After Bobo's answer, Mikey finally understood—really understood—the danger.
"The Directors… they're that strong, huh?" he asked quietly.
Bobo nodded once. No bravado, no exaggeration. Just truth.
Mikey's brow furrowed.
"Then… if they're that strong, why haven't they just snuffed you all out already?"
Luce, still leaning in the doorway with arms crossed, answered first.
"They haven't found our HQ yet. That's the only reason we're still breathing."
Bobo added, rubbing his metal arm absently.
"Yeah. And every time we hit one of their sites, they stomp us out like ants. They're not invincible, but close enough to feel like it."
Mikey sat with that.
"Then why keep fighting?"
That silenced the room for a moment. No one answered right away.
Then Bobo turned toward him. The usual warmth in his face was gone, replaced with something still and heavy.
"Because it's worse if we don't," he said. "You'll see how rotten that Council is soon enough."
He held Mikey's gaze.
"It's better you see it for yourself. And you will… in time, kiddo."
Mikey nods slowly. "You know, I overheard you guys… so what's going on?"
Luce glances at Bobo. He gives her a quiet nod—permission to speak.
"Well," she starts, "not like it matters to you, but two of ours got caught. Ryosuke and Amelia. They're locked up in a military prison camp."
Bobo finishes it off.
"Jöten."
Mikey raises an eyebrow.
"Jöten?"
"Yeah," Bobo says, voice flat.
Mikey goes on, "They hold all the criminals with serious crimes—the worst. Killers, rapists... psychos. Don't they?" He looks between them. "They keep Defectors there too?"
Luce tilts her head slightly.
"Kinda. They hole them up first. Interrogate them."
"Then they kill them," she adds, flat as steel. "There's never been an exception."
Mikey's eyes widen. "Really? Never?"
They both shake their heads.
Mikey asks, "How long do the other two have? Ryosuke and…"
Bobo fills in, "Amelia."
"Yeah—Amelia. How much time do they have left before they're…"
Luce answers without blinking. "Two more days. Tops."
Mikey whistles, caught off guard. "Damn. So what—just the two of you are planning a breakout? Alone?"
Luce nods.
"We can't leave them."
"No backup?" Mikey lifts a brow.
Bobo shakes his head.
"Nope. Too dangerous. HQ would shoot it down. So we're doing it ourselves." He chuckles, rough and low. "Ain't nothing new, kid."
Mikey thinks a moment.
"When are we leaving then?"
Bobo starts, "Dunno—tomorrow, most likely—"
Luce cuts in, eyes narrowing.
"Did you just say we?"
Mikey nods once.
"Mhm."
Bobo finally registers it. His whole expression shifts.
"Kid, you ain't going. You're going back to the Capital. This ain't safe."
Mikey pushes, "I can help—"
"End of discussion," Bobo snaps, voice suddenly hard.
Mikey looks down. His voice trembles.
"Go back to the Capital...? Where would I go? Huh? My mom's dead. My dad's dead. My home's gone." He looks up at them—haunted. "I've got nothing left."
Bobo looks at Luce. She shakes her head.
"I can't let you do this," Bobo says softly.
"I've never seen someone born in the Capital become a Defector and survive. Not really. You're not built for this. Even if you think you are." She sighs. "You'll find something—someone."
Mikey stands, voice rising.
"You said it yourself—I'm Desmond's son. I can do it. I—"
He clenches his fists, pain bleeding through his voice. "I need to. I need to fight for my dad's cause."
Bobo exhales through his nose, slow and heavy. His tone drops, no more teasing in it.
"You're not ready. I can tell."
Mikey stands up and slams his hands on the table.
"I'm strong enough!"
The room falls dead silent.
Mikey's voice softens.
"I can handle it… I'm ready."
A pause. His voice barely more than a whisper now.
"I want to help."
Bobo stares at him for a long moment. Then he sighs, low and heavy.
"You said you wanted to kill Payne in that moment, right?"
Mikey nods. "Yes."
Bobo starts pacing, slow and steady, eyes never leaving Mikey. A quiet storm brews beneath his calm voice.
"Okay. What about a Council soldier? One that never touched you. Never even looked at you sideways."
Mikey frowns.
"I don't get the question…"
Bobo snaps, sharper this time. "Could you do it? Could you kill a Council soldier?"
Mikey shifts his weight. "Yeah…"
Bobo's voice cuts through. "Even if he said he had a family? Even if he begged for his life? Could you look that man in the eye and pull the damn trigger?"
Mikey stammers, unsure. "I—I—"
"Answer the question!" Bobo barks, stepping in closer. "Could you kill that man?!"
Mikey, trying to prove himself, marches forward. His finger jabs into Bobo's chest.
"Yes!"
Bobo stops. His gaze settles on Mikey—reading him, weighing something behind the kid's fire.
"I could kill—"
CRACK.
Mikey's head jerks to the side as a massive palm slaps him clean across the face.
"What the hell did—!"
CRACK.
Another slap, harder. Mikey stumbles and crashes to the ground, groaning as he cradles his face.
Bobo looms above. His voice calm. Cold.
"Get up."
Mikey pushes himself up slowly, still dazed—but as he rises, another slap sends him right back down, the sound echoing off the walls.
"Get up."
Mikey looks up, disoriented. "What are you—"
CRACK.
Another hit. Harder. He collapses, gasping. Luce watches from the corner, jaw tight, but she doesn't intervene.
Bobo takes a few steps back, then turns with purpose, his voice a thunderclap.
"GET UP!"
Mikey pushes up again, fury burning now.
"Fuck you, old man!"
He lunges—throws a wild, desperate punch. Bobo catches his wrist mid-swing with his metal hand and, without hesitation, slaps him across the face with his free hand. Mikey flies backward, skids across the wood floor, and slams into the wall.
"GET UP!" Bobo roars again.
Mikey groans but forces himself up. He yells and charges, dipping low to tackle. He slams into Bobo's waist—nothing. Bobo doesn't move an inch.
With a grunt, Bobo grips Mikey's shirt in his metal hand, lifts him like a ragdoll, and throws him across the room. Mikey crashes against the wall, coughing as he hits the floor hard.
Bobo walks over, boots thudding, deliberate and slow.
"You're not ready," he growls.
"You're young, frail, and pissed off. And I get that. You've lost more than anyone should. But if you fight like this—angry—you'll die."
He jabs a thick finger at his own chest.
"Big dumbasses like me? We can fight with this," he says, tapping his heart. "Because we've got nothing to lose. But you?"
He steps closer, pointing between Mikey's eyes.
"You don't fight with this." Tap to the chest.
"You fight with this." Tap to the temple.
He lowers his voice, firm. "I know that anger. I respect it. But you can't control it. You lose your shit, fight like a fool—and then you're dead. And yeah… I did say you're Desmond's son."
He looks away, then back, voice cracking just slightly.
"That's exactly why I can't let you go. I won't be the reason my friend's only kid dies."
He exhales, long and slow, then turns toward the kitchen. He opens the fridge, pulls out an icepack, and tosses it across the room. It skids to a stop next to Mikey.
"Me and Luce are leaving tomorrow night," Bobo says. "I want you gone by morning. Head back to the Capital. Don't worry about being happy—just stay alive. Live. Survive."
He walks to the doorway and looks back, voice soft but absolute.
"When the time comes, and we win this war… I'll come back for you. Understand?"
Mikey stays on the floor for a moment, breathing hard. Then he picks up the icepack and presses it to his face. He stands slowly, eyes burning.
"Crystal," he mutters.
He walks to the basement door, yanks it open, and slams it shut behind him—leaving Luce and Bobo alone in the silence.