Work Text:
- [FILE ID: LHX-3642-B / CLASSIFIED]
EMPLOYEE ID: [CLASSIFIED]
DATE ACCESSED: [CLASSIFIED]
TIME ACCESSED: [CLASSIFIED]
TERMINAL USED: [CLASSIFIED]
Subjects: 03 and 04
Status: Compromised [CLASSIFIED]
Observation Summary :
Subjects 03 (♂, designation: “Jean”) and 04 (♂, designation: “Nathaniel” Self-Ascribed Alias: “Neil”) were acquired from separate territories [CLASSIFIED, ARIZONA and CLASSIFIED, FRANCE] and initially isolated for individualized protocol testing. Genetic composition confirmed hybrid class with regenerative capabilities, voice-range abnormalities, and above-average neural plasticity. Behavioral resistance noted early in 03; escalated in 04 after exposure to 03 in shared holding unit.
Incident Report – Internal Breach 7A:
Subjects initiated unapproved interactivity despite suppression measures. Communication developed through unknown non-verbal channels, resulting in co-regulated stress responses, cooperative physical resistance, and the temporary disabling of the monitoring grid. Subjects escaped containment during scheduled transfer to hydrostatic deprivation chamber. Tracking devices were compromised - believed removed by 04 via self-injury.
Termination Status: Incomplete.
Retrieval teams dispatched. Subject 03 sustained visible lacerations and possible neural trauma during flight. Subject 04 presumed active protector.
Experimental Viability: Terminated.
Emotional contamination renders both subjects unusable for further testing. Neural bonding detected. Project directive violated. Subjects deemed noncompliant , emotionally reactive , and genetically compromised.
Final Status: Subjects: 03 and 04.
Status: Compromised. Pending Recovery or Disposal.
Add’l Observation Notes:
Subject 04 initially presented as docile , with low-output behavioral resistance and high adaptability to containment protocols. Emotional affect was minimal; self-preservation response was below average. Subject 04 displayed no notable reaction to sensory deprivation, invasive procedures, or deprivation cycles. Psychological profile indicated early-stage resignation, considered optimal for long-term testing.
Subject 03, in contrast, demonstrated persistent noncompliance. Early behavioral instability required correctional protocols: electro-sedation, pressure chamber rotation, and vocal cord silencing. Despite repeated reinforcement cycles, Subject 03 maintained elevated autonomic responses and nonverbal defiance indicators. Result: medium-to-high degradation of physical tissue. Recommendation for asset termination was filed and suspended pending shared-unit experiment.
When placed in joint observation conditions, subjects exhibited unanticipated synchronization. Subject 03’s resistance behaviors reduced, while Subject 04’s passivity deteriorated. Within two standard lunar cycles, Subject 04 initiated containment breach. Behavioral reversal was not predicted by existing resilience models. Escape strategy included tampering with subdermal trackers and calculated timing of neural suppressant dosage drop.
Subject 04 is now reclassified from compliant asset to active instigator. Subject 03 presumed secondary. Bonding identified as emotionally contaminant. Both subjects rendered unsuitable for further controlled experimentation.
Subject 04 is now reclassified from compliant asset to active instigator. Subject 03 presumed secondary. Bonding identified as emotionally contaminant. Both subjects rendered unsuitable for further controlled experimentation.
Termination Recommended.
Upon recapture, both subjects are to be terminated on sight.
Failure to comply will result in immediate neutralization.
Status: Compromised. On Hold for Retrieval.
File Locked - Ravens Internal Use Only
Personnel Above Clearance Level Theta-X Required for Full Access
[RESCUE LOG: TROJANS/Foxes Joint Operation – Coastal Incident #BX-9234]
Date: [Classified]
Location: [Near [REDACTED]– Coordinates [REDACTED]]
**Subject: ** Mermen Designated 3 and 4 (♂) (♂)
TROJANS – Captain J. Knox:
**“Trojans first on scene. The merman marked with 03 confirmed to be non-hostile. Estimated age: 18-22 years, humanoid hybrid. Both mermen located in coastal undercurrent zones, tangled in crude netting. Immediate distress signal triggered. Both mermen show signs of severe abuse: scarring across dorsal fins and limbs. Extreme malnourishment and dehydration noted. Immediate medical triage required. Called for assistance, Foxes Vessel second on scene. May need a translator, the one with a 03 is not speaking English.”
Lieutenant Commander C. Alvarez (Trojans):
“The merman marked with 04 seems more responsive. Weak but less resistance, at least physically. The one marked with 03 showed a defensive stance when we approached, but upon seeing the rescue team, both went still. No further aggression. No vocalization from either subject. I’ve never seen anything like this. 03 seems to speak French, mostly. Refer to Captain Knox’s notes for further information.”
Lieutenant Commander L. Dermott (Trojans):
“Netting was heavy-duty chains, weighted lines, and chemical residue likely from prolonged containment. Given their condition, I’d say they were held for experimentation. Their muscle tissue is practically gone, and there’s visible nerve damage. Refer to Captain Knox’s notes for further information.”
FOXES – CAPTAIN WILDS:
**“Foxes, second on scene after the Trojans Vessel Captained by J. Knox. Upon first assessment, both mermen exhibit signs of non-verbal communication. There seems to be a connection between them, though it's hard to confirm just how strong. The merman marked 04 appears more aware of his surroundings, but there's clear disorientation. The merman marked 03 is emotionally withdrawn, almost entirely shut off. Likely long-term psychological trauma.”
Commander K. Day (Foxes):
“I’m stabilizing the merman marked 04, but he’s in poor shape. His physical condition is improving, but there’s something else going on. His emotional state is concerning. He’s still processing everything. The merman marked 03 is much more distant. Can’t even get a response. He is muttering in French, but nothing that makes sense. Anytime I make a move toward merman 03, merman 04 has a physical response.”
Lieutenant Commander An. Minyard (Foxes):
“Moving them is going to be a challenge. The one marked 03 is in a deeper psychological state than the other. It’s like he’s just… checked out. We need someone to focus on keeping them grounded, especially the merman marked 04. He’s going to need a lot more attention. We cannot get near him physically, he will not let us touch him.
TROJANS – CAPTAIN JEREMY:
“Once we’ve got them stable, we move them to the extraction point. We can’t let them be caught again. We need to make sure no one takes them back.”
Final Status:
Mermen marked 03 and 04 successfully rescued, found in critical condition. Both mermen in need of immediate medical attention. Psychological and physical trauma confirmed. Classified as high-risk assets due to potential further threat from [REDACTED]. Extraction and further protection in progress. Pending debrief with Coast Guard Command Admiral's D. Wymack and J. Rhemann. Further debrief needed.
Neil’s skin felt dry. Dry was the most obvious way he could possibly put it because he felt whatever was the next step beyond unbelievable fucking parched. He was itchy. He was cold. He was hot. He ached. He burned. He- Jean.
All of Neil’s thoughts came to a halt and he rammed so hard into the glass that he heard it crack. Stupid decision keeping him in a glass tank instead of acrylic. That was a rookie mistake. He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to dimmed lighting. Where the fuck was he? He was in a salt water tank which didn’t make sense because the Raven’s only allowed him to come into the smallest amount of contact with salt water twice a week because that was a absolute minimum his body needed to survive. They would never give him a tank-
The memories flowed through his brain like water through corals. They…escaped. Neil banged his fist on the glass again, though he already had the attention of the room, and everyone frozen. His voice made the glass vibrate, cracking in other places.
“Jean.” Was all he said.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
Neil pressed his hand to the tank. It felt…warm. Neil knew the water wasn’t warm, it was salt water, this was a facility unlike the Raven’s where they took notes as they dipped Jean and Neil from scorching hot to ice cold water. It felt…normal. Regular. Like the ocean. Like their home- Jean’s eyes opened agonizingly slow but the glimpse of gray had Neil’s vision going blurry and not in a way that was forced upon him.
Jean stared back at him, breathing deeply. He was in his mer form, his long black tail devoid of scales from years of experimentation, his ears flared out to listen to every breath Neil took. He pressed his palm against the tank and Neil’s lips curled upward.
“You beautiful bastard.” Neil murmured, pressing his forehead against the acrylic tank. He let out a watery laugh, taking in every sound he could hear Jean make despite the separation between them. Movement behind him had him turning sharply, instantly on the defensive.
They were staring at him but not in an unnerving way that made his skin prickle. One of them was approaching him, slowly, but they were definitely moving toward him.
“Where are we?” He had a nametag on his labcoat that said MINYARD, Aa.
“You’re in the stabilizing tank for the US Coast Guard, Marine Mammals division on Daufuskie Island.” Aa Minyard told him.
Neil’s eyes narrowed. “Bloody Point Beach? Fucking figures.” He pressed his palm against the tank again. “Why is he in there?”
“He exhibited heightened physiological distress in humanoid form, even under sedation,” Aa Minyard said, voice devoid of inflection. “The saline concentration in the tank accelerates dermal regeneration and regulates his autonomic responses more efficiently than our interventions. It’s as though his system had never been exposed to natural oceanic environments.”
Neil stared past him. This was the part he hated most: when they turned pain into data. Strip him of his will to live, fine, but spare him the scientific monologue. He wasn’t a lab report. He didn’t care what the salt water did to skin cells or nervous systems. Jean was in a tank because the Ravens broke him. That was the only goddamn data that mattered.
“Do you always talk like that,” Neil asked, his bright blue eyes narrowing, “or is that just your way of pretending we’re not people?”
The doctor looked at him, his gaze measured. “It’s how I don’t fall apart,” he said simply. “Someone has to stay focused.”
Neil blinked, the fire in him flickering just slightly. He hadn’t expected honesty. “Jean’s not data,” Neil said after a pause. “He’s not… an outcome.”
“I know,” Minyard agreed. He didn’t elaborate, but his gaze dropped for a moment to the faint bruises ringing Neil’s wrists, the half-faded scars that climbed his collarbone like tracking lines. “The tank isn’t a cure,” Aa Minyard added, quieter now. “It’s just… the least invasive thing I could do.”
Neil didn’t respond. He didn’t trust kindness, not from doctors, not from anyone who wore gloves and smelled like antiseptic. But Minyard hadn’t tried to touch him. Hadn’t even stepped too close.
“Fine,” Neil muttered. “But if he comes out worse- you mess him up more-”
“You’ll what?” Minyard asked, still calm.
Neil held his stare. “You’ll find out.”
Something flickered behind Minyard’s eyes, not fear, perhaps only acknowledgment “Duly noted, 03.”
Neil’s reaction was visceral, a sharp spike of fury that he had to douse. He calmed himself quickly as he realized Aa Minyard was provoking him. It made him want to laugh, almost. Instead, he turned back to Jean’s newest cage.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
The woman standing at the far end of the hall hadn’t moved in the last half hour. Neil noticed her the way he noticed everything: slowly, then all at once. She wasn’t dressed like a scientist: no lab coat, no gloves, just a dark tactical uniform with her sleeves rolled up and a name tag that read LCDR. ALVAREZ. She surveyed him with the kind of stillness that made Neil uneasy. Watching without pretending not to.
“Do I pass inspection?” Neil asked flatly, not looking at her.
Alvarez didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t inspecting you.”
“Sure,” he said. “Just happened to be assigned to stand outside the glass like a guard dog.”
“Actually,” she replied, “I’m stationed here to make sure no one comes for you.”
Neil snorted without humor. “That’s new. Usually it’s the other way around.”
Alvarez leaned casually against the wall, arms at her sides. She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you think it matters,” Neil said. “Whether I’m here to be protected or contained…it’s the same to me. I’m still behind the glass.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment before speaking again. Her eyes slid toward the tank. “He’s important to you.”
Neil stiffened.
“I saw you with him,” she continued, not unkindly. “Back on the ship, after we pulled you both out. You kept your eyes on him, even when you couldn’t lift your head. That wasn’t survival instinct.”
Neil glanced at her, expression guarded. “You get off on observing people like this, or is that just part of the job?”
“Part of the job,” Alvarez said easily. “But I’m not your enemy.” She paused, then added, quieter, “I know what people look like when they’re just surviving. You… looked like you were choosing him. Over and over.”
Neil’s mouth went dry. “Maybe I was hallucinating,” he said.
Alvarez gave a small shrug. “Maybe. But it wasn’t just one way.”
That landed heavier than he expected. “Why are you telling me this shit?” he asked.
“Because no one else will,” Alvarez said simply. “Not the doctors. Not the boys upstairs. But someone should tell you when it’s okay to hope again.”
Neil didn’t answer. He just turned back to the tank, where the water moved like a slow breath, and Jean inside it, suspended and still. Jean drifted inside the tank like a ghost half-remembered. Neil kept his eyes on him even when he knew it wouldn’t change anything.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
“This way,” one of the guards said, already gesturing for him to follow. His nametag said LT BOYD and his face looked nice enough but when did they not, at the beginning.
Neil didn’t move.
“Just a few questions,” someone else added. That sounded like Aa Minyard. Neil had taken to calling him A-A which annoyed the doctor to an immense degree. Neil heard in passing that his name was Aaron and there was another Minyard running around somewhere- Neil vaguely recalled the same face, but different, from the boat. “We need to debrief you formally, now that your vitals are stable.”
Neil didn’t answer. He was staring at Jean through the tank glass, arms locked at his sides.
“You’ll be brought back afterward,” the nurse said, some kind of girlfriend to the doctor, attempting a reassuring smile. “It’s a standard interview room: clean, quiet-”
That was the trigger. Clean. Quiet. Sterile. Jean had said once, in a whisper so dry it could’ve been dust, that the worst part was the rooms. Not the pain. Not even the knives. The silence. The white. The nowhere-ness. The nothing of it all, how it sucked everything human from you and made you into another one of their experiments.
Neil took a step back before they even touched him. Then his voice burst out of him like it had teeth. A shrill, broken sound, something most of the scientists, Coast Guard and doctors had only read about. It vibrated at a frequency that rattled bones. The nearest reinforced glass window cracked in its frame. One of the lights overhead sparked and went out.
The room froze.
“You will not take me away from him,” Neil said, low and trembling, his throat raw. “Not that far. Not again.”
In the end, they moved the chairs into the medical observation deck, just on the other side of the tank. Neil sat with his back to the door and his eyes never fully leaving the water. The two captains sat opposite him.
Captain Jeremy Knox of the Trojans leaned forward, calm but gentle. Captain Danielle Wilds of the Foxes was more direct, her eyes sharp and steady. Together, they formed a strange balance: like fire and seawater.
“We want to know how long you were kept there,” Jeremy said first. His voice was soft enough to fall under Neil’s defenses. “If you’re able to answer.”
“Define ‘kept,’” Neil muttered. “Or do you mean, when did they stop pretending we were alive?”
Dan didn’t flinch. “When did you last see open water?”
Neil’s jaw worked. “Months ago. Years? Time’s weird in the dark.” He paused. “Longer for him. He was there first.”
Jeremy nodded slowly. “You escaped together?”
Neil hesitated. “He wouldn’t have made it alone.”
“But you would’ve,” Dan said, watching him closely.
“I wasn’t trying to.” Neil’s voice was so quiet, they almost missed it. “I would’ve stayed, if he hadn’t been there.”
“Why?” Jeremy asked, no judgment in his voice, only curiosity.
“Because I didn’t know there was anything else.”
There was silence. Stillness and silence. The Captain’s exchanged glances, notes, spoke with their eyes.
“You two…” Dan said slowly, glancing at the tank. “You weren’t just cellmates.”
Neil’s head tilted. “You gonna write that down?”
“Only if it matters to the Ravens,” she replied.
“Write it down then,” Neil’s smile was feral. “It fucking matters.
Jeremy leaned back slightly, as if giving Neil space without saying so. “We’re trying to understand what they’re doing. The Ravens. They’re a fishing company, are they not?”
Dan didn’t sugarcoat it when she interjected, glancing sideways at the other Captain. “We need locations. Names. Any terms they used for projects or people.”
Neil exhaled through his nose. His gaze drifted to the tank again. Jean floated, one hand barely brushing the inside of the glass like he was reaching even in sleep. “They called us 'failures',” Neil said eventually. “Subjects 03 and 04. He was three. I was four. I don’t think the ones before us survived.”
Jeremy's voice was low. “What kind of testing?”
“Depends who was in charge that week.” Neil’s mouth twisted. “Sometimes it was heat tolerance. Pain thresholds. Regenerative trials. Mostly, they wanted to know how to break a mer. Mind first. Body second.”
Dan’s expression barely shifted, but her pen paused over the page. “Did you ever hear what they wanted from the successful ones?”
Neil looked at her for a long time. “Weapons. Breeders. Spies. I think someone up top was dreaming of an army or to be completely honest, some of them did it because they had fun.”
Silence again.
“And if you were ‘failures’...” Jeremy prompted gently.
Neil’s voice dropped. “We were to be terminated. On recapture, no questions. No recovery tanks. Just disposal.”
The quiet that followed was heavier this time.
Dan set her notepad down. “You thought we were them.”
“Of course I did.” Neil’s jaw clenched. “You're wearing badges. Carrying orders. You speak in clean words about dirty things. It’s hard to tell you all apart.”
Jeremy gave a slow nod. “Fair. But we didn’t put numbers on your faces. And we’re not here to put you back in a box.”
“I am aware of that,” Neil admitted, quietly. “But instinct doesn’t know.” He looked down at his hands. They were shaking, barely, but enough.
Dan stood first. “We’ll stop for today. You gave us more than enough.”
As she stepped back, Jeremy lingered. He glanced at the tank, then at Neil. “You know,” he said gently, “you didn’t just get him out. You brought him back.”
Neil didn’t answer, but his throat worked around something like a sob or a breath he didn’t want to take. Jeremy didn’t push. Instead, he nodded once and followed Dan out the door, leaving Neil alone with the only thing that had ever really kept him grounded.
“Brought him back,” Neil repeated, whispering. He held his hand up to the tank. Jean’s eyes opened. “Brought you back to what, though?” There was a furrow between Jean’s brows, still prominent as he drifted back to sleep.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
The hiss of pressure release startled no one more than Neil.
Jean was getting out of the recovery tank.
He sat up too fast, heart in his throat, as the top of the tank slid open in a slow mechanical arc. The room held its breath.
The Doctor stood beside the tank, gloves off, clipboard in hand. “He shifted sometime during the night,” he said evenly, eyes on the vitals. “Signs of biological stability. Heart rate consistent. No signs of neurological disassociation.”
Neil barely heard him. He was already on his feet.
Inside the tank, Jean looked... smaller. Human-shaped again, bare-chested, his skin pale with salt and sleep. His body floated limp but upright, like he was caught mid-dream. For the first time since the rescue, there were no visible restraints. No hard cuffs around his wrists. No muzzle. Just him. Just breath. Just life.
Minyard didn’t rush.
“Neil,” he said, without looking up, “if he panics, it may trigger a defensive reflex. I don’t think we want to test the limits of his voice out of the water.”
“Fuck off, Minyard,” The use of his actual name, albeit his last, had Doctor Minyard relenting. Neil moved closer, hands flat at his sides. “He won’t panic.”
Minyard gave a brief nod. “We’ll go slow.”
Two assistants who were a trained measure of quiet and careful moved in with towels and a lightweight thermal robe, but Minyard held out a hand to stop them. “Let me try first.” He stepped up beside the tank and spoke quietly. “Jean. You’re safe. Do you understand me?”
There was a beat, then a blink. A flicker of awareness behind half-lowered lashes. Then Jean’s mouth parted, just barely, but he didn’t speak.
Minyard didn’t push. “I’m going to help you out now. There are people here. But none of them will hurt you. You're not in the facility anymore.”
Jean’s gaze drifted beyond Minyard, and his eyes locked with Neil’s. The reaction was immediate. His hands twitched. His lips pulled into a broken expression, somewhere in the fragile realm of relief and disbelief.
Jean’s eyes fluttered. He blinked hard against the light and rasped, “Où…?”
Neil stepped forward. “It’s real,” he said, voice thick. “I’m here. You’re okay. You can come out.”
“Je t’ai trouvé,” Jean’s voice cracked, the words meant for Neil and only Neil. “Je t’ai trouvé, je t’ai trouvé.”
That was enough.
With quiet precision, Jean turned in the water and pushed himself upright. His limbs shook with the effort as it had been weeks since he’d used them on land but he moved on his own. Slowly, water trailing from his skin like a first breath, he reached the edge of the tank and climbed out.
Minyard stepped back as Neil stepped in. Jean staggered once, but Neil caught him, his hands firm and grounding. It wasn’t an embrace yet, only contact. Proof of life. Jean’s forehead dropped to Neil’s shoulder, and Neil let him lean.
Minyard didn’t speak, but his eyes flicked over the new lines of Jean’s back, old scars, some faded, some not. His expression didn’t change, but something in his stance showed he was affected by it.
“Mon-” Jean spoke then, barely audible. “Are we out? Did you do it?”
“We did.” Neil specified as he pressed his mouth to Jean’s temple. “Yeah. We’re out.”
Minyard’s voice was low, clinical. “Vitals stable. No visible infection. Neurological response within baseline.”
Jean flinched at his clinical words. “Why do you speak like that?” he rasped. “Like I am already dead.”
Minyard paused, recalling Neil’s similar words. “Because I’ve seen what was done to you.”
Jean’s hand trembled where he gripped Neil’s. “C’est-” He stopped himself. “That is not an answer.” He glared but then Neil’s hand on his face had him slipping into the other man, forgetting about all of their surroundings.
“Je ne veux plus partir,” Jean said instead, to Neil.
Neil’s lips pressed together and his hands were against Jean’s face. “Never again.”
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
[INTERNAL MEMO – MORIYAMA INSTITUTE – LEVEL 7 ACCESS ONLY]
Author: I. Moriyama
Date: [REDACTED]
Subject Line: Post-Breach Finalization – Project [REDACTED]
Document Type: Internal Journal / Official Record
Following the unauthorized breach of Site Theta, perpetrated by allied external agents under the guise of international maritime enforcement (“Coast Guard” identifiers, unverified authority), all assets related to Subjects 03 and 04 have been classified as irretrievable.
The incident was enabled by internal corruption and failure of oversight by the former site administrator, [REDACTED], a figure whose unregulated control of experimental environments led to significant compromise in protocol and mission objective. Said individual, whose name shall not appear in official records, perverted the Institute’s intent for biological advancement into a personal theater of violence. Unethical procedures replaced replicable results. The research was no longer viable.
He was dealt with. No remains were preserved.
It must be noted that these failures occurred under the passive direction of T. Moriyama , whose banishment from institutional operations is now permanent. His weakness in familial governance allowed [REDACTED] 's influence to spread unchecked. There will be no further tolerance of sentiment or arrogance within our leadership hierarchy.
The remaining personnel stationed at Site Theta during the breach were terminated, as per emergency protocol.
All digital and physical records have been scrubbed.
All video, audio, tissue samples, and progress notes referencing Subjects 01 through 04 have been erased.
Any reference to the merman entities recovered by the enemy has been fully redacted in public and internal databases.
It is the official stance of this institution that:
- Site Theta never existed.
- Subjects 03 and 04 were theoretical.
- There was no escape.
Future development into maritime subspecies will occur exclusively under satellite programs in [REDACTED], under the personal supervision of I. Moriyama.
We do not lose control. We do not make martyrs. We do not leave witnesses.
- Moriyama
Acting Director, Moriyama Institute
[PRIVATE ENCRYPTED FILE. EMPLOYEE ID: I. MORIYAMA]
File Tag: Echo Surveillance Subjects 03 & 04
They were never meant to survive. Not 03. Not 04. Not together. And yet, survival has made them useful in a new way. Cautionary. Illuminating. There is value in observing that which should not exist.
They’ve been taken in by joint task forces operating under civilian camouflage. Call signs: The Trojans. The Foxes. American Coast Guard units. Disorganized, but capable enough. They do not know what they have, not truly
03 remains unstable, quiet and unreadable. 04 is a variable. Dangerous, highly reactive. Capable of non-vocal projection, as evidenced by structural damage during initial interviews.
It does not matter. I have eyes on their location .
Satellite ping logs from [REDACTED] confirm current berth of the stolen assets aboard a grounded shipwreck identified as “The Foxhole Court.” Hidden in coastal shelf territory. Reconfigured as a crude marine base. Not officially charted.
There is more value in shadow than spectacle . Public recapture would undo our erasure efforts. But if the Institute ever requires leverage… they are not beyond reach. Should either asset reemerge publicly, or should they display heritable deviation , retrieval protocol will be reactivated.
Until then, they are ghosts and ghosts do not speak.
- Moriyama
Encrypted Signature Authenticate
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
Confidential Debrief: Joint Meeting between Captain Wilds, Captain Knox, Admiral Rhemann, and Admiral Wymack.
Location: Restricted Briefing Room, Foxhole Court Sector
“We’ve triple-checked the relays,” Dan said. “It’s not environmental drift. It’s not signal decay. Someone’s logging external sonar, just close enough to observe, never close enough to trace.”
Captain Knox handed over the tablet, his thumb still pressed to the screen like he hated giving it up. The image flickered faintly: heat trails in a pattern too controlled to be wild marine life, too careful to be coincidence.
“Watching,” Knox pointed out. “They’re not…probing or threatening. They’re just…present.”
Commander Wymack’s jaw clenched. Across from him, Rhemann stayed seated, arms folded, eyes narrowed in quiet calculation.
“Have they made contact?” Wymack asked.
“No,” Dan answered. “And we don’t believe they will.”
“Belief is cheap,” Rhemann muttered and Dan cut him a glare.
“Which is why we’re here,” Knox said, tight. “To report, not speculate.”
A silence stretched between them Eventually, Wymack nodded. “Jean and Neil don’t need to know. Not unless this turns from observation into interference.”
“They’ve been through enough,” Rhemann agreed.
No one in the room said the word Ravens. No one said alive. No one said still out there. But the tension said all of it.
Wymack leaned back. “Keep watch. Rotate the scans. Quietly.”
“And if they get closer?” Dan asked.
Jeremy answered before either commander could. “Then we get loud.”
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
The sea was calmer today.
Jean’s back was to the wall of the dry room, knees drawn up loosely, damp curls stuck to his temple. Neil sat beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, not speaking, not moving. Their silence wasn’t empty; it was full. Slow, tidal. They sat this way often.
Jean’s fingers traced lazy circles against the inside of Neil’s wrist, where the skin was thinner. Neil let him. Occasionally, Jean’s touch would drift too close to the numbers tattooed there, and Neil would flinch inward, toward Jean. Jean always stopped when that happened. He’d wait a beat then start again.
Neil didn’t know how to explain it: he didn’t want Jean to stop.
“You don’t sleep when I’m not near,” Jean said softly, eyes focused on nothing.
Neil exhaled, eyes on the same nothing. “Neither do you.”
It wasn’t accusation. It wasn’t even sadness. Just something known.
Jean tilted his head until it rested lightly against Neil’s. “I thought I was going to die in that tank,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But it was the first time I wasn’t afraid of it.”
Neil’s hand, which had been resting on the floor, came up and threaded into Jean’s. “I didn’t know what scared me more,” he admitted. “Losing you. Or finding you again.”
From the hallway, a passing Lieutenant Alvarez froze in place. She’d only come to check the perimeter seals, something routine and quiet, nothing more. She wasn’t expecting to see them like this, wrapped in the hush of something so deeply private it almost felt holy.
She didn’t announce herself. Instead, she backed away carefully, not wanting to interrupt what little peace they had managed to salvage from the wreckage of the lives they never asked for.
Outside, she made a quiet note in her patrol log:
“All clear.” But in the margin, in handwriting she’d later tear out and destroy, she wrote something else: “They’re in love. I hope it saves them.”
Alvarez found Dermott where she always did: curled up on the bottom bunk with her tablet dimmed and her boots still on, pretending not to wait up.
“I thought you were doing second sweep?” Dermott asked without looking up.
“Finished it.” Alvarez dropped onto the edge of the bunk, half-exhausted, half elsewhere.
“Everything clean?”
Alvarez hesitated.
Dermott looked up at that.
“Cat?”
Alvarez sighed, brushing salt from her sleeves. “Yeah. Everything’s clear. No signals, no signs, no movement.”
Dermott reached over, touched her knee. “But something’s eating at you.”
There was a long pause. Not uncomfortable, just deliberate.
“I saw them,” Alvarez said finally. “The two of them. 03 and 04. In the dry room.”
Dermott straightened a little. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. That’s the thing.” Alvarez rubbed her face. “It wasn’t a security issue. They were just… sitting there. Close. Holding hands. Quiet.” She paused, eyes far off. “And I realized I wasn’t guarding a threat. I was guarding two people who are still too afraid to believe they’re safe.”
Dermott’s hand slid into hers without needing to ask. “What did they look like?”
“Like it wasn’t the first time they’d touched. But like it might’ve been the first time it hadn’t hurt. Every time they had touched before had likely been to fix each others wounds.”
Dermott closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against Alvarez’s shoulder. “That’s… mostly good,” she murmured. “They deserve at least that.”
Alvarez nodded slowly. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t know what to do with it. It felt like something I shouldn’t have seen.”
“You didn’t take anything from them,” Dermott said gently. “You just witnessed it. That’s all.”
A silence settled between them. Comfortable, this time.
Then, quietly, Alvarez added, “If anyone ever tries to take that peace from them again, I swear to God-”
“We won’t let them,” Dermott finished, fierce and certain. Not as soldiers or as law. Just as people who know what love is, and what it’s worth.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
Jean had been cleared for his second walk this week. It was part of the reintegration process, they said. Controlled physical therapy, supervised movement, building tolerance. But to Jean, it still felt like a test. Everything did.
The corridor was quiet, cooled by humming vents, lined with the kind of walls made to be scrubbed down fast. Alvarez kept pace beside him, her footsteps soft, her presence even softer. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to fill the silence with comfort or noise. She knew better than that by now.
She’d been assigned to the perimeter originally, then to corridor oversight, and now she was something else entirely: chosen . Trusted. Jean hadn’t said it out loud, but he hadn’t asked her to leave, either, as he had with everyone else who tried to keep watch over him.
At the end of the first lap, Jean rolled his shoulder, testing the way the scar tissue pulled along his back. It still itched, deep beneath the surface, like phantom barnacles trying to grow where they no longer belonged.
“Pain?” Alvarez asked, without turning her head.
“Not the kind that matters,” Jean replied.
It was the most he’d said in two days.
She nodded once, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Good. I’d hate to call in the medics and ruin our clean record.”
As they rounded the second corner, that’s when it happened.
A technician stepped out from one of the recessed doors, a clipboard in hand, civilian badge clipped to a dull gray uniform. He wasn’t part of the regular crew. Alvarez noticed that immediately. So did Jean.
The man didn’t speak. Just looked. Too long. Too deliberately. Jean’s chin tilted, just slightly. His spine straightened, even as his steps stuttered.
Neil, who had been stationed on a bench under the guise of reviewing something on a terminal, was already watching. He didn’t move. Not yet. But something shifted behind his eyes. His hand curled into a loose fist on his knee.
Alvarez moved without hesitation.
She stepped between Jean and the technician, her stance calm but impenetrable. One hand settled lightly near her sidearm. Not a threat, but a promise. “Can I help you, sir?”
The technician’s mouth opened. Closed. “I was- just taking a reading from-”
“No one’s authorized to access the corridor during Recovery Transit. Step back.” Alvarez cut him off.
Jean’s breathing was shallow but controlled. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The tech flinched like he’d been caught somewhere he wasn’t meant to be- because he had. He retreated with a stammered apology and disappeared through the door he came from.
Alvarez didn’t chase him. She waited three full seconds before turning slightly to Jean.
“You okay?”
“D’accord,” Jean’s voice was calm, but tight. “I’m used to it.”
“I didn’t ask if you were used to it,” Alvarez said, her tone sharper than usual. “I asked if you’re okay.”
Jean paused. His mouth worked around his answer. Then, quieter, he said, “Non.”
Neil stood from the bench. He stretched like it was all a coincidence, like he hadn’t been holding his breath since the moment the tech appeared. His walk was slow, casual, but his eyes flicked once to Jean, then to Alvarez. He didn’t say anything.
As he passed, his hand brushed gently against Jean’s back. Just enough to say I’m here . Not enough to embarrass him in front of someone else.
Alvarez caught it. She didn’t react.
“Thank you,” Jean murmured after a moment. To her.
Alvarez shook her head. “You don’t need to thank me for doing my job.”
Jean turned his face slightly. “That’s not what you were doing.”
Alvarez finally looked at him, full-on. “No. It wasn’t.”
It happened again, weeks later, but Jean was stronger.
The lighting here was low. One would say ominous but it was more practical, energy-saving. Jean liked it. His eyes still took too long to adjust in bright light, and here, the shadows didn’t feel like cages.
He was cleared for limited unsupervised roaming now. Limited, meaning there was always someone within earshot. That someone was typically Alvarez.
She walked a little behind, palms together behind her, no weapons visible. Jean had stopped thinking of her as an escort. If anything, she felt like a… witness. Quietly there. Not because she doubted him, but because someone needed to be and she was the one he trusted most of the staff.
Neil trailed behind them both. Not so far that he’d be considered detached, just enough to maintain the illusion of distance. He knew Jean needed that room, even if it was fake. Even if Neil never looked away.
They passed an empty junction where a janitorial tech was pretending to recalibrate one of the wall panels.
Jean’s pace slowed immediately. Alvarez didn’t speak, but her attention sharpened.
The tech was mid-20s, a little too still. His tools were wrong. They were holding a scanner they didn’t know how to use. Their stance was both rigid and calculating.
Jean tilted his head and stared. And stared . When Jean stared, one could feel it whether they were facing him or not. The tech tried not to meet his gaze.
“Those aren’t the standard issue for this floor,” Jean said in greeting. His voice had changed in the last few weeks. It was thicker, steadier, tinged with something cold. “Are they yours?”
The technician shifted, discomfort flickering. “It’s a newer model. You’re not cleared to know the specs.”
“Ah,” Jean said, voice still neutral. “So the new models come with sweat and poorly hidden fear. Good to know.”
Alvarez stepped forward slightly but Jean’s hand lifted, palm down. Not to stop her. Just… hold a second. Neil, behind them, stopped walking altogether.
Jean moved closer, slow and deliberate. It wasn’t aggressive but there was something in the way he walked, like a predator who knew exactly how long it took to pounce and just wasn’t doing it yet .
The tech’s hand twitched toward their pocket. And Alvarez was suddenly there . Hand on the shoulder. A slight twist. Not painful, but enough pressure to freeze motion.
“Remove your hand from your pocket slowly,” she said, voice low, firm. “And put the device on the floor.”
The technician hesitated and then obeyed. Jean watched with cool disinterest, his grey eyes following every one of their movements.
“I don’t care who sent you,” he said. “But if you ever try this again, you won’t make it this far next time.”
The tech looked at him, finally meeting his eyes, and flinched. Alvarez confiscated the scanner, turning it over. Her eyes flicked across a serial number, already memorizing it.
“Lieutenant Dermott can run the trace,” she muttered, more to herself.
Jean finally turned away.
Neil’s gaze hadn’t shifted once. As Jean passed, their shoulders brushed, a brief moment of contact neither of them acknowledged aloud.
Alvarez fell into step behind them again, quiet.
Jean didn’t look back. “Thank you,” he said, not softly, but not begrudgingly either. Other than Neil, she was also the only person he’d ever thanked vocally.
Alvarez lifted an eyebrow. “Wasn’t sure if I’d need to step in this time.”
“You didn’t,” Jean said. “But it’s good to know you were ready.”
Neil’s voice came from behind them, dry as ever: “You’re both insufferably calm.”
Jean smiled, faint and fleeting. It was the closest he’d come to laughing in weeks and it made Neil’s heart feel so incredibly full.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
The scream split the silence like a blade through water. It wasn’t muffled or weak or even far away and it was real.
Jean surged upright in bed, gasping for breath. The sheets tangled around his legs like the nets he was so used to drowning with, his chest heaving, eyes wide but unseeing. There was salt on his face: sweat, tears, memory. His hands scrabbled for balance, for purchase, for escape, even though there was nowhere to run.
He was still in the room. Still safe. The walls weren’t glass. The lights weren’t surgical. The air wasn’t full of antiseptic or blood or the hum of something waiting to hurt him.
But his body didn’t know that yet.
Neil was already out of his bed. He didn’t speak. Words were knives when you were that deep in it, he knew it from personal experience. Instead, he crossed the short space between their beds and dropped to his knees in front of Jean, palms open. A quiet offering.
Jean didn’t flinch this time. Not like the first week, or even the third. He didn’t pull away. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes locked onto Neil’s.
“It wasn’t real,” Neil said, n because he believed it but because Jean needed to.
Jean let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob. “It was.”
Neil nodded, quiet for a moment before speaking. “Yeah. But it’s not now.”
A beat passed, then another.
The door opened gently, and Alvarez stepped in, barefoot, in her undershirt and sweats, sidearm absent. She didn’t reach for a light switch. She just stood in the doorway, silhouetted in blue night-mode light, her eyes sharp but not unkind.
“Anything broken?” she asked, low.
“No,” Neil said.
Jean still hadn’t moved from where he sat, but his hands had shifted and they pressed tightly between his knees, keeping himself grounded.
Alvarez took one step forward, enough to be seen clearly but not enough to crowd. “Do you want anything?”
Jean didn’t answer.
Neil glanced over his shoulder. “He’s staying awake.”
Alvarez nodded once. “I'll make tea. Give me ten.” She left just as quietly as she arrived.
Jean finally exhaled, the air leaving him like it was escaping pressure. “I hate sleeping.”
“D’accord,” Neil murmured in French.
Jean’s eyes flicked toward the door. “You think she heard…everything?”
“She hears everything,” Neil replied, tone neutral but fond. “And if she didn’t, Dermott did. They trade shifts. Probably flipped a coin.”
Jean looked down at his hands. “Doesn’t matter. I’d scream again.”
Neil stood slowly. “Good.” Jean blinked up at him. “I want you to scream. I want you to wake me up. I want you to get loud. That’s what we get now, Jean. Noise and space and safety.”
Jean looked like he might argue but didn’t. Instead, he reached forward and grabbed the hem of Neil’s shirt in one hand, grounding himself again. Neil stood, an anchor for Jean, until Jean tugged on his shirt and Neil crawled into the bed beside him. He pressed his body against Jean’s, the way Jean liked him to be after memories violated his mind.
The corridor lights stayed low. The tea would be warm in ten minutes. And the scream, though still echoing in Jean’s body, was already starting to fade.
Later, outside, the sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky was thinking about it. That bruised, early-blue stretch of dawn hovered on the horizon. Alvarez leaned against the railing, hands wrapped around a thermal mug. The steam curled up in the cold air. She hadn’t spoken in a while. She only stared.
Jeremy stepped up beside her with his own coffee, dark and barely touched. He didn’t ask her to start talking.
She didn’t say anything right away. Only after a long sip, a quiet breath, did she speak. “He screamed like he was drowning again.”
Jeremy didn’t look at her. He watched the horizon.
“I was up already,” she continued. “Dermott’s shift ended, and I couldn’t sleep. I was just passing their room when it happened. He was already sitting up by the time I got the door open. Neil was-” she shook her head. “Already there. Like he felt it coming.”
Jeremy nodded. “They know each other’s silences too well.”
Alvarez huffed. “That’s the thing. Jean didn’t even say anything. But when Neil asked if he wanted anything, Jean didn’t push him away. He didn’t shut down. He just… held on.”
Jeremy finally looked at her. “That’s good.”
“It is,” she said. “And it isn’t.”
He raised a brow, waiting.
“He’s getting stronger, Jer. I don’t mean physically. I mean sharper. Watching more. Calculating things. I think… I think he’s preparing.”
Jeremy’s mouth tightened. “For what?”
Alvarez shook her head. “I don’t know. But it’s like part of him still believes they’ll come back for him. And he wants to be ready when they do.”
Jeremy was quiet for a moment, then asked, “And you?” She glanced over at him. “Are you ready?” he clarified.
“I’m not sure that’s what he’d want,” she said. “Jean doesn’t want to be protected. Not anymore. But I’ll be there. Even if I’m just a second pair of eyes.”
Jeremy sipped his coffee. “You think we’ll ever stop being guards and just get to be people again?”
Alvarez smiled faintly. “We’ll stop when they do.”
That hung between them for a moment: truthful and heavy.
Then Jeremy spoke again, quieter this time. “Dan said the same thing last night. About the way Neil tracks every entry and exit. About how Jean hasn’t asked for a single thing, not once. Doesn’t even request food. Just eats what’s put in front of him.”
Alvarez nodded. “They were trained not to ask.”
“Then we untrain them,” Jeremy said simply. “Even if it takes years.”
There wasn’t much more to say. The light on the horizon turned the clouds gold.
Alvarez tipped the last of her drink back and straightened. “I’m going to check on them before shift change.”
Jeremy nodded again, voice low but resolute. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t have to. They understood. She disappeared down the hall, back to the two boys still learning how to exist without fear. And Jeremy stayed behind, letting the sun rise slow over the water.
Back in the recovery wing, the first light of dawn filtered through the high reinforced windows, a soft gold that painted the metal walls in warmth they rarely earned. The light touched the thin blanket at the foot of Jean’s bed and glinted off the edge of a steel chair Neil hadn’t left in hours.
Jean was awake.
He hadn’t gone back to sleep, Neil’s weight on top of him didn’t help the way it usually did.Neither did the tea Alvarez provided that the two of them drank in silence. He’d laid down when she left, turned on his side, but his eyes had stayed open. Awake the way you only are after a nightmare. Like waking had only changed the lighting, not the reality.
Neil sat cross-legged in the chair beside him, one elbow on the armrest, chin resting in his hand.
Jean’s voice broke the quiet, low and rasped: “ Toujours le même rêve .” Always the same dream.
Neil looked over at him.
Jean blinked up at the ceiling. “It is the first tank. The dark one. The glass was blackened, I couldn’t see. There was a hum in the walls, like machines breathing. And they left me there.”
Neil didn’t speak right away. He had the same dreams, he had been in the same tank.
Jean exhaled. “It was not the pain, not really. It was that no one came.”
Neil’s tone was quiet. “I came.”
Jean turned his head toward him. “You did.”
They looked at each other for a beat too long to be anything less than pure connection. Something unspoken settled between them like silt in deep water.
“That was the part they did not expect,” Jean murmured, English thick with his accent now. “You.”
Neil gave a small laugh, sharp and self-deprecating. “I’m very inconvenient.”
Jean allowed a faint curve of his mouth. “Non. You are…” He searched for the word. “Intraitable.”
“Stubborn,” Neil translated.
Jean nodded. “Oui. You don’t know how to leave well enough alone.”
Neil leaned his head back against the wall. “You weren’t well enough.”
Silence, warm and uncomplicated, held them. Jean shifted, reached for the edge of Neil’s blanket, and pulled it across the short space between their beds, covering a corner of his own.
Neil didn’t stop him. There was a knock—two sharp taps. Jean flinched slightly. Neil was on his feet before he realized it, halfway to the door.
Alvarez’s voice came through, calm and measured. “Just me.”
Neil opened the door only a few inches. She stood outside, sharp in uniform but soft in expression.
Behind him, Jean spoke, “She is fine . ”
Neil glanced back, and Jean nodded once. Neil stepped aside.
Alvarez came in with the same grace she used during tense fieldwork. She noticed the blanket bridge but didn’t remark on it. “I was going to bring more tea.”
Jean gave a small nod. “Oui,” Neil arched a brow but didn’t object. Alvarez turned to go. Jean added, low enough for her to hear, “Merci.”
She paused, hand on the door. “You’re not alone here.” Then she left.
Neil looked back at Jean, who was still lying on his side, calmer now. Jean didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need to. Neil could feel the difference in the room.
“You going back to sleep?”
Jean shook his head. “Non. Not yet.”
There was a long silence between them. Jean could tell something was bothering Neil but he waited for the other man to gather his thoughts. “I didn't know,” Neil said eventually. “That you screamed like that.”
Jean’s hands twitched once, then stilled. “You were not meant to hear.”
“You’re not supposed to keep it in.”
Jean's head tipped slightly toward him. “That is… not how I was taught to survive, Neil.”
Neil glanced over. Jean’s face was calm, but his fingers were digging crescent moons into the tops of his thighs.
Neil said, “You’re allowed to survive differently now.”
Jean let the words hang for a while. Then, quietly: “Tu crois ça, vraiment?”
“I do,” Neil said. “I have to.”
A breeze passed, and Neil caught the faint sound of Jean’s voice again. “Then… I will try. For you.”
Neil rolled his eyes. “For you.”
“For us.”
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
Neil wasn’t supposed to be there but he was a wanderer.
He’d gone to find Alvarez, maybe ask for more coffee, maybe ask for nothing, maybe just to bother her. He just wanted to keep moving while Jean rested. But the hallway he wandered down was too quiet, sterile in the way parts of the base still were. The kind of quiet that made you feel like you were trespassing just by breathing or looking.
He paused when he heard Wymack’s voice through the cracked door.
“…final sweep of the North Atlantic site. Most of the chambers had been drained. Salt residue, not much else.”
Neil inched closer without thinking.
Inside, the room was lit dimly. Commanders Wymack and Rhemann sat at the head of a long table with Captains Wilds and Knox flanking either side. On the wall: a grainy projection of a gutted facility. Rows of empty tanks—some shattered, some dark with something that looked like old blood. He could’ve left, but he didn’t.
Jeremy didn’t even turn around when he spoke. “Come in or leave, Neil. I know you’re there.”
Neil’s hand twitched on the doorframe. After a beat, he stepped inside. No one stopped him and no one looked surprised.
“Since you’re here…” Wymack said, dry but not unkind.
The images kept flicking by. Another facility. This one worse. A long corridor lined with cages. Inside: fragments of life. Scales stuck to drain grates. A fin. A single human eye, still open, clouded. Neil said nothing. They weren’t anything he hadn’t seen before but it was different know it was someone other than him or Jean.
“Were there any survivors?” Dan asked.
Jeremy nodded, slow. “Three. None of them stable. One…well. He was kept in a dry tank for God knows how long. He didn’t make it through the first night at the clinic.”
A new image appeared: restraints, thick and brutal, still smeared with something too dark to name.
“We’re still clearing out the Eastern site,” Rhemann said. “But it’s mostly clean. No movement, no signatures, no survivors.”
Another image: bloodstains, scales with skin still attached to them, bones of either human or fish or both.
Neil stepped forward, eyes locked on the screen.
“How many,” he asked.
Dan exhaled. “Five recovered. Three died quickly. The other two… won’t last long.”
Jeremy’s eyes were on the back of Neil’s head as he added quietly, “We’re not telling Jean. Unless you think he needs to know.”
Neil didn’t answer. He watched the images pass until Wymack switched off the projector.
“You’re still looking,” Neil said.
“Yes,” Rhemann answered. “For others.”
Neil gave a sharp nod. He looked tired, n just in body, but in the marrow. His soul was exhausted. Then he spoke, flat and quiet: If you find anyone alive… even barely… don’t let them wake up alone.”
He crossed the room in slow steps, the soles of his feet near silent on the floor. The captains and commanders let him be, rearranging themselves unconsciously to give him space at the table. Jeremy nudged a chair out with his boot, and Neil sat without a word.
On the wall, the projector showed another site: this one built into the jagged rock of a cliffside, almost invisible from above. Scorch marks blackened the edges of the entrance. A field operation drone’s camera swept low, catching the damage from the blast charges the Trojans had used to breach the outer doors.
“This was Site Delta-Nine,” Dan said, flicking a laser pointer toward a corner of the map. “Buried in arctic ice. No signal traffic, no surface access except once every ten days. It was luck we found it when we did.”
Jeremy added, “They had notes, Neil. Notes on you. And Jean. And others.”
Neil stared at the screen. “Anyone else still there?”
Rhemann shook his head. “It was empty when we arrived. Files purged. Holding tanks drained. Someone knew we were coming.”
“The other sites were better hidden,” Wymack said. “But we’ve taken out four more since the rescue. We’re coordinating with an international task force now, the coast guard, marine sanctuaries, even a few defectors from labs that were subcontracted under Moriyama control.”
Dan glanced at Neil. “There were names in some of the logs. Not always real names. But aliases. A few we’ve seen pop up more than once. We’re tracking them.”
Neil’s voice was flat. “And when you find them?”
Rhemann answered evenly, “We shut it down. No survivors from the operations team unless they surrender. And even then, we question, then cut ties. No one walks away untouched.”
Another image slid across the projector: tanks lined with ice, the glass frosted over. Someone had etched tally marks into the frost from the inside. Fifteen marks. No body inside. Just empty water.
Neil’s eyes narrowed. “You think one got out?”
“We don’t know,” said Jeremy. “But we hope.”
Silence held a long beat. Then Jeremy asked, carefully, “Are you all right seeing this?”
Neil didn’t respond at first. His eyes were still fixed to the screen. But when he did speak, it was like glass against metal. “This is better than what it was like not knowing.”
Dan nodded slowly, solemn. “We’ve made it our mission, Neil. Not just because of you and Jean. But because none of this should’ve happened in the first place.”
“They ran a global black site network like a business,” Jeremy added, voice tight with disgust. “With subsidiaries and protocols. With quotas.”
Wymack leaned forward. “We’ll find the rest. And we’ll burn every last one of them down.”
For a moment, Neil didn’t speak. Then he stood, slowly. “I want to see the maps sometime. The ones with all the dots.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “You planning to join the hunt?”
Neil’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You think I haven’t already?” No one stopped him as he left, this time, but they all watched him go. He walked straight back down the hall, and didn’t stop until he found the quiet hum of medical equipment and a certain heartbeat curled beside it.
The door to the med wing was mostly closed, left cracked in that way Alvarez preferred—so Jean wouldn’t feel like he was being locked in. Neil pushed it open with two fingers, careful not to let the hinges creak.
The lights were low, filtered blue. Saltwater hummed through a warming line somewhere to his right. Jean was curled in the corner of the cot, legs pulled up, arm crooked beneath his head. A book lay facedown beside him. One of the ones Laila had pressed into his hands last week. It was full of beautiful stories about migration, oceans, and monsters that turned out to be kind.
Neil stood in the doorway for a moment longer than he meant to. Then Jean stirred, even though Neil hadn’t made a sound.
“Tu reviens tard,” Jean spoke softly.
Neil stepped inside, quietly clicking the door shut behind him. “There was a meeting.”
Jean blinked up at him slowly, not rising, not moving much at all. “Did you go on purpose, or by accident?”
Neil snorted softly and walked to the bed and sat down beside where Jean lay. “I was outside the door. Jeremy told me to come in or leave.”
A ghost of a smile. “So you went in.”
Neil shrugged. “I stayed.” Neil leaned back on his hands, eyes on the wall. “They’ve been shutting them down. The black sites.” Jean’s breath hitched, almost imperceptible, to anybody other than Neil, anyway. “They’re empty. Mostly. But some weren’t. There were... survivors. Others like us.”
Jean’s voice was hoarse. “And?”
Neil didn’t answer right away. Then: “So far, nobody has made it.”
“Merde.” Jean’s eyes closed. He pressed his forehead to Neil’s hip, just a soft brush of contact. Then Jean asked, quieter still, in French, “Are they going to ask us to help?”
Neil didn’t lie. “Eventually.”
Jean’s fingers curled into the blanket. “Would you?”
“If you would,” Neil said. “Or if you would be okay with me doing it without you. No to all if you wouldn’t.”
Silence again. Then Jean, slow and careful, sat up enough to rest his head against Neil’s shoulder. He didn’t say yes, it wasn’t like Neil needed his permission. However, Jean knew Neil would want it.
Neil let his head tip against Jean’s. “They showed me maps. I said I wanted to see more. I think I want to be part of burning it down.”
“You already are,” Jean murmured. “You broke the tank.”
Neil’s mouth quirked into a smile, humorless but real. “You lit the fire.”
They sat like that for a long time, breathing in the hum of recycled air, the briny undertone of saline. Somewhere down the hall, a soft intercom chime rang out, unnoticed.
Finally, Neil asked, “You’re not going to make me sleep on the other cot again, are you?”
Jean didn’t even open his eyes. “Not unless you want to.”
Neil leaned back further and let the weight of the day slip down his spine. “No,” he said. “I don’t.” Jean didn’t reply, but his hand found Neil’s under the blanket, quiet and steady.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.
Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Aaron Minyard
Entry: [Redacted]
Confidential – not for inclusion in any official log
The Rehabilitation Unit of the Coast Guard tried returning them to the ocean. It was the “humane” thing, they said: “let them go where they belong”. Saltwater, freedom, nature, whatever poetic nonsense makes government agents sleep at night. Idiots.
It didn’t work.
03- Jean- bolted straight for the reef line but froze halfway there, like his body remembered something before his mind did. We had to fish him out, half in a panic. And 04- Neil- screamed loud enough to give two of the techs migraines and crack the left-viewing panel. Again. (He’s still very proud of that one. Asshole.)
So no, they’re not ready. Or it’s quite possible that the ocean isn’t. Hard to say. I heard them talking once when they were near the water and Jean is under the impression that the Ocean wants to apologize to them so badly to the point that it’s angry at them because it cannot find the words.
They’re still here, in the coastal facility, not as prisoners, but still being protected. Technically. Jean wanders the shoreline at night like a ghost. Neil follows like a shadow, pretending not to care but watching him like a hawk with abandonment issues. They don’t let anyone separate them for long.
I kept telling everyone not to humanize them. That they’re not “boys,” not “victims,” not “ours.” But I’ve stopped bothering. Everyone’s already attached. Even Alvarez brings them snacks. Dan talks to them like they’re on her crew. Jeremy looks like he wants to adopt them. Idiots. Kevin has started inviting them to plan new searches for others like them.
…They called me a friend last week. Neil smirked when he said it, so it doesn’t count. Jean just looked at me and nodded. I’m not sure which was worse.
I’ve stopped fighting it. I check their vitals every morning. Jean complains less now when I touch his wrist for a pulse. Neil still glares at me, but he doesn’t flinch when I get close anymore.
They’re healing, slowly and not linearly, but together. Alvarez said the ocean didn’t want them back… but maybe it was us who couldn’t let them go.
…I don’t…entirely blame us.
.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.