Mikey jolted upright, gasping. His heart thudded like war drums in his chest, his ears ringing with leftover static from the dream. The basement around him was quiet and dim—too quiet. But the burning images still clung to the edges of his vision like embers refusing to die.
He looked down.
Still wearing the suit.
The same black funeral suit. Shirt stuck to his back with sweat, tie knotted too tight around his throat, shoes still pinching his heels. Like the grief had clung to his clothes and refused to let go.
His fingers reached beneath his collar. He pulled out a chain.
A rusted golden bracelet hung from it—his mother's. He clenched it tightly in his hand, the metal warm from where it rested against his skin.
"Mom…" he whispered, voice raw.
He sat there a moment longer. Breathing. Letting the silence ground him.
Then, slowly, he rose from the bunk. His body ached as he stood. He peeled off the jacket, unbuttoned the shirt, folded everything neatly on the mattress like it didn't belong on him anymore. Because it didn't. That suit wasn't him—it was death's uniform.
Across the room, he spotted a pile of clothes folded neatly on a chair.
They weren't his.
Simple, soft—probably left by Bobo or the woman, Luce.
Mikey hesitated… then reached for them.
He slid on the oversized white t-shirt, the fabric draping over his thin frame. The black sweats were baggy, comfortable, the drawstring hanging loose.
He tucked the chain back beneath the shirt.
Then he saw it—on the table pressed against the far wall. A mirror, propped upright next to a folded hand towel.
He knelt in front of it.
And looked.
The boy in the mirror barely looked like him. Bruises shadowed one side of his face, but the swelling had gone down. His right eye was still bloodshot—angry, red veins webbing across the sclera like cracks in porcelain.
His loosely curl-draped black hair was wild. His skin paler than it's usual olive color.
But he was alive.
Mikey picked up the towel. Dipped it in the bowl of water beside the mirror and began wiping the dried blood from his temple.
The rust-colored stain bled into the cloth, like it didn't want to leave.
Like it belonged to him now.
He kept scrubbing anyway.
Mikey scrubbed until his skin turned pink. The blood was gone—mostly. His right eye still looked like it had lost a war, and faint bruises remained under the skin, reminders that healing takes time.
As the fog in his head began to lift, so did his senses.
He froze.
Voices.
Muffled, low, from the other side of the basement door.
He turned toward the stairs, stepping lightly, socked feet silent on the creaking wood. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became—sharp edges wrapped in tension. He reached the door, cracked it just enough to listen.
BAM.
A loud thud made him flinch—Bobo's heavy palms slamming against a table.
"What the hell did you say happened?!"
It was the first time Mikey had heard real anger in the man's voice.
Luce replied, her tone edged but even.
"I told you, Bobo. I don't know."
"You don't know?" Bobo growled. "What do you mean they got Ryo?! I thought he was with the Sector K raid?"
Luce sighed, dragging her fingers through her blonde hair, rubbing at the scalp like it physically hurt.
"Apparently he was."
Bobo's voice rose.
"So how the hell did he end up with the Sector H squad alone?"
She leaned back against the counter, one hand bracing the edge, the other holding a half-eaten fruit.
"Word is, Tobi didn't advance when he was supposed to. Missed the extraction boat. Ryosuke must've gone back for him and got snagged."
There was a long pause.
"Goddamn it, Tobi…" Bobo muttered, pacing.
Luce bit into her fruit with a loud crunch. "Told you he wasn't ready," she said, smug as ever, mouth full.
"You wanna be right, or you wanna get him back?" Bobo snapped.
She raised her hands in mock surrender.
"Just sayin'. Don't shoot the messenger."
Mikey stayed frozen on the stairs. He didn't know who Ryosuke or Tobi were, but the tension in their voices made it clear—someone was in trouble. Real trouble.
And something told him… this was just the beginning.
And then it clicked.
Sectors H and K…
He remembered the broadcasts. The Council called it a "terrorist raid," but now, hearing it from the source, he saw it for what it really was—an operation. One the Defectors had planned. These weren't criminals—they were soldiers. Fighters. And Mikey was living among them.
Luce continued, voice sharp. "And how the hell are we gonna go get him? What are you gonna do with the kid downstairs—what was his name?"
"Mikey," Bobo said, leaning over the table, both palms pressed hard against it. His tone was firm, protective.
"Right. Mikey."
Luce echoed, folding her arms.
"What're you gonna do with him? Just leave him here while we go back for Ryosuke? Does he know? Can we trust him? He was raised in the Capital, after all."
Bobo fired back without hesitation.
"He's Desmond's boy. He'll understand."
Luce raised both hands in the air, shaking her head.
"You can go for it, but if he turns us in, it's not on me."
Behind the cracked door, Mikey stood completely still. But inside? Something shifted. He clenched his fist.
He did understand. Better than they could ever know.
And if these were his father's people… then they were his people too. He wasn't going back. Not ever.
Bobo let out a deep, tired grunt — more like a growl — the kind of sound a man makes when the weight of responsibility sinks even heavier into his spine. He didn't say yes, but it was clear in his posture. In the way he slumped into the chair like he'd been carrying too many names on his back for too long.
Then he exhaled hard through his nose. "First Amelia... now Ryo," he muttered, voice low, bitter. "They never should've split us up."
Luce leaned her hip against the counter, arms crossed as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.
"It was Isaak's call."
"I know, I know," Bobo said, brushing the comment away with a flick of his hand like it tasted sour.
"Still doesn't mean it was the right one."
His eyes narrowed.
"And Tobi? You said Ryo went back for him. So where the hell is he?"
Luce shrugged like it wasn't her burden to carry. "Maybe he made it back to HQ. Who knows. Knowing him, he's probably curled up under a rock somewhere, shaking like a bitch with his tail between his legs."
That finally cracked Bobo's stone face. He gave a low rumble of a laugh — short and dry, but real. The kind of laugh that only comes from frustration mixed with a bit of affection for someone who drives you nuts.
For a moment, the room felt like it exhaled with him. But just a moment.
Because outside that door, Mikey stood frozen, eyes wide, ears burning.
Names. Missions. People he didn't know yet — but would.And a war he was already a part of, whether they knew it or not.
"Yeah, he probably is," Bobo muttered, the remnants of his laugh fading into a sigh. He rubbed the back of his thick neck. "Little bastard always was soft."
"Where's Ryo holed up?" he asked after a beat.
Luce shook her head slowly, smirking as she folded her arms. "Somewhere real special."
Bobo raised an eyebrow, already bracing.
She let the pause hang for effect, then dropped it.
"Jöten."
Bobo's expression collapsed. His eyes widened, his mouth curled in a grimace. "You're shittin' me."
"Mmhm."
Luce didn't even try to hide the grin creeping onto her lips.
"That shiny, self-righteous little slice of heaven? You know it's stocked with guards and drones like they're expecting a damn siege."
"Goddamn fortress," Bobo grumbled.
"I heard Amelia might be there too." She lifted an eyebrow.
"Could be a two-for-one."
Bobo stared at her, a slow grin breaking through his beard.
"Two for one," he repeated, not with excitement—just the kind of grim acceptance that meant he was already planning something reckless.
Just then — crack.
The basement door creaked, then slammed open as Mikey stumbled forward, losing his footing entirely. He faceplanted onto the hardwood with a dull thud, arms splayed, one leg cocked up in the air behind him like a broken antenna.
"Hey… ha…"
Silence.
Bobo and Luce stared, deadpan.
Mikey, still lying there with his cheek to the floor, slowly lifted a hand in a half-wave.
"…So… what's going on?"