense…"

"Why not? Don't tell me you haven't considered its usefulness…" Ephraim maintained.

"Of course I have! But then I thought about it, and I realised… who knows what that stuff will do to ya! I mean… maybe it'll slowly kill ya… or even worse, turn you into whatever the hell he is!"

"That's not possible; Quinlan isn't infectious," Ephraim argued. "Besides, look at Mia – she's fine after the transfusion."

"Yeah, for now…"

"Just think about it, Fet. We're low on resources, we barely have any food left, and we have absolutely nothing of value to trade. But Quinlan's blood… that's gonna be more valuable than anything… and we're the only ones who have it."

"Oh my god…" Mia uttered, shaking her head in horror. "Listen to what you're saying, Eph – you're talking about harvesting Quinlan's blood for your own profit… like it's some sort of commodity! Has it occurred to you that this is a person we're talking about?!"

"A person," Vasiliy chuckled to himself, "now that's being liberal…"

Mia's brows furrowed and her frustration grew.

"It's not just for profit," Ephraim replied. "It can save lives. It's no different to when people donate their blood."

"Donate their blood? A second ago you were just talking about mass distribution!" Mia cried. "Don't even pretend that's the same thing as donating blood!"

"Ok… but what if he agreed to it?"

"Ha!" Vasiliy laughed, "Good luck asking him!"

"We just need to convince him somehow… make him realise how it can benefit everyone. The only person who has a chance of convincing him is you," he said to Mia. "He seems to trust you… so maybe you could talk to him."

"You want me to exploit his trust and convince him to let us use him?!" She was almost screaming now, burning with rage. She always knew the others saw Quinlan as something less than human… but this time it went too far – Ephraim spoke about him like he was merely a thing to be used, while Vasiliy didn't even give him that liberty. She felt shaken with outrage and disgust. What was worse was that these were people she considered friends; people who she had come to trust and respect… and now she felt ever so betrayed and suddenly alone.

She couldn't stand there any longer. She pushed past Ephraim and stormed of the room. "If you want his blood, go ask him yourself," she heard herself rasping on her way out, though she had no control of her words or her actions at that point.

She walked down the hallway, not knowing where she was going. Everything suddenly seemed so different in this place, even though she knew the walls and the rooms… but nothing quite seemed the same. The world was all new to her again, and already she felt like she wanted to escape from it.

At the end of the hallway, just before the stairs, she found herself turning into the bathroom on the left. The small, dark and windowless room hardly felt like an escape… but none-the-less, it was somewhere where she could be alone for a while. She closed the door behind her, shutting out the light from the hallway. Darkness surrounded her, and somehow the world was familiar once again… despite how much she hated the dark.

With her eyes closed, leaning back against the door, she replayed the previous moment over and over in her head. But the more she thought about it, the more she began to reflect on herself. She began to realise that maybe she had been guilty of the same sin that she just condemned Ephraim for. Not long ago, she had been angry at Quinlan for not telling her about his blood… and perhaps even angry at him for not offering it to her. But what right did she have to expect that of him? Was her sense of entitlement no different to Ephraim's just now? The realisation was stark and disheartening; it reminded her how truly flawed humanity was, including her own… but she was determined to prove to Quinlan that she could be different from the rest.

She stood herself straight and took a deep breath, and then searched for a light switch on the wall next to the door. Upon finding it and flicking it on, the room lit up in a dim, yellow glow, by a single bulb in the middle of the ceiling. Her sensitive eyes squinted in the light, and she reached for the sink in front of her to steady herself, as the details of the room came flying at her all at once.

Leaning over the sink, she looked down at the cracked white ceramic, stained brown by rust and residue left from the water. Her eyes were drawn to every mark and every imperfection, as she couldn't help but absorb all the details that she could see. In this new, visual world, details were magnetic to her eyes.

Then she noticed her hands gripping the edge of the sink. Somehow, the sight of them still appeared so foreign to her, like they belonged to someone else, even though they were attached to her own body. She turned them over and looked at her palms, at the long and deep lines where fortune-tellers would read a person's fate; she wondered what they would have seen in hers. She followed one of these lines down to her wrist, where faint blue veins ran beneath her pale, translucent skin. Captivated by the sight, she moved her fingers across her skin, and for the first time, she was able to match the sensation at her fingertips to the textures that she could see.

She thought about how Quinlan's blood now ran deep within those veins, and she found herself wondering if her body should feel any different than it did before; any less… mortal. Surely, something about her must have changed; something greater than just her eyes. She paused for a moment in that thought, and in the sensations of her body, searching for something that felt different to before. But the feeling wasn't there; she felt more or less the same.

She lifted her head… and suddenly, she jumped with fright as she saw a frail and dishevelled woman staring back at her. This woman was a stranger to her, but yet she looked ever so familiar.

She leaned forward, slowly and hesitating, as she looked into the mirror in front of her above the sink. The woman in the mirror looked back at her; her eyes were wide and unblinking, and she looked just as bewildered as Mia felt. Her thick, brown hair was long and knotted, falling messily down to her waist as she hadn't bothered to cut it for many years. And the once rich chocolate colour had now lost its lustre, and it looked dull and faded, like the rest of the colour in the world. Her once round and rosy cheeks were now pale and gaunt, and there was a dullness in her eyes made her appear rather lifeless.

So this is me… she thought, tucking her hair back behind her ears. The person in the mirror was not the girl she left behind, but a woman now… who had aged with the times, both body and soul, and she bore the marks of everything that had happened to her. But she wasn't pleased or disappointed with the way she looked; the feeling was simply acceptance… and reunion.

As she continued to stare at her reflection in the mirror, she suddenly noticed something very peculiar – the colour of one of her eyes was blue. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She leaned right up to the mirror, her nose almost touching it, as she studied her eyes in close detail. Her left eye looked exactly as she remembered – hazel brown, with a slight green hue around the outer ring. But the colour of her right eye had completely changed – somehow it had turned blue! And it wasn't just a regular shade of blue… but a pale, icy blue that almost looked translucent. She was completely mystified by the sight!

It was… impossible… magical…

It was beautiful!

Chapter Text

Mia stayed in the bathroom for a long time, captivated by the woman in the mirror – she wanted know everything about her, and discover all the things that she had missed in their years apart. It was like becoming reacquainted with an old friend – there was so much to catch up on, and it seemed like all the time in the world wasn't enough. But as much as she wanted to stay and make up for lost time, something else called to her, beckoning her away – the world outside was waiting for her.

When Ephraim heard the bathroom door open, he gingerly poked his head out from his bedroom door at the end of the hallway.

"Mia…" he hesitated.

She turned to him, and he was relieved to see that she no longer seemed angry.

"Hey, um… about before…" he approached her cautiously, as one would approach a butterfly without wanting it to fly away, "I know you were upset, and you don't agree with me… but I was only trying to do what's best for us. We have to survive… and to do that, we have to put our own kind first. I… I care about you, Mia… and Fet too; your lives matter more to me than some…" he stopped. Than some creature that isn't even human… he was going to say …that isn't one of us. But even though he didn't say it out loud, somehow she knew.

"I don't get it," she said, shaking her head. "Quinlan has been with you guys this whole time. He's been helping you… fighting for you… and all I did was betray you the first time we met. Yet somehow, he still matters less…"

"He's resilient," Ephraim replied, "but we're not. We could die tomorrow… of any number of things. But none of that affects him; he'll be okay no matter what."

"How do you know that?" she asked, her stern gaze confronting his. "How can you be so sure that he'll be okay? I've seen him wounded… I've seen him broken and exhausted… just like the rest of us. But unlike us, he doesn't have anyone looking out for him – nobody cares what happens to him. Eph…" she stepped forward, grabbing his arm and looking up at him, "we should be the ones protecting him rather than selling him out to the world. Can you imagine what people will do if they find out about him? About his blood? They'll tear him apart!"

Ephraim sighed as he looked down and rubbed the back of his head – a habitual gesture for when he was upset or frustrated, or simply lost for words. He opened his mouth and inhaled a short breath as if he was about to speak… but no words followed. He paused for a moment, and then inhaled a deeper breath. "It seems like you and Quinlan are… becoming close…" he muttered, looking away from her.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, taken aback, and using every extent of her new gift of sight to read his expression.

"I just mean that… I feel like maybe you're starting to see him as a… friend," he shrugged, trying to seem casual even though he was obviously awkward. "I think you should be careful, that's all. You know he's not human, right? I mean, of course you know that… but you've never seen him. Maybe if you actually saw what he is…" his words trailed off as he suddenly found himself distracted by her eyes and the way they were staring at him – they were large and captivating, and quivering ever so slightly, capturing the tiniest amount of light in the dark hallway and making it shimmer in their reflection.

As he looked at her eyes, he suddenly noticed something he didn't notice before. "Woah…" he uttered, leaning in and looking more closely. "One of your eyes changed colour – did you know that? I've never seen anything like it! It must be Quinlan's blood… it somehow triggered a mutation of some sort…"

He leaned even closer now, his face right in front of hers, as he examined her like a scientist examining some sort of strange specimen. Somehow it felt strangely dehumanizing, and she couldn't help lower her gaze away from his. He seemed to notice this, and stopped and leaned back.

"Do you feel any different?" he asked. "I mean, apart from being able to see. Do you feel… strange in any way?"

"No," she shrugged. "I feel perfectly fine."

"Hmm ok, well let's hope Fet wasn't right about the blood having any other effects. We wouldn't want Fet to be right about something," he smiled, attempted to joke. She gave him a brief smile in return, without looking up.

"Anyway," he continued, "as I was saying before… I just want you to be careful. You shouldn't get too close to Quinlan – we don't really know anything about him. Just because he hasn't hurt any of us yet, it doesn't mean that he won't. We can't forget that his kind are inherently dangerous."

"His kind?"

"Well, he is part strigoi…"

"But he's also part human," she reminded, finally looking up to meet his eyes again. She held his gaze for a moment… but then turned away. "I appreciate the warning, Eph – I really do… and I know you're just looking out for me."

"Just promise me you'll be careful," he pleaded.

"I promise…"

Although her words were in agreeance, he could see defiance in her eyes… and he knew there was nothing he could do to truly convince her. Her stubbornness frustrated him… perhaps because it rivalled his own, yet at the same time, that was what he liked about her. He always seemed to be drawn to women who challenged him… just like how it was with Kelly. Maybe because he always mistook fire for passion… until it burned out of control.

He suddenly found himself wondering that if in another life he had married Mia instead of Kelly, would it have still ended the same way? Would they have spent long nights yelling and screaming at each other? And would those nights have ended with her tears and his drinking habit? He wanted to believe that it would've been different with Mia; that he wouldn't have hurt her the way he hurt Kelly. Maybe he would've come home all those nights he spent with his head buried in his work… or between another woman's legs; maybe he would've come home…

No – who was he kidding? If he didn't come home for Zack, he wouldn't have come home for anyone – not for Mia, not for Kelly… not for anyone. He never loved any soul more than he loved his son, even though he never showed it when he had the chance… and now he'll never have the chance again.

"Anyway," Mia interrupted his thoughts, "I'm going outside for some fresh air; it would be nice to see the sky again."

"Wait," he called to her as she already started to walk away. "You can't go out there; it's dangerous."

"But it's day time," she said. "We're safe from his kind…" She paused after those words, lingering on their significance; they both knew that the real dangers were from their own kind. She could've easily used the irony against him, but she didn't… and in a way, that hurt him even more. She didn't stick around to see the bitterness in Ephraim's expression; she turned and continued down the hallway towards the stairs.

At the top of the stairs looking out into the open warehouse, Mia saw its vastness for the first time, and she suddenly felt as if she was standing inside a giant leviathan, with steel beams for its skeleton and a belly full of old and rusted junk that it had swallowed up. From the top of the stairs, she could see the entire ground floor – it was a single, large space with a high metal-panelled ceiling, and large concrete columns that stood spaced throughout the room. The warehouse was dark and shielded from the sun, except for a few ghostly rays of light passing through the dust in the air, beaming across the darkness from the small windows high above.

Within these walls, Mia felt all the more curious about the outside world, and the glimpses of sunlight from the windows made her ever so eager to stand beneath the vast sky and look up towards it with her arms stretched out.

She skipped down the stairs and rushed past Vasiliy without even noticing him, or hearing him call out, "Hey, where are you going?" She barely noticed Noah and the children sitting at the table across the room, looking up at her as she passed them by… or little Lily holding up her book and proudly declaring that she had learned a new word. Her eyes were set on the door across the room; the door to the outside world… and at that moment, nothing else existed to her.

Her heart raced as she stood before the door. She reached for the doorknob and wrapped her hand around the cold, metal bulb. She didn't stop to think, not even for second – with a deep breath, she pulled open the heavy door, and its rusty hinges creaked and wailed, echoing through the empty space.

Immediately, the bright sunlight hit her face and veiled her with its glare. It brought a slight sensation of warmth before it quickly disintegrated into the cool breeze. She closed her eyes for a moment as the breeze filtered through her hair, lifting each strand like gentle fingers combing through her hair. The breeze carried the smell of smoke and rubble – the smell of war. It was nothing new to her – she knew all the smells and sounds of the city; she knew it better than anyone because it was all she had. But it was the sight of the city that she had never known.

She opened her eyes and peered behind the curtain of light… and in front of her emerged a world that she had never seen before. She looked upon it with her eyes wide open, bewildered by the sight. And before she knew it, her feet had ignored her hesitation and unwittingly stepped through the door, carrying her out onto the desolate city street.

She looked around in daze, taken aback by the colourless sight around her. She didn't know what she was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this. She wasn't so naïve as to except green meadows or fields of flowers, but still, she expected freedom to look… different. Instead, this world was just as grey as inside the warehouse, and she felt just as imprisoned as she did within the walls, but now by the enormous industrial structures that stood looming over her, suddenly making her feel ever so small and insignificant.

She stood in the middle of the street, with cracked pavement beneath her feet, looking down the long, narrow road as it was the only path she could take – a sliver of freedom wedged between towering buildings on either side. The buildings were all torn and broken, barely hollow shells stripped of their components, as fallen pieces of their glass, steel, and brick lay scattered across the ground. She felt as if she had returned to earth some thousands of years in the future, only to find a wasteland left behind by her long-dead ancestors. This certainly wasn't the world she expected to see, but she would be lying if she said it wasn't beautiful… in some strange, tragic way.

But despite the beauty she could try to find in all of this, she felt as if her soul would decay along with this city if she stayed here too long. She needed to get away from it all… away from these looming buildings before they swallowed her with their gaping black holes. She tilted her head back and looked up at the narrow strip of sky above her, like a frog in a well looking up at a small glimpse of freedom. The sky was a reminder that larger world existed beyond these walls. As she gazed across the city skyline, she imagined herself flying over these building tops, soaring across the sky with nothing standing in her way… and she could go wherever she wanted; she could search for the green meadows within this grey wasteland.

Suddenly, amidst her fantasy, something on a nearby rooftop caught her eye, drawing her attention like beacon in the dark – it was a figure standing on top of the ruins of a tall concrete building, perfectly silhouetted against the pale blue sky. The figure stood as still as a statue, and one would think it was carved out of stone if it were not for the figure's long coat fluttering behind him in the wind – it was the only thing that moved; the only thing that told he was real.

The figure was neither the vision of a caped-crusader, nor a monstrous gargoyle lurking on a rooftop… but there was something other-worldly about the way he stood – he seemed unmovable, almost too infallible to be human… and he seemed as ageless and indestructible as the old building itself, like he had been standing there through the ages of time.

As Mia looked up at this figure, this dark deity watching over the city, she suddenly felt as if he was looking right back at her. Even though she knew he couldn't possibly have seen her from up there – he was too far away… too high above the world to have noticed her down there – but somehow, some strange, inexplicable feeling told her that he knew she was there. She felt connected to him, and to the building on which he stood… as if she had been there before, and a part of her remained there, standing beside him.

She knew this feeling was real; it was not imagined, nor a dream. That building, she soon realised, was the old grain terminal… the place where he brought her on that cold and rainy night. She had indeed been there before… and stood up there beside him at the top of the world. Of course that's where he would be now, almost as if he knew that's where she would look.

Chapter Text

Ephraim stepped out onto the street, looking left and right down the long and empty road. When he saw her, she was already far away – just a small figure at the end of the road, slowly disappearing amongst the giant, industrial structures. He didn't intend on following her; he just wanted to know where she was going. But as he stood there watching her walk away, a part of him itched to run after her.

"Just let her go," a voice called out, as if it had read his mind. He turned around to see Vasiliy standing behind him in the doorway of the warehouse, watching him as he watched Mia.

"When women want you to follow them, they usually walk a lot slower than that."

"It's not safe out there…" Ephraim murmured, gazing down the road.

"Well that's her choice," Vasiliy shrugged. "Sometimes people have to learn the hard way."

"How can you be so indifferent all the time?" Ephraim chided. "Does it hurt to care just for once?"

"Care? Don't forget I risked my life to go back for her at the apartment – I've done my part. It's not on us to follow her into trouble every time she goes looking for it."

"Yeah, you would know all about trouble when it comes to women," Ephraim muttered under his breath. Although he argued with Vasiliy, his feet carried him back towards his friend and the safety of the warehouse; the road outside was not for him.

"How is Dutch anyway?" Ephraim asked somewhat snidely as he walked past Vasiliy in the doorway. "Got any more jobs from her lately? You know, I think it's funny how you're the one telling me not to go after Mia, and yet you'd go to the end of the world for the woman who broke your heart… even now, after everything."

Vasiliy remained quiet, leaning against the open door with his arms crossed and a discontented look on his face. It was unlike him to not have a witty comeback of some sort, and moments like these reminded Ephraim that maybe not everything is a joke to him after all… as much as he acted like things were. Ephraim wondered if he had crossed the line by bringing up Dutch.

"It's over between us," Vasiliy finally said as he uncrossed his arms and stood up. He closed the door behind him and stood with his hands on his hips. "It's been over for a long time. I'm not doing any more jobs for her… or for Nemesis. I want nothing to do with them."

"What? Then what about our supplies?" Ephraim suddenly fretted. "Don't get me wrong, I don't like the idea of working for Nemesis any more than you do, but we need them."

"The whole city's turning to shit and Nemesis can't save us for much longer… any more than they could save themselves. The only way to survive is to get the hell outta this place." Vasiliy's mood was different now – it was dark… and heavy for a man who usually liked to make light of things.

"We'll never make it on our own," Ephraim demurred. "We need to work together with Nemesis. They have the numbers and the resources… and they have connections in other cities. They're our only chance of getting out of here."

"No," Vasiliy said adamantly, shaking his head. "I'm not crawling back to them for help."

"Is that what this is about? Your pride? Well I'm not dying for your pride. If you won't ask for help, then I will."

"You don't get it," he said, still shaking his head. "It's not just about her… it's Des – we can't trust him. That man is insane! He's the one who started this war and turned this city into what it is. What makes you think he'll leave now? If anything, he'd probably wanna stay and revel in the chaos he created."

"You're wrong," Ephraim said with confidence. "I know men like Des – no matter how much they love chaos, they love themselves more. He won't risk his life for this. Believe me, when he realises he's gonna die here, he'll wanna get out… and that's our chance to go with them. Come on Fet, we should at least go talk to him – what do we have to lose?"

Vasiliy sighed, looking away from Ephraim's eager and insistent face, staring at him for a response. He didn't have a response… at least not one that would settle the dispute, and he wasn't in the mood for arguing. He looked across the room towards the children sitting at the table, with their heads in their books studying whatever topics of the old world their father deemed useful. Noah sat quietly beside them, seemingly there to oversee their studies… but upon closer look, Vasiliy noticed that he wasn't really there at all – Noah's mind had drifted once again… and like many times before, he was staring down at the phone in his hand, as if he was waiting for it to ring. And with each day that passed that he stared down at the silent phone, his mind seemed to drift further away. Vasiliy had seen in his eyes that deep down he believed his wife was dead. Maybe now he just stared at the phone out of habit… no longer waiting for her to call.

Vasiliy looked back at Ephraim – there was a look of futility in his eyes.

"Just stay away from Des," he rasped. "Trust me, Nemesis is not the answer… they never have been."

Mia stood at the foot of the towering concrete structure with her head tilted back and looking up to the sky. She could no longer see the dark figure on the roof as the sight of him was now obstructed by the building itself. But from further back she had seen him standing there, high above the world with the breeze in his coat and his face cloaked in darkness beneath his hood. He was an imposing sight, shrouded in mystery as he stood with his back turned to the city… almost like he was telling humanity that he didn't care for their world. His solitary presence seemed uninviting of any company… but she hoped he would make an exception for her.

She stood beneath the ladder that would take her to the rooftop, and her eyes followed it up to the sky – the top of the ladder seemed so far away, where the rungs and the rails converged to a single point before disappearing into the sky. She had climbed this ladder before, that night when he brought her up there, and she remembered how infinitely high it felt. Now standing beneath it and looking up, the sight of it was no less than what she had imagined. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans before taking hold of the rails… and she placed one foot over the other as she started to climb.

High above the ground, the wind picked up – it was no longer the gentle breeze that first greeted her on the streets, but now forceful gusts trying to sweep her off her feet. She pulled her body close to the ladder and held on as tight as she could. The thought of falling sent a chill down her spine – this sensation was new to her… maybe because now she was able to look down and see how far away the ground beneath her was – it was like looking Death straight in the eyes. But no matter how uncomfortable she felt clinging to a flimsy piece of metal on the side of an old concrete colossus, the reward that awaited her at the top was far greater than her fear.

She climbed up higher and higher. The top of the building was just above her now, and with each step she watched the view in front of her rising to meet it. She took another step up… and one more… and suddenly, in front of her eyes emerged a vast, concrete plane that was the rooftop of the building. She paused to take in the sight of it. It was a large, open space against a backdrop of endless sky, empty and barren… yet somehow breathtaking. Up here there were no walls to confine her and no labyrinth of narrow streets like the city below; it was the first sense of freedom she had felt in a long time.

She pulled herself up over the edge and stood on the rooftop, gazing across the rubble-filled surface, decorated by patches of discoloured and aging concrete, and metal chimney-like protrusions rising from the surface… and in the background was a sea of building tops against the vast blue sky. But the details of the landscape only briefly caught her attention… because immediately, without even searching, her eyes were drawn to the dark figure standing on the other side of the roof… and when she saw him, it was like her breath had been stolen right out of her lungs.

He stood like an illusion, unearthly and out of place in this world. His form was sleek yet as solid as a fortress, and the wind swept past him as if he was soaring through the sky. She looked at him from across the plain and she found herself wondering if he really truly existed, because somehow he seemed less real now than he did before, and even though he was there in front of her, she suddenly felt ever so far away from him. She had to go to him; she had to hear his voice and feel his arms around her again like she used to. It didn't matter that she could see him now – she just needed to know that he was real; as real as the man that she had known before.

She started to walk towards him, treading across the rooftop with loose rubble crunching beneath her feet. He didn't turn around to greet her even as she neared him, almost as if he didn't know she was there… but of course he knew – he would have heard her coming, and he would have smelled her scent before she even neared him.

She stopped a few paces behind him, desperately wanting to say something to gain his attention, but it felt like anything she could've said at that moment would've somehow lessened the significance of it… and so she stood quietly, waiting for the right opportunity.

From behind, she could see his muscular form filling out the shape of his large black coat, which hung magnificently from his sturdy frame like the crimson cloaks of Spartan warriors. He was much taller than she imagined, and his form was nothing less than majestic as he stood so dignified and certain of himself; certain of who he was and what he was, despite his hatred for the blood that ran in his veins. Anyone who ever saw him would never have known of the self-loathing he bore, as any hint of it was quashed by his unwavering confidence in the strength he possessed… and he carried himself with this savage confidence. He was every bit the man – and beast – she imagined him to be.

Quinlan… she silently called his name in her mind. Is it really you?

At that moment, the motionless figure in front of her moved, turning his head slightly towards her as if he had heard her thoughts. His body remained as still as a statue facing out towards the bay. Barely looking over his shoulder, his face remained concealed behind his hood, with only the tip of his nose peeking out from behind the shadows, taunting her with a mere glimpse of his face. He lingered like this for a moment… and then turned back towards the bay.

"So the procedure worked…" he said, his voice a gentle, deep hum – unmistakably the same voice that she had come to find comfort in.

"Yeah…" she smiled, "it worked."

She walked up and stood beside him at the edge of the roof, leaning against the concrete ledge just as he did, and looking out at the same view that he was seeing.

"I never thought I'd be standing here looking at the bay," she murmured, her eyes dancing across the dark waters and the half-sunken ships in the shallows. "Or looking at anything, I suppose. Tell me honestly… did you believe it would work? Did you believe your blood would fix my eyes?"

"If I said yes, then I am even more guilty for keeping it a secret from you," he said, looking straight ahead. He seemed distant somehow, and she wasn't sure if the gloom in his voice was remorse or reticence.

She looked up at him… and just as she did, he turned his face away. Though she was able to catch the smallest glimpse of his nose and his lips as they briefly caught the sunlight as he turned. Then after that, all she could see was the side of his hood – the black material veiling his face. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment… but as he didn't turn to face her again, she let her gaze fall away. As much as she longed to see his face, she wouldn't pursue it… just as she knew he would never pursue anything beyond her comfort.

For a long time, they stood in silence, both gazing straight ahead without exchanging a word or a glance… until finally she had to say what had been on her mind since the morning's conversation with Ephraim; however upsetting it was, it made her realise something. 

"Quinlan… I'm sorry…" 

Perplexed by her sudden apology, he glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I'm sorry for how I reacted that night… when I found out about your blood. I shouldn't have been angry."

"You had every right to be angry…"

"No I don't!" she said, suddenly full of vigor. "It should've been your secret to keep; I had no right to feel entitled. Quinlan…" she turned to him now and took hold of his arm; her face was stern and her eyes were intense staring up at him. "Your blood belongs to you and no one else – you don't owe the world anything."

He could feel her large eyes staring fervently up at him, and he resisted their temptation, luring him to look at her. His heart ached at the feel of her coiled around his arm, making him feel like he was a man and not beast… and for a while he almost let himself believe it. But things were different now; she was different… and all it would take is one look…

He sighed.

"It's not for you to justify my actions," he said. "We both know I should have told you the truth from the beginning. You forgive me far too easily for the things I do…and for what I am…"

Her eyes narrowed discerningly. "And what are you?" she asked.

"You know what I am," he replied simply.

"Then show me…"

The gentleness in her voice was like the song of a Siren, calling men to their deaths… and he knew death awaited him if he followed her voice, but it was too late – he already heeded her call; he let himself give in to her a long time ago, knowing he would eventually end up here… and now it was too late to turn back. He slipped his arm out from her embrace and stepped back away from her. Keeping his head lowered, hidden deep beneath his hood, he slowly turned towards her.

The afternoon sun shined brightly behind him, and he eclipsed its light as he turned his body against it. The golden glow surrounded him like a halo, outlining the magnificence of his form… and as he stood facing her, confronting her with his full presence, she suddenly realised how frighteningly powerful he was standing in front of her… and for the first time she understood why others feared him. But she wasn't afraid; she could never be afraid.

She walked towards him and stood as close as she ever would, where she would normally stand to place her hands upon his chest, and then he would wrap his arms around her entirely. But this time it would be different. This time, she looked up at his shadowed face… and her trembling hand slowly reached up towards him. He didn't flinch as her fingers touched the outer rim of his hood, even though he knew what she was about to do; he simply let her. She lifted the material with her fingers, letting light seep into the darkness beneath the hood. The features of his face began to emerge from the depths… and then ever so gently she peeled back his hood until it fell completely from his head.

In that moment, she let out a soft gasp as she reactively took a step back. Her eyes were wide and frozen upon his face, as she was completely taken aback by the sight of him. But her reaction wasn't out of fright; it was because his appearance was so utterly striking, like nothing she could've ever imagined. He was frightening, yes… but frightening beautiful, vicious and unearthly, yet as fine as art.

His skin was as pale as snow, marked by dark lines beneath the surface like veins, weaving in beautifully intricate patterns down the middle of his forehead, beneath his eyes and across his cheekbones. His bone structure was what was most striking and distinctive – his brows were strong and protruding, and naturally furrowed to appear almost menacing; his cheekbones were jutting and not rounded like a human's, but they formed sharp ridges beneath his skin. Their parallel lines complimented the lines of his jaw, which were strong and masculine, but refined and not at all bulky like some primordial barbarian.

Amidst the sharp lines of his face, the one soft feature was his lips – they were a touch of gentleness in his otherwise jarring appearance. His lips were perhaps even alluring, and appearing almost human-like if it were not for the slits in the corners of his mouth, allowing it to open inhumanly wide. But the most human of all his features was his nose – it was thin and prominent, and its profile was perfect enough to be an artist's dream… to photograph, or to paint or sculpt.

Then finally… there was his eyes, like two blue flames burning deep beneath his brows. She could see the ferocity blazing within them, yet they were hesitant in that moment, avoiding her gaze. Their colour was the most beautiful blue she had ever seen – pale and translucent like the colour of a glacier.

The more she studied his features, the more she saw the beauty in their otherworldly appearance. And although his appearance had startled her at first, it now had her completely entranced.

He could feel her eyes dancing across his face, visually consuming every part of him. She didn't say a word this whole time… and her silence was killing him. He wished he knew what she was thinking at that moment, and perhaps her expression might've given a clue… but he couldn't bare to look.

"It's not too late to walk away," he said, his gaze crossing hers for just a brief second before his eyes flickered away again.

"Oh but it is…" she said softly. Then to his surprise, she gently placed her hands upon his chest, just like she always did when she sought affection or protection from him. Her unexpected touch made him suddenly look at her, fully and completely, forgetting every bit of hesitation he had before. He looked straight at her… as her large round eyes looked back at him, honest and guileless, and full of affection.

"You see… the thing is…" she said, biting her lip, "I've already fallen for you, and everything that you are…" She reached up and took his face into her hand. "It's going to take a lot more than this to scare me off," she smiled.

His eyes grew wide, hinting at his surprise although he didn't say a word. Then finally, he lifted his hand and gently brushed his fingers across her cheek. She was able to catch a slight smile on his face before he turned away and leaned back over the ledge.

"You're mad…" he muttered, shaking his head.

She laughed.

Standing beside him once again, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they both looked out over the bay. Except this time, he put his arm around her.

"No…" she murmured, "it's the world that's mad… and we're the only ones who are sane."