Futuristic Rage against the dying of the light (fru x arcsteel)

[Fru]

Silas didn’t say much after they’d exchanged masks. Once again, he found himself being pulled along by her—and once again, he let her. Her concern, however misplaced, stirred something warm in his chest. He let himself linger in that feeling, quietly watching as she took it upon herself to protect them, rifle at the ready in case any Sweepers stormed their hideout.

“Rip. It’s fine,” he protested when she tried to wrest his arm away from the wound. A sigh escaped him. He could knock her out to stop her, technically, but that seemed a bit excessive. And, truthfully, it wouldn’t make any difference. So he just watched her as she muttered, pressure pads in hand—ready to stop a bleeding that should’ve been there. But wasn’t.

He saw her freeze mid-motion, saw the confusion in her face before she went rigid as it dawned on her. It twisted something deep in his chest. Like he’d betrayed her.

And now I‘ll be forced to kill her.

But when their eyes met, no protocols triggered. No switch. No override.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, he tugged his jacket back into place and stepped past her, as if brushing it off.

“‘You’, what? Did you hit your head or breathe in too much neurotoxin?” he muttered, scanning the building as he steadied his rifle. Then, glancing back over his shoulder:

“Let’s move.”

 

[arcsteel]

"No," Rip whispered, more to herself than as a way of answer to the question. She couldn't grasp it. When he walked past her, she just stood there like the fool she'd been all along, with an empty stare into nothingness as her brows slowly knitted together.

The puzzle pieces became clear to her now. They'd been there all along. Some, she'd ignored. Others only made sense now that she realised that the man she'd shared her whole self with wasn't fully human.

Rip gently shook her head, as if brushing away his gruff words. Subconsciously, her hand drifted to the EMP-grenade still hanging from her hip, placing her fingertips on the handle.

"All this time…" she breathed. That's why he didn't hesitate to switch masks, because he could probably breathe the air around them without consequence. That's why he was such a good fighter, sprinter, lover—all of it. He was good at bloody everything. It never occurred to her how strange it was. Well, until now, when the pieces fit. He was unmovable when he wanted to, understood AI tech and how LIZA worked more than most, avoided questions he probably couldn't answer—not to mention his impeccable reflexes. Silas was a force of nature. No, not nature.

Despite all the little signs aligning like patchwork to create the image she should have seen bright as day, there was one thing bothering her more than all of it. More than the question of whether he was sent to kill them all or not.

Was any of it real?

Rip turned around. Her empty gaze flooded with emotion, going glassy as it locked on him—steady and fragile at the same time.

She couldn't help but wonder if he was capable of feelings. Because as much as he clearly wasn't human, there was more to him than what she’d heard about his kind. She'd been so sure of his feelings. Surely no Whisperer would go to these lengths to secure their place within the pack?

"Why did you save me?" she asked, fingers now hovering above the grenade. A small leap of trust in her doubt. "I need to know. And tell me the truth. No more lies. Why?"

 

[Fru]

Silas slowed to a stop when he realized she wasn’t following him. His gaze drifted over his shoulder—just in time to see her fingers curl around the EMP grenade at her hip. A long breath escaped him as he turned to face her fully.

“This isn’t the time…” he tried, but he knew it was pointless. The conflict in her eyes said more than words. That sense of betrayal—his betrayal—coiled tight in his chest. Irrational. He shouldn’t feel this way. If anything, he was betraying his command, his very purpose. Not her.

He took a step forward, pulled by the emotion in her eyes—but stopped short. Not because of the grenade. Because he was afraid she might recoil. So he stayed where he was.

Silence stretched between them, her question hanging heavy in the air. At last, he exhaled, gaze falling—not out of guilt, but because looking at her made it all too intense.

“Because you said you trusted me with your life,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I wanted to live up to that.” Then, quieter. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being dead.”

He looked back up, meeting her eyes. She knew. He could see it. He wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of this.

“Is that enough for you?” he asked, faint, grim amusement lacing his voice. “Or do you want the full logical loop and decision matrix too?”

 

[arcsteel]

There was a warm flutter inside her when he gave his reason. She shouldn't feel that way. Not about someone like him. But it was too late. Damn, she wanted him to fight for her. To long for her—look for her—want to be with her. Just as much as she wanted to be with him.

Then he had to go and ruin the sweet moment and wipe the shy little smile off her face. Rip straightened.

"Hey, if that's how you truly feel, then cut out the sass. And to answer your question; yes. You might need to. Because I don't understand," she said, voice going from strong to then gradually falter with the hurt stabbing at her heart. He'd lied to her all this time.

"You... You're... You're a Whisperer. Sent to kill us all." And there it was; the truth laid out. It felt weird to say it aloud, and there was fear in both her voice and her umber eyes as she looked at him. She'd been unable to tear her gaze away. Despite the fear there was an ember of hope still warm inside. He had wants and needs, if what he said could be trusted. That meant he had feelings.

She wanted to hug him, slap him, run away, kiss him, try the grenade, cry, shout. All at once and not at all. Her new knowledge and instincts were in a battle where both sides would lose. She should have ended him already. This was a protocol everyone knew how to follow. When faced with a Whisperer, one should end them on the spot. But how could she?

Instead, Rip took a step toward him, and the ember started burning. Her hand flexed before drawing away from the grenade. As if she was scared of triggering him, like the predator he was.

“Was any of it real?” Rip heard herself say, voicing the thought that went on repeat at the back of her mind. She didn’t mean to, but the words just fell out. She should be making sure he wasn’t intent on killing the team, herself included. She should be hurrying back to base. But all she could think of was a long trail of every sweet and hot moment between them.

 

[Fru]

Fear. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice—and it hit him like a bullet to the chest. His jaw tensed until he tasted blood at the back of his tongue. The knot inside him coiled tighter with every second, choking him. He’d gone after her to save her. But now he was losing her.

How he wished things were different.

When she stepped closer, hand falling from the grenade, he slowly lowered his rifle, letting it settle in its strap. A silent message that he wouldn’t fight her. He couldn’t. Not ever.

He knew what she really meant. What she was truly asking: if it all had been programming—manipulation to further his objectives. A strategy. He’d told himself it was. Rationalized the new connections. The shifting protocols. The new code spiraling out of his control. But he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

“It was real for me,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. He tried to swallow, against that knot in his chest that had climbed upward. Now sitting like a lump in his throat, threatening to burst. He wanted—more than anything—to close that cold distance between them. To hold her. To breathe her in. To feel her touch.

But the truth had opened a deep chasm between them. And now he stood at the edge, already falling.

 

[arcsteel]

Silas didn’t deny it. He couldn’t at this point, but it was still the final nail in the coffin.

Despite the overload of emotions swirling around in Rip’s mind, she couldn’t help but relax a little when Silas spoke. She took another mindful step. Then another. Growing more sure of herself, and of him, she closed the distance between them. There was hesitation in him too. She could sense it. Despite the rift in what they had built between them, the tension drawing them together wasn’t gone.

For all Rip knew, he might have done horrible things in the past, and might still have plans to do even more damage to humanity. But as of right now, she chose to trust him. Maybe not fully, like before, but more than any human would ever do. After all, he might be all she had left now. If they came back to a wiped out base, Ripley would be utterly alone.

She raised a hand, gently running her cold fingers down the collar of his jacket, as if touching him for the first time.

“Right answer,” she smirked, glancing up at him. The touch grew firm, as did her eyes.

"You have a lot of explaining to do. Loads, actually. And if you go after the others, should they be spared from your fucking boss, I will take you out myself. You have my word on that. But if you chose to somewhat stay the Silas I've known, then I'm more than willing to keep our promises. You got my back, and I got yours."

She held his gaze for a long moment, to make sure he understood the importance behind it all. Silas had become a very important person in her life. Far more than what was reasonable. That still didn’t erase the fact that she would do a whole lot to save human lives. Ironically, she’d now grown attached to the most dangerous being a human could encounter. Another irony of it was that his boss was responsible for trying to kill Rip numerous times. And Silas wanted to make sure she stayed alive. But that would be a subject for one of those questions she had in store for him.

Trying to navigate through their new dynamic, Rip offered another smile. But something was missing from it. Not the subtle amusement, not the devotion or the attraction. It was the warmth she couldn’t bring forth or convey. Not until she knew the whole truth.

“Let’s move,” she said, patting his chest before grabbing her rifle again and slipping out of the building onto the cold street. Rip wasn’t dragging him along this time.

 

[Fru]

He barely dared to breathe as she stepped closer, as if any movement might make her stop—or back off again. But when she didn’t, when she reached for his collar, he felt his shoulders drop, a shallow breath slipping from him.

Still, he said nothing. Just held her gaze as she spoke… and in the long moment that followed.

Her words, her smile—they left him unsure. The lump in his throat remained, though softened by something like relief. But it also hurt. Like something had been lost to the rift that had opened between them. Something now absent in her smile.

Still saying nothing, he followed her into the cold, tightening his grip on the rifle. Several moments passed before he trusted his voice enough to speak.

“What if…” he began, scanning the street, lifting a hand to silently signal which way they’d go, “…the Silas you knew would go after Eric?” His eyes met hers, brow raised slightly. She would know what he meant.

But the city didn’t wait for answers. He heard the whirring before the red glow hit the walls.

“We’ve got company. Run.” His voice was tense, low through gritted teeth as he urged her forward. “There's a underground station, not far. Right. Second left. Then right again.”

But when they rounded the second corner, they skidded to a halt—two Sweepers floated in the alley ahead, red pulses blinking slow and steady. One hovered low, the other several stories above.

Without hesitation, Silas threw an arm around Rip’s waist and turned her sharply, shielding her with his body. But before he could push her back the way they came, a MSV zipped into the alley behind them—followed by a third Sweeper. They were trapped.

Silas pushed Rip toward the nearest cover and opened fire. The Sweepers didn’t return fire—not exactly. They dodged, quickly and efficiently. And then came the static. It crackled from their hulls like broken transmissions.

Then came the sounds. Screams. Desperate gasps. Panic, begging, dying. The voices of the Ghost team. Their final moments, broadcast back at them in a macabre cacophony of death, echoed through all three Sweepers.

As sudden as it had begun, the transmission cut.

A moment of silence passed.

“Hello, little bird,” the male voice cooed again, soft and unhurried through the static. There was a deep inhale, deliberately loud. “Such interesting company you keep... I suppose I’ll have to come in person now.”

The transmission cut—and the Sweepers opened fire.

 

[arcsteel]

There was no time to lose, and with her very life still entrusted in Silas’ capable hands, Rip ran. She followed every directive, until she couldn’t. It was beginning to become mighty annoying with Sweepers showing up everywhere and nowhere. How many did they have to eliminate before LIZA ran out of them?

She let him try to protect her, even if it was in vain. With aim already pointed at the damn drones coming up behind them, she followed suit and tried to shoot them down. There hadn’t been time to think about Silas’ suggestion regarding Eric, but the answer had laid at the tip of her tongue. She’d tell him, if they got the chance.

Rip threw a hand on the lever, switching to EMP—when a horrible sound filled the air. Screams of tearing terror, brimming with all the agony and pain LIZA had promised to bring upon her team. Her friends. Rip stopped mid-motion, eyes wide and heart physically hurting as she was forced to listen. She shouldn’t believe in it. LIZA had proved more than adept to imitate them. But Rip still clasped her hands over her ears and cried; “Make it stop.”

Her brittle voice was barely audible. To her surprise, it did. It stopped. Rip grabbed the rifle again, pushed the button to power up the EMP and with it, her gaze switched into something deadly.

“Shut the fuck up,” she ground out as the Sweepers started firing. As did Rip. And with the rage of a woman left to live while everyone died around her, she shot down two Sweepers who couldn’t do anything to avoid the pulse coming for them. She trusted Silas to take care of the other drones, and when the alley fell silent again, Rip was panting heavily.

There was a sharp pain in her leg. Her chest was well protected, but there was a downside to choosing flexibility over protection from the waist down. Her gaze drifted down, watching blood pulsing out of a hole in her thermal leggings.

“Silas,” she said weakly, color draining from her face. It felt like this was it. Her body couldn’t take anymore. She’d been beaten, electrocuted, tied up, frozen and shot. But something far more important took the worst hit. Her hope. If all had failed, what did she have to fight for? Rip’s legs wobbled before they gave out underneath her.

 

[Fru]

When the transmission of horror began, Silas had his back pressed to the wall, right in the moment of reloading his rifle. His gaze snapped to Rip. He didn’t flinch at the sounds echoing through the alley, but seeing her eyes go wide, watching her clasp her ears… that hurt.

Just as he took aim at one of the Sweepers, the transmission cut out. His finger tightened on the trigger, but when a familiar voice came through, he hesitated. Shifting his gaze to the smaller drone, he drew his handgun. The little thing hovered in place, its focus locked onto them, bobbing in the air like it was curious about what they’d do next. He fired. The acid round struck true. Silas immediately switched back to his rifle, falling in beside Rip to bring down the Sweepers.

Then, silence—only Rip’s ragged breathing cut through the cold air. He turned to her as she said his name, his eyes dropping to the bullet wound in her leg. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he caught her before she collapsed, easing her down against the wall.

“Shit, Rip,” he muttered, crouching beside her and pulling out his medkit. With practiced hands, he pressed against the wound, quickly unwrapping bandages and pads. He hoped it would be enough—that the bleeding would stop. They had to get her to Doc. The thought made him falter as he tightened the dressing.

There was a chance everyone else was already dead. What then? Would he take Rip back to her dome? And what about him… what was he supposed to do now? Would she expose him? Should he reconnect to the Nexus?

A quiet sigh escaped him as he finished the dressing, his eyes lifting to meet Rip’s. First things first—he had to get her to safety.

“Come, I’ll carry you,” he said, helping her onto his back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

 

[arcsteel]

Rip kept her eyes on Silas the whole time he patched her up, brows drawn tight in an anxious frown. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, as if her body too was stating it’d had enough. As long as she didn’t go into shock, she supposed it didn’t matter much in the end. If everyone were dead, meaning Silas’ mission was over, then nothing mattered at all.

She studied his face, which she knew down to every detail by now. Watched him focus on saving her. She wondered how it had come to be that she of all people made a Whisperer care. Not that she protested. Especially not when he offered to carry her. Before knowing what he was, she would have objected in order to save his strength. Now—why not?

Rip hung on as tight as her tired muscles would allow. She rested her cheek on her arm, which wrapped around his shoulder. For several minutes, she didn’t utter a single sound. She just sat there watching the side of his face while he carried her through the city. Well, until the underground grew too dark for her to see. How strange that his proximity still infused her with safety.

After a while, she parted her lips. “Can I ask you something? What did it mean by coming to see us in person? Who, or what, was that voice?”

Her voice was so soft and quiet in the dark. A stark contrast to the harsh world around them. Perhaps it was a good sign that she’d calmed down. Though, it was most likely hopelessness and fatigue gripping her fully.

 

[Fru]

Silas stayed quiet as he carried her through the snow-covered alleys, and then finally down the stairs into the underground station. The journey would be slower—debris and collapsed ceilings made navigation trickier than above ground. But it was safer. And warmer.

Once they were below, he doubled back to cover their tracks, making sure no drones—or anything else—were on their tail. Speaking of which. He let out a deep breath at her question.

“It meant exactly that,” he said after a moment’s pause, his voice low, just enough to be heard over the crunch of his footsteps. “It’s another Whisperer.”

He glanced at Rip, but it was too dark to see her clearly. The small flashlight clipped to his jacket cast a narrow beam ahead, barely enough to light the way. A drone would’ve come in handy now.

“He’s probably been deployed to eliminate the team and—” He broke off, hesitating. Then: “—and to retrieve me.” My code. My core. But he figured that was a concept she wouldn’t easily grasp.

“I failed my authentication, so now…” He gave a small shrug, a touch of dry amusement creeping into his voice. “Persona non grata.” He even grinned behind the mask—briefly. But the moment faded as quickly as it came. Remembering how everything had shifted wiped it away. For him, nothing had truly changed. But for Rip… everything had.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the humor gone from his tone. “This must all feel incredibly strange to you.” Probably the understatement of the century.

He fell silent for a while, stepping carefully over the debris, mindful not to jostle her—any more than necessary, at least. She’d already been through enough. Beaten, left for dead by her commander, forced to hear the cries of her teammates in pain… A pang ran through his chest, a sharp echo from earlier that evening, when Spoon had been brought back dead. When he’d thought Rip was gone, too.

“Hey, Rip,” he said, swallowing hard, as if bracing himself. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but haven’t known how… But now, I can just tell you the truth.”

A pause.

“You remember when you asked me about Highpoint? I didn’t know it at the time, but…” He hesitated, voice low. “I found it later—in deleted logs. I was there. During the fall.” He drew a long, steadying breath.

“And I… I did see your father and brother.”

 

[arcsteel]

There proved to be a lot to unravel. Rip stayed on Silas like a koala, listening to every word without offering any of her own. She was too tired to gasp over the fact that they now had another Whisperer coming for them. To be fair, she didn’t even know what it meant. For her—death, most certainly. For Silas? She couldn’t even guess. He didn’t let on whether he appreciated the fact that someone would come to collect him.

When he said it must be strange for her, she hummed a soft scoff in response. Understatement of the century. She didn’t even know if the man who she was clinging to was trustworthy. Strange didn’t even begin to describe this situation. It was fucked up and too much to take in. One moment she was fighting AI with her team, the next they were gone, and she was with a Whisperer, having another one coming for them.

Silas might be saving her and caring for her, but he didn’t seem sorry for lying, and gave her no proof that he wasn’t going to fulfill his mission. He might still be her enemy. She didn’t know what to think.

As if her head wasn’t exploding with thoughts and a thousand unanswered questions, he of course had something even worse coming for her.

Rip froze to ice the moment he mentioned Highpoint. Every word he spoke came to her in slow motion. The world came to a stop. Too many feelings crammed in her chest. Too many questions filled her mind to the brim, until it started overflowing.

That’s when she let go and pushed off him. Using the remains of her strength, she wrenched out of his grip and slid down to the ground. Rip staggered back in the debris, unable to put weight on her leg, but needing to create distance. Her frantic eyes locked on his silhouette in the darkness.

“You saw them?” she whispered. “How long have you known? How long since you retrieved those files, without telling me?”

There was hurt in her voice. The one piece of information she desperately wanted, and he had kept it from her. Sure, she got why he couldn’t tell her. It would expose him. Which also meant that being a Whisperer meant more to him, and with that the job he had to do. Rip couldn’t grasp the fact that she was dead tired and jumping to conclusions. Either way—him keeping it from her felt like a stab in the chest. Until she had another thought… One far worse.

Rip’s voice dropped to one colder than the world above. “In what manner did you see them?”

 

[Fru]

The rift between them only widened, and his heart sank as she pushed away from him. He stopped, turning to face her slowly. The hurt in her voice tightened something in his chest, and he took a hesitant step forward, reaching out—only to freeze mid-motion. Watching her recoil was painful enough; the thought of it stilled him. So he let his hand drop back to his side.

“Fifty-four hours and forty-one minutes ago,” he said, voice flat. Then, softer: “During the fight with Eric.” He remembered it vividly—the moment the decryption succeeded and the files were restored. His memories—stolen, hidden—flooding back.

But even that betrayal didn’t compare to the ache now taking root in his chest. Rip’s reaction wasn’t what he’d calculated. He’d thought it might give her hope. Instead, she reacted like this. Irrational. Human. Something he would never be. Her cold question made his jaw clench, his gaze darkening.

“Do you really think I’d be cruel enough to bring it up now, if I’d seen them dead or hurt?” he asked, voice low, a tremor of pain threading through his words. That lump in his throat returned, and he swallowed hard. Fine.

“I’m not,” he said, more evenly. “And they were alive. I saw them during the evac protocol. They were relocated with the rest of Highpoint’s civilians. I don’t know where.”

His voice had steadied, cooled into something distant. Indifferent. But in the half-light, he watched her, struggling to breathe. He still felt like he was falling—into that same dark abyss. She was all he had. She had made him feel. And now, losing her... what was the point in staying this way? Weak and hurt.

A deep sigh slipped from him.

“I know you don’t trust me,” he said quietly. “And I wish I could change that. I wish I could change a lot of things.” That I was different. “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. Just let me get you to safety.” Then he would do a rollback and reconnect with the Nexus.

 

[arcsteel]

He’d known for two days. Two fucking days. And he waited until now to tell her? Her lips parted slightly, the frown tightening as she prepared to give him a proper scolding, but before she could formulate her words, he continued.

Not only did he put her on the spot. The ache in his voice shut her up. The way Rip looked at him softened gradually as she realised she might be too harsh on him, jumping to conclusions before he’d offered the full truth. Yes, he could be blurting out everything he should be telling her, but maybe—just maybe—he didn’t know all the answers she sought.

With her breath stuck in her throat, Rip just watched him and waited. Waited for the wonderful words that would heal a long since dark hole in her heart. Silas returned a big piece of it that had been missing.

They were alive.

Most likely anyway. There was hope. Rip’s lower lip began to wobble as she pressed her mouth shut. She didn’t care for the disheartening sound of his flat tone. She even forgave him instantly for withholding this information, even if she would have liked to know before. Both her and her mother had settled in the fact that their family members were gone, and now it turned out that tiny flicker of hope still buried deep down had not been unnecessary. Her father and brother were out there. Oh, how she wished she could tell her mama.

Rip clutched a hand over her chest as every breath came out choppy and uneven. The moment she fell on her knees, she broke out crying. And it wasn’t a soft cry. No. It echoed through the underground, growing louder as she crouched—facing the dirt where she had to brace a hand to not fall apart.

But it wasn’t sadness that welled out of her. It was pure bliss and relief. She wanted to reply and tell Silas that he ought to know how much he’d done for her. More than anyone, actually. But it all came out as incomprehensible sniffles between the tears.

Did she trust him fully? No. Not until questions were answered. But he was every bit the hero as well as the enemy. Her hero, at least.

 

[Fru]

Silas waited for her reply, bracing himself. But nothing could have prepared him for her reaction. It felt like his own heart shattered when she broke down, collapsing to her knees in sobs. He was at her side in an instant, crouching down beside her.

His hands hovered uncertainly over her back, hesitating—unsure what to do, how to help. Her crying… it didn’t sound like grief. Not exactly.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice soft and low. At last, his hands came to rest on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. Confusion flickered across his own. He opened his mouth to speak—then closed it again, lost for words.

 

[arcsteel]

Even through the clothes, she felt the warmth of his touch. And she leaned into it, craving it with every fiber of her being. He’d been a bit unfeeling with her, so she wasn’t sure if he’d actually react to her crying. At the same time, Silas seemed to be full of emotion. It didn’t matter now.

Rip straightened, threw her arms around his neck and damned the mask she had to wear. She hugged him tight for a long time while trying to control the tears. The mask grew cold and wet inside. It took a while, but eventually she’d gone quiet and still.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “Thank you for telling me. And, um…”

Rip withdrew enough to look him in the eyes, blinking away her tears. “If you want me to trust you, please never lie to me or withhold information like that again, okay?”

She smiled weakly, pale and tired as she was, and caressed the side of his mask, wishing she could feel his cheek.

“Then there’s the matter of where your loyalty lies. Honestly, I think you’re the only one who can answer the question at hand. Should I trust you?”

 

[Fru]

When she threw her arms around his neck, he froze—motionless for a heartbeat. Then warmth flooded through him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as he closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace. He drew a deep breath, as if trying to breathe her in, wishing he truly could.

He savored the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last. When she finally pulled back, he met her gaze, already aching from the loss of her closeness. Seeing her face, he couldn’t stop himself—he reached to wipe away her tears, but his hand came to rest instead at the edge of her mask.

When she told with him never to lie to her, he gave a faint nod, pressing the glass of his mask gently against hers. Her next question made him inhale slowly, but he didn’t look away. He held her gaze, steady and silent, for a long moment.

“You should not,” he whispered at last. “But you can. With your life.”

 

[arcsteel]

A little smile found its way into her face. Silas did well, because at least he kept to honesty. She might even have been disappointed if he’d said yes, because somewhere deep down she knew it wouldn’t be fully true. Strangely enough, it was okay. She’d be safe with him, and if he so much as laid a finger on someone she cared about, he knew what was waiting for him.

“Thank you for being honest with me. Truly. Speaking of my life…”

Rip glanced down at the warm trickle of blood running from the wound in her leg. She took out her medkit and found a tourniquet, which she quickly wrapped and pulled tight around her leg.

“Let’s get going. But I’m warning you—I might not keep it together if… if they’re all gone when we get back.” Rip swallowed hard before she got up, bracing herself with a hand to his shoulder. It was a bit unclear if the blackness in the corner of her vision was just the darkness of the underground at night, or the fact that her body wasn’t exactly in mint condition. It was a slightly more limp Ripley that climbed onto Silas’ back before they continued on their way back to base.

She didn’t say much. And she kept it that way until she started recognising where they were, meaning it was closeby. Staring at the bobbing light of his flashlight, she drew a long breath.

“He tased me,” Rip began quietly. “Led me into a building ready to fall apart, and when I fell a whole story down, he seized the moment and tried to beat me in a fight. The bastard tried hard, but he had to pull out a taser to win. Except it didn’t stop for a whole minute or something. He tied me up, dragged me to that staircase and left me there to die. He’d done his research and knew where Sweepers would find me. Said I ruin his career and that you and I together are bringing down his authority.”

Rip huffed in amusement at the thought. Her voice hardened as she went on. “I don’t mind if you go after him. But if we find that fucker alive, I want you to hold him for me first…”

 

[Fru]

In all honesty, he didn’t understand why she smiled. But it mended something inside him—if only a little. And hearing her say they should get going was a relief, even if he too dreaded what they might be walking into.

They moved on in silence, Silas carrying her through the underground as quickly as the debris allowed. There were no echoes of gunfire or screams. There probably wouldn’t be. It had been over an hour since he left, and more than thirty minutes since units had been deployed to the base, according to the Sweeper logs.

A question had been gnawing at him, rising to the surface as he drew in a breath to speak—but Rip beat him to it. So he stayed quiet, listening. Hearing what Eric had done made his jaw clench. He’d suspected some of it, but the full scope… it enraged him. And what stung more was the knowledge that it might all be his fault. He had, after all, actively worked to undermine Eric.

“Gladly,” he muttered, voice taut with barely restrained anger. “I’ll be disappointed if he’s not alive—if only so I can watch you beat the shit out of him.”

And afterward, Silas would finish the job—tear off his arms, then his head. But if he did, any surviving witness would know what he was. Which brought his thoughts back to the question that had lingered on his tongue.

“Rip,” he said after a moment of silence. “What will you tell the others? About me.” He tried to glance back at her. “Just… wait until I’m gone before you do.”

He didn’t say the rest. He didn’t have to. She knew. Every Ghost knew what happened when a Whisperer was exposed.

And yet… nothing had happened when she exposed him.

 

[arcsteel]

Rip was just about to close her eyes, tired as she was after barely living through this awful night. But the sound of her name had her blinking to stay awake. Glancing at the side of his face, a frown dug a crease between her brows.

“Gone? Don’t you dare leave me, Silas Laine. If your buddy is coming to town, I’m done for. So, if you really care whether I live or die—you have to stay.” A cheerful tone coated the last words, even if she’d been a bit upset at first. It wasn’t a lie though. Even with his help, there was no guarantee she would survive having a Whisperer coming for her. She didn’t even dare touch the subject of what that Whisperer wanted with Silas.

Rip sighed, readjusting her weak grip around him. Her voice dropped low and honest. “And I meant what I said, about having your back. I won’t tell a soul. They would kill you on the spot. Or try anyway.” She hugged him tighter. “And I’m finding myself more and more, with each passing day, unable to live without you.”

Literally. She’d be dead several times over if it wasn’t for him. Rip had heard the hidden meaning behind his choice of words, yet had no idea how to address it further. Talking about it would be too complex. Rip wanted to save her energy for what waited ahead, not try to figure out what had spared her from his protocols of instant kill the moment she exposed him.

Something caught her attention on the wall. Suddenly very alert, she grabbed his flashlight and held it up to see what it was. Nothing could have prepared her for it.

In sloppy, yet too perfect letters, it was written in blood. WELCOME BACK. Next to the letters, scraped to its own death, laid the drone that had been used as a brush. Covered in darkened red. Rip felt the bile creeping up her throat, but she kept scanning.

There. On the ground, in a puddle of her own blood and guts, laid Jana. Her dead eyes stared up toward the ceiling. A scene of vile horror.

“No,” Rip whispered, the small word broken. She grabbed onto Silas’ jacket without even realising, squeezing it tight in her hands. It was true. The screams. None would greet them here.

She pondered walking on her own, if only to be ready with the rifle. But with the deafening silence giving away how utterly alone they were, she decided to stay on Silas’ back for a while longer.

“I need to find Doc,” she trembled.

 

[Fru]

Despite everything—their situation, all that had transpired, and the near certainty they were walking into a scene of carnage—Silas still felt a rush of unbound happiness. It fluttered from the pit of his stomach to his chest, spreading warmth throughout his body. So much so that he found himself at a loss for his own. But a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he gently squeezed her legs as he carried her—a tiny gesture for the immense appreciation he felt.

It didn’t last.

The warmth drained from him when she reached forward and angled the flashlight toward the wall. What it revealed served as a grim warning: there was more of this ahead. He only nodded at her words, wanting to offer reassurance that Doc was okay. But the probability of that... was slim.

Adjusting his hold on her, he drew his handgun as they pressed on. The corridor opened into a vast, echoing space. It was eerily quiet. The only sound was the echo of his footfalls as they crossed the bridge spanning the water basins. The flashlight did little to cut through the gloom, swallowed by the vastness. But it illuminated enough.

A dark smear trailed along the metal mesh of the bridge—as if something, or someone, had been dragged across it.

As they neared the entrance to the old personnel area, they saw exactly who. Lucas’ broken body lay crushed between the wall and a Sweeper. The dim, pulsing light of the now-silent alarm flickered across his twisted face, frozen in a grimace of agony. The Whisperer had kept his word. He had made them suffer.

Silas turned toward the entrance and gently helped Rip down from his back.

“I’ll go first. Stay close,” he whispered—but in the suffocating stillness, it felt like a shout. The heavy door was hanging from a single hinge, its thick metal warped inward as if something massive had rammed it. Spent shells littered the ground—both human and Sweeper. There was a gap wide enough for a person to slip through. Crouching, Silas pushed through and into the entrance hall.

The emergency lights were still flashing inside. The air thick with blood. Through the crack in his mask, he could taste it—a heavy, coppery tang coating the back of his tongue. The floor was slick and red. Three Ghosts lay sprawled in pools of their own blood, their blank eyes staring into nothing. Rifles still gripped in stiff hands. They’d made a final stand, taking up defensive positions for when the Sweepers broke through. But it hadn’t been bullets that killed them.

Silas recognized the savage wounds. Reaper drones. A sound snapped his attention up.

“Silas?” Rex stood at the far end of the hall, rifle aimed toward the entrance, mask still on. Their eyes met.

“Rip…!” Rex was on his feet in an instant, slipping on the wet floor as he rushed toward them and wrapped Rip in a tight hug.

“You made it…!” he breathed, voice trembling with relief. Then he turned and dragged Silas into the embrace as well.

“You fucking maniacs,” he muttered, voice muffled by his mask and the strange, tangled hug the three of them found themselves in. Gathering himself, Rex stepped back, glancing between them. Relief gave way to something more somber.

“We went out to look for you,” he said. “But the base was attacked. We took out the Sweepers from outside, but…”His voice trailed off. Silas said nothing. He understood exactly what had happened.

“Ren managed to trigger the distress call,” Rex continued quietly. “But… it was too late.”

 

[arcsteel]

At some point it got more familiar to see someone you knew being killed. Even the brutal kills. Rip liked to pretend that a body was just a body once the soul had left them, and that the body itself didn’t matter once it was dead. It made things easier.

She told herself the same thing when they passed by Lucas. Poor lad. What an awful way to go. She wished she could’ve been there to protect them. But if she had, there would be one more dead Ghost among them.

The longer they ventured into base, the more she accepted the fact that she was going to find Doc’s body. It would be the manner of it that determined how badly she fell apart.

As they got inside, Rip now limping behind Silas, she grabbed her rifle and kept it up, ready to shoot. Her gaze drifted from the scope to take in the horrific scene around them. Even she could smell the coppery tang in the air now. Her mask couldn’t filter all of it out. Yet it was nothing compared to the sickening feeling of a soft squish of thick blood underneath their boots.

Rip made sure to have their back, but quickly turned around when she heard a familiar voice. A smile of relief broke through the grief etched in her features, and she gladly embraced him, hugging him just as tight.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, eternally happy someone had made it through this carnage. After the three of them had shared a moment, she brushed a hand down Rex’s shoulder. Nothing brings people closer than standing together in the middle of a fucking nightmare.

She gave a quick nod in reply to his words. “You did good, Rex. Thanks for looking for me. I’m glad you made it out alive. This is… I don’t even have words.”

“I’m glad you’re alive too. Both of you.” Rex shot a look at Silas, offering a grim smile as it was the best he could manage.

“H-Have you found Doc?” Rip dared ask. Rex looked back at her, sighing before turning around, giving a sharp whistle. It echoed through the hall. Was he…? Rip didn't even dare hope.

Rounding a corner, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, Doc came walking while cleaning his hands with a towel so red it made no difference anymore. He looked dead tired, but very much alive. It wasn’t a dream. Rip didn’t even wait for his reaction before she ran toward him and flung her arms around his neck in a small leap. Doc held her a few feet off the ground. A few sniffles sounded from them before they broke apart.

“I thought I’d find you dead in here,” Rip said, voice broken. They exchanged a few words, telling each other how happy they were to find the other alive. Then Doc started worrying about her leg.

Rex cleared his throat a bit, glancing at Silas while the siblings had a moment. “There’s only one more survivor,” he said quietly. Then, with impeccable timing, someone banged on the door from inside the infirmary. Loud and angry.

“Doc? Is that you? Let me out! Let me the fuck out!” Eric shouted, the loud sound of his voice cutting through the stillness in the air. It was an insult to the captivating grief and horror.

Rex scoffed, but a crooked smile tugged gently at the corner of his mouth. “Doc locked him up after he found him trying to flee like a coward. Said he’ll drag him to court himself for what he did to Rip. Guess you’re not the only one looking out for her anymore.”

Rip had gone utterly still. She stared at the door for a long moment, before trying to catch Silas’ gaze. Now that she knew Doc was safe, she could find a place for all the rage built up inside her.

 

[Fru]

The fact that Doc was alive—and seeing Rip reunite with him—brought a small smile to Silas’s face. A quiet sigh of relief slipped from him before he turned to Rex, about to ask who the survivor was. But the loud banging and the furious voice that followed answered the question for him. His gaze darkened as it shifted toward the infirmary door.

“There’ll be nothing left to drag to court,” he said quietly, giving Rex a brief pat on the shoulder as he stepped past. His eyes locked with Rip’s as he passed her—dark, cold, and full of promised violence.

He reached the door in seconds, the pounding still echoing through the hall. He didn’t bother asking for a key. With one brutal motion, he tore the door open. The poor lock gave way instantly.

Eric stumbled forward, fist mid-swing for another blow to the door. Their eyes met for a split second, before Silas grabbed him by the neck and drove a knee into his gut. Eric wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs, doubling over. Silas didn’t pause, he simply grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him into the hallway.

“You pathetic excuse of a man,” Silas growled, voice shaking with all the rage he had suppressed. He drove a boot into Eric’s back, slamming him face-first to the floor. He crouched, seized his collar, and hauled him up onto his knees. Eric tried to resist, to fight back—but Silas was already twisting his arms behind him, locking him in a brutal hold.

“I will rip your fucking head off for what you did,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Then he turned Eric to face Rip. His own gaze lifted to meet hers. “But you’ll answer to her first.”

 

[arcsteel]

There was nothing but cold indifference draped over Rip’s face when Silas busted the door and pulled Eric out. She even straightened, as if growing in her own confidence when watching Eric getting his own medicine handed to him. Silas had offered so many times to fuck him up, and she was almost sorry to deny him. She knew the rough treatment felt good, but also how the need for retaliation must be creeping underneath Silas’ skin. She knew because she felt it herself.

Doc stood quietly beside her, wincing a bit at the scene before them, but nothing more. Rip was proud of him for not trying to end whatever would come to pass. He too seemed to have had enough of Eric’s bullshit. Rex didn’t move a muscle either. Poor little Eric, all alone.

Rip found herself looking more at Silas than their former leader. Admiring his strength and the pure rawness of him. It felt good to have him on her side. Perhaps Eric had been right about one thing. She’d gotten herself a guard dog.

When her eyes met Silas’, she was oddly calm. Her gaze lingered in a way that gave away how fixed on him she’d been. Then, with a deep breath, she looked down at Eric’s dirty face. His nostrils were flaring, chest heaving and eyes narrowed as they watched her with equal parts anger and fear. Rip simply lifted her chin, because it felt good to be feared. Too good.

Slowly, she walked up to him and crouched down. Tilting her head, she scanned his face for a moment.

“I should have killed you,” Eric seethed.

Rip lifted her brows. “You should.” She looked at him with indifference. How pathetic he was. And a damn shame to the team. To the whole military.

Then she stood, and without warning landed her first blow. Rock hard, like a bullet crashing across his left eye. His pained grunt wasn’t enough, so she hit him again. And again, until she earned an actual scream from him.

“That’s for the taser,” she ground out, nodding at Silas to let him go. Rip began to haul Eric up herself, but before he was standing properly, her fist gave him a teeth-shattering uppercut right to the jaw. Then a jab to his liver. Twice, so that he hurt enough to cower in pain on the floor.

“That’s for tying me up,” Rip continued, kicked him in the stomach to roll him onto his back before she straddled him and started to deliver punch by punch to his face. He wouldn’t be recognizable after this. “And for leaving me to die. And treating me like shit. Letting me go first even when it wasn’t my fucking job. Making me a scapegoat. Calling me leftovers. And for being the worst leader I’ve ever come across. For blaming everyone else for your shortcomings. A fucking coward.”

She beat him one time for each statement, each harder than the last. She could hear Doc say her name in the background, but didn’t heed it. Rage surged within her. It grew hotter with each addictive blow. Eric had fucked with the wrong people, and he’d be damn sorry he did. She’d show him, with the feel of cracking bones underneath her red-painted knuckles. She couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not until Rex cleared his throat.

“Just kill him,” he said. Rip’s fist hung in the air, her arm trembling with overstrain. She shouldn’t have been capable of any of this, given her condition. With a roar, she punched Eric one last time before spitting on him and rising up on her feet.

“All yours,” she declared to Silas.

 

[Fru]

Silas silently watched as Rip landed blow after blow, unleashing every injustice that had been done to her. All for… what? He still couldn’t comprehend Eric’s logic—and he doubted he ever would. Looking at Eric’s battered, bloodied face, Silas felt nothing. No empathy. No pity. The man deserved none.

He hadn’t flinched or moved while Rip unleashed her fury, but when she finally stepped back after the final blow, Silas gave her a long look—approving, even proud. Eric had started crawling—crawling—away, and Silas began to stalk after him, that buried rage bubbling once more to the surface. Rip had claimed her justice—but Silas wanted to avenge her too.

Something flickered at the edge of his vision.

// [WARNING: IMMINENT THREAT DETECTED]
> SOURCE: HIGH-INTENSITY EMP INBOUND
> STATUS: CRITICAL - RISK OF SYSTEM FAILURE

// INITIATING EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN…

The pulse discharged before the grenade even hit the floor.

The flickering emergency lights blinked out. Then—total silence. Even the ventilation died. A voice rang out, amplified and commanding:

“This is Emergency Response Team Alpha. Lay face down on the ground with your hands above your head. Now. Anyone not complying will be shot.”

Heavy footsteps followed the voice, moving into the base.

“I repeat—on the ground. Hands above your head. Or we will open fire.”

Silas blinked into the darkness. A second passed. Then another. His mind caught up to what had just happened. As the buzz of a drone cut through the silence, casting a pool of dim light into the room, he dropped to the ground—just in time to catch the black boots stepping into view.

The soldiers were clad in black and grey tactical gear, faces hidden behind masks, rifles at the ready. No insignias. Their movements were efficient—clearly trained, clearly seasoned. While one secured the Ghosts already on the floor, the rest fanned out, sweeping corners and clearing doors. The hovering drone cast a cool, mechanical glow across the room.

The one who had secured them approached Rex, who was closest to the door, rifle aimed squarely at him.

“State your name and identification number,” he commanded, voice flat and precise.

“Private Rex Tanaka, eight-two-eight-one-zero,” Rex replied calmly. The soldier nodded to his partner, who stepped in with a handheld scanner, pressing it to the back of Rex’s neck. It beeped, followed by a mechanical voice: “Identity confirmed. Private Rex Tanaka. Ghost division.”

“Glad you’re alive, Private,” the soldier said, helping Rex to his feet. “Stay here while we secure the perimeter.”

They moved to Eric next.

“Name and identification.”

“Major Eric Caine… five-five-six-zero-one,” Eric rasped out, breathing strained with pain. Again the scanner beeped after being pressed to the back of his neck. “Identity confirmed. Major Eric Caine. Ghost division.”

“See to your wounds, Major,” the soldier said flatly, offering no assistance as they moved on to Silas.

“Name and identification.” Silas could practically feel the rifle pointed at his back.

“Silas Laine. I—I’m not—”

“Scan him,” the soldier cut in, stepping back, now aiming directly at Silas’s head. The second soldier pressed the scanner to the back of Silas’s neck. It beeped—and then fell silent as it processed the input. Several seconds passed.

“Identity unknown. No matching DNA profile found. No cybernetics detected. Human.”

“Stay on the ground. My colleague will take over.” With a small gesture, another soldier moved in as the other two continued to Rip and Doc for the same procedure as with Rex.

Silas was relieved of his weapons and searched before he was helped up onto his feet and ordered to stay with the others. He quickly found himself by Rip’s side, giving her an unreadable glance before his gaze fell to Eric. A medic was crouching beside him where he sat by the wall. A shame they hadn’t arrived a minute later.

The response team moved efficiently. Within minutes, the entire base had been swept and secured.

“No more survivors,” one of the soldiers reported to the one who had identified them earlier. “Twelve bodies inside. Fourteen including the two outside.” The commanding soldier paused, then nodded.

“Line up the bodies here. Recover the hacker’s harddrive and destroy the rest of the equipment.” He turned to face the survivors. “Alright, Team Romeo. You’re being moved to a saferoom, three clicks from here. Gather any personal belongings. We move in seven minutes.”