"How did it happen?"

"What?" Michael lifted his head, glancing at me from his spot on the cell floor, his shaggy blonde hair falling about his eyes.

I gestured towards him, my hand trembling slightly. "How did you get Turned?"

"Oh. That." His voice was hollow, devoid of emotion. "Like anyone else did in those first forty-eight hours, I guess." His eyes drifted back to the floor, as if the weight of his memories was too much to bear.

He paused, swallowing hard.

I stared at him expectantly, thoughts roiling about that day, so long ago.

"I couldn't get out of the apartment it started in, not at first. I went through the drywall to the next apartment, but it was too late; it was on fire, too. Did that a few times, kicking through closets into the next unit, just to find that the fire had already spread."

His voice grew quieter, more strained. "By the time I got out, fire was everywhere. I was on the opposite end of the complex, second floor. Saw you jump, actually. That was both impressive and stupid."

I smiled despite myself, rubbing at my wrist where the memory of impact still lingered.

"After you left me..." Michael's voice cracked.

"Michael," I pleaded, the pain in my voice mirroring his own.

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "I screamed for you. God, I screamed until my throat was raw. The heat... it was unbearable. I got burned so badly, hanging over that railing, begging for help that never came."

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and shameful. "I'm sorry," I whispered, the words feeling woefully inadequate.

Michael didn't acknowledge my apology. "I know you couldn't hear me over the gas lines blowing out. But why didn't you look back? Why didn't you..." His voice trailed off as he buried his head in his hands.

"Eventually," he continued, his voice muffled, "the balcony gave way. I fell, hit the lower railing, then the ground. Everything went black." He looked up, his eyes distant. "When I came to, I was walking. No pain, no injuries. Just... marching. Endlessly. And every time I tried to stop, there was this... giggle in my head. Mocking me. Controlling me."

"Turned," I murmured, the word heavier than ever I'd ever uttered.

He nodded, meeting my eyes for the first time since he'd walked in.

It had been like a dream when he first appeared. I'd been sitting there, banging my head against the wall, when I saw the shadow of the Thrall outside my cell door, flanked by its guards. Then, slowly, the shadow shrank until only the outline of a man stood outside. Minutes crawled by as we waited, frozen on either side of the force field. And then, he stepped through, larger than life.

Except, not entirely.

I studied him again, for the hundredth time since he'd slumped against the wall. It was certainly him, yet not entirely. His face was unchanged – the strong jaw, blonde hair, roman nose, and thick eyebrows all achingly familiar.

But there were subtle changes that marked him as no longer fully human. His skin shimmered faintly under the cell's harsh light, a disconcerting blend of his natural tone and an alien, cobalt hue. Beneath the surface, I could see the same constellation-like patterns that adorned my own changed flesh, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

It was as if he was partially stuck between being himself, and being the Thrall, caught in an eternal limbo.

"Michael, I..." My words faltered as I shifted on the metal floor of the cell, struggling to find the right way to express the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me. Guilt, regret, relief, disbelief - they warred within, threatening to choke the very breath from my lungs. "I thought you had gone out that day. To look for Emily, or scavenge for food, or...something. I swear, I never imagined you were still trapped in there..."

"Oh, I know. I get it, Alec. But that doesn't change the fact that you didn't even glance back. Not once. And later, after it was all over? You didn't try to find me. Didn't search the ashes and rubble for my body."

His words pierced like icy daggers. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with a sharp slashing motion of his hand.

"We captured all those college kids you shacked up with in the beginning, you know. Dragged every last one of them in for interrogation - them and their Vits. And you know what I learned, Alec? Not a single fucking one said you asked about me. Ever."

"That's...that's not true," I choked out, but even to my own ears, the denial rang hollow. Memories flashed unbidden through my mind - of those early days huddled in that mess hall with all those strangers, of hushed conversations and desperate planning. Had I ever once voiced my fears for Michael's fate? Asked if anyone had seen him after the fire?

Shame curdled in my gut as the answer whispered itself in the silence of my own thoughts: No. I hadn't.

Michael leaned forward, his eyes glinting like chips of ice in the dim light. "But you found time to cozy up to Lily, didn't you? Locked that down real quick once shit hit the fan. Guess a warm body and good pussy makes the end of the world a lot more bearable, huh?"

Revulsion jolted through me at his crude words, so uncharacteristic of the man I'd once known. Even before he'd found God, Michael had never spoken in such a manner.

"I know all about it," he continued relentlessly. "You raided some supplies, grabbed your new piece of ass, and bailed. Headed up north to look for your family. Didn't spare a single thought for your best fucking friend."

Horror crystalized into a single, terrifying thought. I stared at him, my breath freezing in my lungs. "Michael... please tell me you didn't go after my family..."

He ignored my question. "How could you leave me, Alec? How could you never even go and look?"

"Because I thought you were fucking dead, alright? The whole world had gone to shit, you were dead, I was by myself, and all I had left was to go find my family. Now answer the fucking question."

For a long moment, he simply glared at me, letting me dangle in the agony of uncertainty. Then, with a mirthless snort, he shook his head.

"No. By sheer luck, we didn't connect the dots between you and them until it was too late to matter. I convinced the Queen there was nothing to gain from them that I couldn't provide. So congratulations, I guess. I did you that one last solid, at least."

The relief that crashed over me was so intense it left me lightheaded. I slumped back against the wall, eyes slipping shut. "Thank you," I breathed.

"So," Michael said after the silence had stretched taut between us. "You and Echo. How'd that happen?"

I cracked one eye open to peer at him. A grim, humorless smile tugged at my lips. "That," I sighed, "is one incredibly long and fucked up story, man."

He spread his hands in a gesture so familiar that for a moment, it was almost like nothing had changed. Like we were back in our shitty apartment, shooting the shit over a couple of beers, just two normal guys living mundane lives.

But the shimmer of his skin and the unnatural tinge to his eyes shattered that fleeting illusion. Nothing would ever be normal again. Not for us.

"I've got nothing but time," he said simply. "So let's hear it."

I blew my cheeks out, a long wind of air escaping my lungs.

I sucked in a deep breath, head thunking back against the chilled metal wall. Then, haltingly at first, I began to talk. And as the words poured out of me, as I recounted every gory, harrowing detail of my journey from that fateful night to the present, it was almost like having my friend back again. He listened intently, his gaze never wavering. Occasionally he would nod, or wince, or bark out a sharp laugh at some morbidly funny twist.

And for those two hours, as I spilled my guts under the cold glow of that claustrophobic cell, it was easy to pretend the world hadn't ended. That we weren't two dead men - reminiscing on the sins and tragedies of our past as we awaited the blade of a literal monster's whims.

But like all illusions, it couldn't last forever. As my words finally ran dry, Michael shook his head, a rueful grin playing about his lips.

"Only you, Alec," he chuckled. "Only you could fall ass-backwards into becoming some kind of apocalyptic legend. I mean, shit... I took a tumble off a fuckin' balcony and woke up a meat puppet. But you? Nah, you had to go and be a fucking action hero, didn't you? Typical."

Despite everything, I felt an answering grin tug at my mouth. "What can I say? I always was an overachiever."

He laughed at that, a real laugh, and for just a moment I could almost see my friend underneath the veneer of the Thrall. Almost.

But then his chuckles subsided, and the weight of reality crashed back down upon us. The silence returned, heavy with all the things we couldn't quite bring ourselves to say.

There was still so much I needed to know. So many questions bubbling up inside me, desperate for answers. But exhaustion, bone deep and soul crushing, had begun to overtake me.

Later, I promised myself as my eyes grew heavy. Later, we would talk about it all - about the Thrall, about the Queen and her plans. About what fate might yet await humanity in the ruins of this godforsaken world.

But for now, in this moment, it was enough to simply exist in the presence of my lost friend. To remember who we had been before the world went to hell.

To pretend, if only for a little while longer, that hope was not yet lost.