Chapter Text
You hadn’t been placed in another trial for several days, and you were smart enough not to mistake that for mercy.
Still, despite what it probably meant for the future, you clung to the sudden peace of your little room. You found yourself thanking the empty walls for the chance to heal.
The encounter with Coyle had shaken you deeper than you wanted to admit. They were dangling you over Franco’s head like a reward.
And he wanted you — badly.
That peace was occasionally broken by other reagents spilling out of the shuttle doors — or what was left of them. You sat at the table facing the doors and watched as only one of the four stumbled out.
Murkoff had cleaned the blood off him, but the horror on his face couldn’t be scrubbed away.
He caught you staring.
“Your little boyfriend shredded us,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Hope you’re fucking happy.”
“I don’t control anything here,” you said. “I’m trapped just like you.”
His eyes softened — just a little.
You were right, nonetheless. This cage was yours too. Still, guilt gnawed at you. No one deserved what Franco did to people.
It had been the same pattern for days now. Several went in. Maybe one came out. And Franco was always to blame. The situation with Coyle had clearly worked him up.
Your name barked over the speaker again, summoning you to the shuttle.
It felt wrong. It always did — but this time, something underneath it felt truly sinister. Still, you walked through the doors and took your seat.
The monitor dropped, and the shadowy face of Dr. Easterman flickered onto the screen. You held your insults this time. Too anxious to afford humor.
“You’ve done wonderfully,” Easterman said. “I asked you to jump, and you did. But Franco?”
He smiled.
“Franco asked how high.”
Your stomach tightened.
“And what kind of father would I be if I didn’t reward good behavior?” he continued calmly. “So today, we’re surprising him by sending you directly to his personal quarters.”
Your breath hitched.
“We expect your best behavior. If all goes well, you should make it out unscathed.” He tilted his head slightly. “We have reason to believe he won’t hurt you. But I wouldn’t test someone like him.”
The monitor flickered to black, then slid back into the ceiling.
“What,” you whispered to yourself.
They were hand-feeding you to him.
And you had no control over any of it.
The train screeched to a stop.
You stepped out of the shuttle, dragging one foot after the other. Every movement hurt now—your body reminding you of everything you’d survived and everything you hadn’t healed from yet.
On the other side stood a single guard, posted in a long corridor you’d never seen before. The air felt different here. Quieter. Thicker. Like the building itself was holding its breath.
He motioned for you to follow.
The hallway stretched on and on, sterile and featureless, until it felt endless. Finally, he stopped in front of a heavily armored door and lifted his radio.
“I have the reagent,” he said. “Line them up against the wall.”
He glanced down at you after, and for a split second you saw it—real, unfiltered pity behind the lenses of his glasses.
“Am I supposed to die in here?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. Flat. Hollow. You hated how badly you wanted him to lie to you.
He didn’t.
“This is where we keep the assets,” he said instead. “They’re unarmed. They’re being lined up now to keep maximum distance from you.” He paused, then added, quieter, “You’ll be escorted to Barbi’s quarters and left there for one hour. No one else will be allowed entry. The assets will be repositioned before you exit.”
He took a slow breath, like he needed it.
“I’m real sorry.”
The door opened before you could respond.
The space beyond looked unsettlingly familiar—like your own sleep room, but ruined. Tables dented. Furniture scarred. Marks in the walls where something violent had happened and never been fixed.
Then you saw them.
Eight armed guards stood between you and the wall.
Five Prime Assets were lined up there.
They stared at you with the same intensity you felt staring back—fear, curiosity, resentment, hunger. You stepped instinctively closer to the guard, your shoulder brushing his arm.
Of course Franco was the first to speak.
“You fuckin’ brought her?” he crowed, delight blazing across his face. “I been a good boy, mommy!”
He laughed loud and unrestrained, grinning wide. He wasn’t wearing his coat—just slacks, the purple button-up, and of course the pacifier. Somehow, that made it worse.
“You’re lettin’ him have that junkie whore?” Coyle shouted, furious. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!”
He looked exactly like he had in the trial—same filthy pants, a stained white tank top. His hat and glasses were gone, leaving him exposed and seething.
“Coyle,” you called back, voice sharp despite yourself, “I didn’t know you were bald.”
Franco howled with laughter.
“I’m tellin’ you,” he said, eyes never leaving you, “this woman’s special.”
The word made your stomach twist.
“Fuck you, slut!” Coyle spat, the insult weak with rage.
There was no stopping it now.
The guards began moving, and you were marched forward—past the line of assets, past Coyle’s burning stare, straight toward Franco’s room.
Special or not, you were being delivered.
They walked you into the room before turning around and closing the door. His room was almost normal, red striped wallpaper, a clean made bed, clean sink, pile of teeth on the table. You couldn't help but stare at them as you sat on the bed. His dress coat was hanging on the back of the door.
It swung open again for just a moment, the man of the hour was here. Franco steps inside like he’s been invited all along. No rush. No surprise. Just that lazy, confident swagger, eyes locking onto you the second he sees you sitting on the bed.
There it is — that grin. Wide. Proud. A little too excited.
“Well look at that,” he says, spreading his arms like he’s presenting a magic trick. “Told ya they’d bring you back to me.”
He shuts the door behind him with his heel and leans against it, head tilting as he studies you. Not rushing. Letting it sink in.
“You see this?” he adds, tapping the side of his head. “This is what happens when I behave. They give me my reward.”
A beat.
“They give me you.”
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head like he can’t believe how good it feels. “You shoulda seen their faces when I tore through those guys. I mean—” he whistles, impressed with himself, “—I was perfect. Clean. Efficient. Just like they want.”
He pushes off the door and starts pacing the room, restless energy buzzing under his skin.
“And all I could think was, Mommy’s gonna see this.”
He stops short, glancing at you, eyes sharp now — watching for your reaction.
“You were watchin’, right?” he asks quickly, almost too quickly. “They tell you what I do? Show you the footage?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
“Course they do. They want you to know I’m good. That I listen. That I do what I’m told.” His voice drops, quieter, more serious. “I want you to know that too.”
That’s the moment it hits him.
He goes still.
The grin fades just a little, replaced by something rawer. Something almost confused.
“…I really like when you see me,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “When you’re here, it’s like—” He exhales hard, annoyed at himself. “Like I gotta prove somethin’. Like if I do good enough, you won’t leave.”
He looks back at you then, intense, almost pleading beneath all that attitude.
“So yeah,” he says, forcing the grin back, louder now. “I’m gonna be real good today. Best you ever seen.”
A pause.
“‘Cause they said if I am… I get to keep you comin’ back.”