He sat on the parapet, legs swinging off the side. He watched as the sun began to dip below the giant wall in the distance. The edges of the sky were starting to darken into night, and lights were flickering on in the thousands of buildings that made up the districts. He felt someone press something cold against his hand. "Have a drink with me! Salut!"

"He isn't old enough to drink, MD," An exasperated female voice echoed in his ear. The coldness disappeared from his hand, and he felt water droplets slide down his palm.

"I was drinking at his age."

"And look how you turned out," Another voice responded on his other side. He didn't look at either of the people around him. He kept his focus on the horizon stretched out in front of him. For a moment, he felt like the wall wasn't there. He felt like he wasn't in some elaborate prison.

"Low blow, Sam, low blow."

"Should you really be talking to our boss like that?" Another voice added, and something else was placed in his hand. It was warmer, almost burning against his skin. He lifted it to his lips, letting the warm drink wash down his throat. He stopped when he realized he didn't taste anything. He lowered the drink, peering inside the mug... the mug? Wasn't it a cup? What was he supposed to be drinking? Was it actually warm, or was that his own body heat?

Was the sun setting? Or was it rising?

Was he sitting next to Sam and MD? Or was Nook right beside him? Actually, he might have been standing.

He wasn't... or he was... he is... he doesn't remember. Not every detail. He just remembers the rooftop. He remembers their words and presence. He remembers the cold drink being taken away... and who took it away?

He looks up. She is standing next to MD. She smiles at whatever he's talking about. She tucks her dirty blonde hair behind her ear, noticing that he's looking at her. She meets his eyes unflinchingly. She's still smiling, but it's a soft one meant for him, not an amused one aimed at MD. She opens her mouth to say something to him, but he can't hear her. He vaguely thinks that she's apologizing to him, and he doesn't know what for. She can't look that happy and be apologizing. Apologies should be remorseful. But she's smiling and he can only hear her lips muttering an apology.

—

His chest feels heavy. Breathing takes far more effort than it should. He feels like someone slammed a sledgehammer into his chest, but he firmly believes that it is only pain. He doesn't think anything has been broken, probably just bruised. Nothing else hurts, but his muscles do feel a little sore. His head is groggy, but it isn't pounding. He takes both of those to be good signs, and he allows his eyes to open. He sees cracked gray concrete illuminated by some sort of green light. He squints his eyes as he looks around, and his gaze settles on a pair of hands. He realizes as soon as one of the hand's flexes its fingers that those are his hands. They are bound at the wrists by some sort of glass tubing. The main tube is a green-tinted shade of white, but the aureole around the tubing is a viridian color. He's been tied up with neon tubing, and he doesn't fully understand how that's possible. He tries to pull at the tubing, but it doesn't budge. He's stuck, and by the way his legs won't part, they've been tied up, too.

"Good... evening, I think," Mamacita greets him with a soft whisper. He winces as the memories wash over him in slow waves. He remembers the emotional conversation in the car ride with Monarch, and then Mamacita woke up with the need to pee. He wanted to examine the area for monsters, but she... she knocked him unconscious with... neon tubing? Where in the world would she get neon tubing? Unless she had it on her person, which was as weird as it was impossible, she must... she must have created it herself. He never knew she had powers.

He pushed the memories and the betrayal out of his mind for a moment, taking in the rest of his surroundings. Mamacita had thrown him over her shoulder, which would probably explain the fogginess in his head. They were walking in what looked like a small tunnel with an arcing roof. The floor and walls are made from concrete, but there are some metal pipes that reflect back the neon light. He doesn't know where they are exactly, but he can guess that this is a service tunnel of some sort.

"You've gone quiet. I guess that's to be expected," Mamacita continues talking. He doesn't want to listen to her, but voices tend to echo in shadowy, cramped places like this. He can't block her out even though he wants to. She's stuck in his head, just like the whispering echo of her apology. "I... I didn't want it to turn out like this. You have to believe that much, if nothing else of what I say. Clara took MD... he's my everything. He loves me despite who I used to be. He loves me because I'm... me, he'd always say that. She threatened other people I knew, too. She told me that she would kill Sam... you met Sam. He was the one with the green hair. She told me she would kill Nook and Tommy, too. You don't know them, but trust me, you'd probably love them just as much as I do."

He feels his breath stop. Oh. She doesn't know. She's under the impression that she's only betraying Vermillion. She has no idea that she's also betrayed Tommy. She thinks she's protecting him, but she's just going to be delivering him to his demise. It's a horrible thought to carry in his heart. He has mixed feelings about this whole situation, and Mamacita doesn't stop talking long enough for him to really put into words what he's thinking. "You were always my hero. From my days in the Ravine to when I got a job in L'Manberg, you were there for me. You were the Red Angel, someone who would deliver us from cruelty. But you... you abandoned us. I'm sure you have your reasons, but I... I can't trust you to save MD. I can't trust you to protect Sam, Nook, and Tommy. They are my entire world. I can't let you run from Clara. I will deliver you to her myself if that's what it takes."

He almost laughs. Finally, finally, someone who is treating him the way he deserves. Here is someone who has finally accepted that he abandoned the district he was always fond of. Here is someone who is holding him accountable for his actions, and it happens to be Mamacita. He wonders what she would say if he ripped his mask off. He can't imagine anything good happening.

"You were on your way to her, anyway, so don't think too badly of me. I'm just following Clara's orders to the letter. She told me that you had to come alone, except for me, of course. I'm only here to pick up MD, though. Whatever happens between you and Clara is between the two of you. I want no part of it. I just want MD back," Mamacita finishes off. She wasn't wrong about him already heading towards Clara. It would be easy to just go along with Mamacita. She seemed plenty capable and willing to carry him all the way to Clara's front door.

But he was going to see Clara on his own terms.

He threw his body weight forward. He started to roll, and Mamacita's grip slackened on him as she tried to keep herself upright. He flipped off of her, and he barely managed to plant his heels on the ground. His entire body tingled with a pricking sensation, but he managed to continue rolling forward until he was a fair distance from Mamacita. She turned to glare at him, her face poisonous in the neon green light. She raised her hand up, and glass tubing appeared in her hand. It illuminated a bloody red color as she snapped the tubing forward, showing that it was a flexible whip. He pulled his arms apart as far as they would go. He was able to slacken the tubing, but it didn't break. Mamacita snapped the whip at him. He jumped away from the strike, but he tripped over his bound feet.

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be," Mamacita asked him, throwing her other hand down. A circle made from the tubing appeared right beside her wrist, and it expanded into a neon blue shield. She raised the shield up and twisted the whip until it shortened and hardened into a sword made from the same red light. He threw his foot on top of the bindings on his wrists, and he pulled up with all the strength in his body. The tubing cracked, and the color waned until nothing was left. He fell back as the tubing snapped, and he saw the neon red sword narrowly miss his face. He kicked his legs up, pressing his heels against Mamacita's shield. He kicked off of her shield to help gain the momentum to lift himself back up.

He continues to stumble back as she launches a neon red javelin at him. It shatters as it lands on the ground in front of him, and he immediately coughs as something other than oxygen fills his mouth. In the moment, he feels someone slam against his head. He falls to the ground with a dull pounding at the back of his skull. He looks up to see Mamacita's holding her shield up for another hit. He pushes himself onto his knees before he launches forward. He tackles Mamacita to the ground with enough force that he rolls away from her body once they're on the ground. He quickly stands up, but Mamacita is already waiting for him. She kicks his stomach, and he flies backward. Before he can do anything, he's flung through a metal door. He lands on the ground with bounce and a roll. When he finally stops, he realizes that he's no longer in the supply tunnel.

He looks around to see a large room made from concrete. There are huge metal shelving units that reach all the way to the roof. There are a few cardboard boxes and wooden crates dotted around the area, but there isn't much else. The only unique thing about the room is the phlegmatic woman walking towards him. Her bright red eyes are glowing in the dim lighting without even a trace of a smile. She raises an eyebrow at him when she stops walking, right next to his body. "You always knew how to make a scene."

"Clara!" Mamacita called out as she ran into the room. She looked down at him, and her neon weaponry faded away. She looked back at Clara with desperation in her eyes. "I brought him here, alone, like you asked. Where's MD?"

Clara looked up from him. For the first time in his life, he wanted her to look back at him because he hated the way she looked at Mamacita. Clara looked at Mamacita like she was worth even less than the dirt beneath her shoes. He knows that look, and he knows that Mamacita has seen it a thousand times before. He knows because Mamacita's face only hardens in response. She's just as determined as she is angry, and he recognizes that this is probably foolhardy. Mamacita will never be able to overcome those looks, no matter how hard she tries. She'll never be able to defeat Clara in a fight, no matter how hard she tries. She will never be able to save MD by herself, no matter how hard she tries. It's a painful thought, and one that everyone in the room knows. But Mamacita's look doesn't waver and Clara doesn't seem impressed by her courage.

"You have done as I asked the way I intended for it to be done," Clara shrugs. She turns her attention away from Mamacita, completely unafraid of what Mamacita would do to her unprotected back. He can see Mamacita's fingers twitch with a dim neon light spilling out from her fingertips, but she doesn't form it into anything. She watches Clara with narrowed eyes, and he flips onto his feet. He places both of his fists in front of him, ready for an attack from either person even when they are both clearly no longer paying attention to him.

Clara got to the opposite side of the room where a double staircase was pressed into the wall. She knocked on the wall between each staircase twice. She took a step back, and a secret door swung backward. Clara snapped her fingers. The room hidden by the secret door is immediately illuminated to reveal MD lying on a cot. He looked up when the door swung open, and his eyes widened when he peered into the world outside of his cell. He stumbles out of the room. There's dry blood hanging to his forehead, but he seems to be otherwise uninjured. In fact, he smiles unabashedly as he notices who is part of his rescue team. He runs out of the room, completely ignoring his captor as he races towards Mamacita. He even calls her name as he runs, and he doesn't spare a glance to the vigilante huddled against one of the metal shelves. Mamacita catches MD in her arms, and she lifts him into the air to spin around with him. When she places him back on the ground, she starts fretting over his head wound.

"Unlike humans, I always follow through with my promises," Clara spoke, and the whole room looked towards her. Her attention flitted to him for a second, and he knew that she was talking to him even when she turned her attention back to MD and Mamacita. She follows through with every gruesome promise she's ever made. He rarely ever follows through with his. If Clara is better than him in any way, it would be the fact that she sticks true to her word. All he ever does is talk, never committing to the action that should follow. "You have your... lover. Now, I would kindly request that the two of you leave this place. If you refuse, I might have to ask less kindly."

Clara's ruby eyes have always glowed, but now her entire body is glowing. Her skin shimmers with a golden light, and red sparkles waft off her shoulders to form a whole cosmo around her. The reason Clara fights so hard for hybrid rights is for the simple fact that she is also a hybrid. She's a rare one, so she no doubt has a difficult past. For some reason or another, this starborne with a knack for biosciences ended up at this science outpost. She was taken in by the Arch-Illager as part of his inner circle. She was the last one remaining of that council, and she was his current target. She was the last person he needed to defeat in order to wash his hands clean of Apex.

"¡Nos vamos ahora mismo! ¡Buena suerte, Vermillion!" MD yelled, slotting his hand into Mamacita's hand. He began to pull her away from the confrontation. As soon as they reached the door, Mamacita put her hand on the doorframe. MD made some sort of noise as Mamacita turned around in the doorway. MD was shorter than her, so he couldn't see MD's expression as Mamacita hesitated. She seemed to be assessing the risks and rewards of the situation. Clara raised an eyebrow, but Mamacita looked at him for some sort of confirmation. He smiled beneath his mask, motioning for her to leave. The betrayal was a dull ache in his chest, but he couldn't really blame her for choosing Tommy over Vermillion. She looked pained as she finally turned around, running into the darkness with MD at her side.

"Well, here we are, Theseus," Clara said, turning her attention onto him. She was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. He doesn't think he's ever seen her truly happy. He wondered if she would be if she won against humanity.

"Here we fucking are," He responds because he doesn't have anything else to do. His entire life, he thinks, it's been him versus her. He always fought against everything she stood for. Now, he gets the opportunity to fight against the source of it. He got to fight the woman who designed him. He got to fight the woman who ruined him in more ways than she saved him.

"I wonder who you got your foul mouth from. It wasn't Henry. He couldn't curse to save his life. It might have been your mother. She never spoke, but her internal monologue could have been filled with curse words. I know for certain that you didn't get it from the Nameless One. You didn't get much from him, now that I think about it. He was extremely loyal to the cause," Clara questions with a stolid voice. In a burst of red sparkles that looked like shooting stars, she was in front of him. She tilted her head at him curiously, raising a hand up but doing nothing with it. She merely invaded his personal space.

"I got his fucking powers, didn't I?" He says, lifting his hand up to grab her. She jumps away the second she notices his hand. His chance has been taken away from him, but he isn't going to give up. When he was first created, Clara sought out a way to make this embryo what she needed it to be: a weapon against humanity. When an attack occurred on the outpost, Clara saw opportunity where everyone else saw ruin. She took the comatose body of the Nameless One, a powerful necromancer who belonged to the Arch-Illager's council, and extracted the part of his DNA that enabled him to use his superpower. He isn't sure what Clara did in her lab, but she gave him a secondary ability on top of his natural affinity for aerokinesis. His second ability was just a perverted version of necromancy. It was corruption. It was, more specifically, the corruption of organic matter, including people.

"You did. You have the key inside of you. It flows in your blood. It drips out with your sweat. It resides in your skin and grows within each of your hairs. Now, I believe it is time that we stop putting off the inevitable. You have defeated everyone else, so I must take drastic measures. Instead of slowly integrating my plan, I must speed up the process. Welcome, my dear Theseus, to the apocalypse," Clara told him, lifting something out of her coat pocket. She holds it up to the air. It's a vial filled with a liquid as red as blood, red as her eyes. She smiles at it with pride swimming in her eyes. "It's a modified version of Impulse. Instead of allowing hybrids to awaken to their full potential, it will weaken those without hybrid traits. I need them out of the way to fully instate hybrids as the dominant species. I mentioned that it's modified, didn't I? The secret ingredient is your power. Or, more accurately, your blood.

"I need you alive. I need your body to continue producing blood. I have a feeling that you will not allow yourself to be my prisoner that easily. Welcome to Skyros, Theseus! Will you rise up... or will you fall?" Clara finishes off with her arms swinging wide open. He is almost blinded by the light shining around her. He knows what she means, though. Theseus, his namesake, was supposed to be a hero, the one who slayed the Minotaur, but he ended up being thrown off a cliff in Skyros. His namesake died, and he's about to find out if he receives a fate worse than death.

He unsheathes both of his daggers. He lets the green cracks appear all over his arm, finally unleashing the powers that had been buried inside of him for years. He feels the wind start to whip around him, pulling at his clothes and practically lifting him off the ground. He narrows his eyes at Clara despite how brightly she shines. He feels a strange sense of melancholy wash over him as he realizes that this is the end. No matter how the battle turns out, he's going to die.

He's going to die, and Clara is going down with him.