Chapter Text
Gerard knows these streets like the back of his hand. Every nook, every corner, every stairwell leading to the lower levels, every hiding place and every block he should avoid if he doesn’t want to get in trouble. Just like most of the people in the District he knows how to stay hidden. The saints will never catch him in this labyrinth of narrow streets and long corridors.
Right now, though, he doesn’t need to stay hidden. Doesn’t want to, either: this is one of those rare moments when he allows himself to get outside and wander the streets, blending in with the crowd, pretending that he, for once, belongs here. That his memory isn’t full of holes — a comparison with Swiss cheese comes to mind, and Gerard has no idea where he could have heard it before. He doesn’t even know what Swiss cheese is.
The roof he makes a stop at is empty, as always. It’s dangerous to form habits, Gerard knows: habits make you stand out, make you noticeable, but he can’t help staying on the roof for a few more minutes than he should, smoking a cigarette — his only one for the day, an unnecessary exercise of will. All around him the buildings are reaching out to the grey sky permanently obscured by smog. Dim yellow lights in the windows, shabby grey walls, laundry drying on the balconies, beacons of bright white neon lamps indicating the passages and stairwells, and, high above his head, Motorway East running all the way from the Eastern gate to Central District and further, to the heart of Carbon City. The motorway has been abandoned a long time ago, longer than Gerard remembers. Sometimes he sees chunks of concrete fall all the way down, big enough to kill an unfortunate bystander, too small to cause any serious damage to the buildings. One day, Gerard knows, the entire structure will collapse, burying hundreds of thousands of people in debris and rubble.
It doesn’t matter. They have been left here to die anyway.
Gerard breathes out the smoke and puts the cigarette out against the sole of his boot. He makes sure to get rid of any evidence he has ever been on this roof, throws the cigarette butt away and watches it disappear from view as it’s falling down to the lower levels. He is not going to be foolish enough to let anyone find his spot by leaving cigarette butts lying around.
And back down he goes, to the lower levels, through the narrow corridors and inconspicuous passageways, all the way to Level Three, the home for the lowest of the low: mud junkies, child prostitutes, all those who couldn’t survive on the upper levels. Gerard never looks them in the eyes, too scared of what he might see if he does. There, hidden in one of the many alleyways, away from prying eyes, Gerard finds the familiar graffiti-covered door and, after making sure he wasn’t followed, dials the code on the old battered panel.
“Thank fuck you’re back,” is the first thing he is greeted with.
Dewees leans against the wall, and Gerard involuntarily winces. The walls are wet and covered in grease and what he suspects is mold, and Gerard may have lost any sense of disgust over the years but he still avoids touching them unless it’s absolutely necessary. He has no idea how Dewees does it.
“What happened?” he asks.
“New recruit,” Dewees replies. “Frank has been at his throat for the past hour, you better get in there right now.”
Gerard nods. He knows how Frank can get if there is nobody around who can stop him from spiralling into full blown paranoia, and this is the main reason why he has been trying to stay close when new people come in, looking for refuge or trying to join their little group. Some part of him already feels sorry for the new guy.
The interview-turned-interrogation is held in the storage room. Gerard figures it out by the small crowd gathered around the door, listening in. Both Tyler and Josh are there, inseparable as always, wordlessly fighting for the best place with Pete. Next to them, standing a bit to the side in a futile attempt to pretend disinterested, are Anthony and Geoff. The latter greets Gerard with a small nod while the former pats Tyler on the shoulder as a signal to move away from the door.
For a second Gerard hesitates. Frank’s moods have been too unpredictable lately, and if he already knows Gerard sneaked out without his direct permission he might only make the situation worse for the poor recruit.
The lunatic is on the grass
Gerard winces. The stupid song got stuck in his head at the worst possible moment. Again.
He takes a deep breath to compose himself and steps inside the room. Frank almost doesn’t flinch at his appearance, his attention fully focused on the guy sitting on the floor across from him. Gerard allows himself a moment to assess the situation; Frank doesn’t look too concerned, though he is still clutching his fists too tight — Gerard is almost sure that, if he made Frank show him his palms now, he would have found out that Frank’s nails have broken the skin in a few spots; the new guy, however, is obviously exhausted by the questioning. He looks about the same age as Gerard, a bit taller, more athletically built. Gerard makes a special note of his long curly brown hair; an unusual sight in this part of the City. People prefer to keep their hair short, especially those unlucky to be born with curls — keeps the lice away. Gerard himself is an exception, but one, his hair is straight and definitely not as thick as this guy’s; second, the only reason behind his hair length is that he regularly forgets to cut it. What matters is that this guy must be from one of the wealthier sectors, if not from another District.
“Frank, leave the guy alone,” Gerard forces a smile as he sits on the floor next to Frank and faces the newcomer. “Hi. I’m Gerard.”
The guy nods. “Ray Toro.”
Gerard frowns. Either Ray isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed or he is just naive and inexperienced. Anyone in this part of the District knows not to give out their full name to strangers.
“Toro?” he asks. “Of those Toros?”
Ray shakes his head.
“No connection.”
He is lying, Gerard decides. The denial sounds too smooth, almost like Ray rehearsed it in case anyone recognises his last name and makes the connection between him and the entrepreneur Toro-Ortiz, the owner of half of the power plants in the West, who disappeared from the public view a few years ago. Some say he went against the High Priest in a debate about the water distribution and paid the price.
“As I was saying,” Frank pressed on, “we’re not recruiting anymore.”
Oh. So this is what the problem is.
“I could help,” Ray argues. “I’m good with a raygun, I could—”
“This isn’t a shooting range.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” Gerard asks quietly.
He can feel Frank’s intense stare. He knows this isn’t how this conversation is supposed to go, his role is to balance Frank’s questioning, be the mediator, not ask this kind of questions.
“Once,” Ray says in a plain voice. Too plain. “I had to. Didn’t like it.”
It’s better than nothing. As much as Gerard hates it, they need someone who won’t have much trouble shooting people: he himself is horrible with guns, and with Frank being the leader he can’t carry on standing at the front line of defence. Something is going to go wrong one day, and Frank might not have a chance to get out alive.
“Gerard,” Frank turns to him, “we need to talk outside.”
Gerard lets out a resigned sigh and without a word of protest follows Frank outside the storage room. The guys disperse at the sight of them, pretending they weren’t listening to the interrogation, but Frank pays them no mind, his attention focused entirely on Gerard.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.
“He could be useful,” Gerard shrugs. “He can shoot, he has experience—”
“Everyone here has that kind of experience. We’re not recruiting.”
Gerard pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Listen,” he starts. “You and Dewees are the only ones good with a gun. You know I’m shit, Tyler and Josh are better with all that technical stuff, I don’t think they can even find the trigger, Geoff and Anthony regularly score three out of ten, Hayley is a medic and has bigger things to worry about, and I wouldn’t ever trust Pete with a fucking gun.”
“I can deal with it on my own.”
“With what we’re gonna do? No. You’re gonna need backup.” Gerard nods at the door. “He’s our best chance.”
“What if he fucks up?”
“What if any one of us fucks up?” Gerard scoffs. “I’m not telling you to trust him with your life, just give him a chance to prove himself.”
“You trust people too much.”
‘When was the last time I was wrong about people?”
Frank sighs and shakes his head.
“I don’t like it,” he grumbles. “Did you notice that?”
“Did I notice what?”
“The timing. It’s too convenient. He might be a plant, they might have figured out we’re up to something.”
By this logic Gerard could be a plant too. Someone with no past, no connections, nobody in the East knew him before, and memory loss is a neat cover up for his entire life story being one giant blank spot. Sometimes Gerard himself doubts his loyalty to the cause. None of this has ever stopped Frank from trusting him.
Gerard never says any of it. One person knowing something is wrong with his brain is already enough, he doesn’t want the rest of their little group to find out.
“Then test him,” Gerard suggests. “I can take him on a scouting mission, or—”
“Out of the question.”
“He’s not from around here. If he’s a spy, it won’t be a problem to get him to the bottom and leave him there.”
Frank shudders at the mention of the bottom. The lowest level of the City, just above the tunnel system, the only place Gerard prefers to avoid. This is where the East District of Carbon City shows its true face: ugly, covered in scars of a massacre the rest of the District pretends to forget, and desperate to drag the unfortunate soul that wandered too deep into the slums under ground and bleed them dry.
“I’m not letting you do it. You’re not taking him scouting with you.”
“It’s just scouting, Frank. To the precinct and back, nothing vital.”
And besides, he has already found every possible way to get in and out of the Eastern Saints Precinct, even if they mess this one up, they can try again. The only thing he hasn’t gotten the access to is the archives, and this is what Tyler and Josh are working on now.
Frank is swaying but Gerard already knows he is going to say no. If he is in a merciful mood, he will let Ray leave on his own without Gerard begging him to spare his life.
The rescue comes in the face of Josh. He appears in the corridor with a pre-war laptop in his hands, nearly bursting from joy.
“I found the way in,” he declares. “I can override the security system from here and unlock the doors, but,” his smile falters, “someone still has to get in and upload the archive to the cloud, I can’t reach it from here.”
Frank frowns. “At all?”
“I could try,” Josh shrugs. “But it might take a few days, the shields are too strong to bruteforce.”
“We don’t have a few days, we’re already behind schedule!”
This is his chance to prove Frank wrong, Gerard thinks. He is sick and tired of staying behind every time they’re about to do something important, sitting out every other mission. He’s a good scout, and he is anything but fragile. He can do it: lead Ray to the precinct, press a few buttons, get out unnoticed.
“I can try,” he says. “Tell me which buttons to press, and I’ll do it.”
Josh gives him an uncertain look. “I think it’s better to have someone up there who knows what to do. No offence.”
“I can take Tyler. And Ray,” Gerard adds.
“You’re not taking Ray,” Frank argues.
“I am,” Gerard crosses his arms. “You don’t trust him, okay, fine, I get it. But he can be useful.”
“And you’re gonna prove it,” Frank sighs. “Fine. Three people should be enough for this.” He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath. “Go get ready, you’re leaving in five.”
This isn't a victory just yet. Gerard is smart enough to understand that it takes more than a promise and Gerard's own word to make Frank trust anyone — and this time he is set on not trusting Ray, and he is not about to abandon this idea no matter what Gerard says or does. But maybe, just maybe, if this mission is successful, he won't kick Ray out.
The thing is, Gerard likes seeing new faces. It means that this, what they're fighting for, is not just a delusion of a tiny group with a death wish. That there are people in this world that are willing to help, to put their own lives at risk to see the new, free Carbon City: without walls separating the high and mighty from the rest of the world, without saints wiping out entire sectors on a whim just because some kid has thrown a plastic cup at one of them, without all this darkness and overwhelming omnipresent poverty and hopelessness. That he still has something to fight for.
The lunatic is on the grass
Gerard shakes his head. He doesn't have time for this.
It doesn't take long for him to get ready: change his overcoat, pick up his mask, tuck the raygun under his belt — it won't be much use if they get ambushed, but knowing that he has means to defend himself is soothing. Gerard hopes he won't have to shoot anyone today.
On his way out he runs into Anthony. Anthony smiles at him, pats him on the shoulder and whispers: “Good luck out there,” and he sounds so sincere Gerard wants to die. He knows he shouldn't feel this way; Anthony is his friend, his comrade in arms, and Gerard would trust him with his life and he knows Anthony would too, and yet no matter how hard he tries he can't stop the jealousy from rising up in his chest.
He wishes he was like Anthony. He wishes he was taller, wishes his spine wasn't so crooked and he wasn't slouching all the time, wishes he was thinner, had better looks, sharper and more masculine. Frank used to tell him he was pretty, a long time ago, and Gerard was stupid enough to believe it.
His looks weren't enough in the end. In the end Frank chose Anthony, and Gerard had to choose between gritting his teeth and staying or starting over again somewhere far away from Frank, falling back into the old ways, the life he swore he would never go back to. He chose the former, despite all the pain he knew it would bring. Frank may never look at him the way he used to all those years ago, and he may never see him as a lover, but Gerard will always be there to take whatever scraps of attention Frank had to spare and never be bold enough to ask for more. He has always had the insatiable appetite for tenderness.
Whore.
Gerard clenches his fists. Now is not the time for wallowing in self-hatred.
Waiting for him are Ray, already covering the lower part of his face with a piece of cloth that once used to be someone’s shirt, and Dewees.
Gerard frowns. “Where’s Tyler?”
“I’m coming instead of him,” Dewees shrugs. “Frank’s orders.”
Gerard fights the urge to march back inside and give Frank a long passionate speech on how important it is to warn people before switching team members at the last moment. He doesn’t have the time.
Gerard isn’t even sure what exactly he is angry about. That Frank doesn’t trust him enough to go with Tyler? They’ve been on other missions before, on supply runs, and they never had any trouble watching each other’s backs. Tyler is perceptive, and he is scrawny, he can make himself invisible when needed, and he's good at finding hiding spaces when things go south. Good jumper, too, unlike Gerard who has to rely on passageways and shortcuts to get to a lower level in limited time. They make a decent team. Not as good as Tyler has with Josh, but good enough to survive. Dewees is the exact opposite of Tyler, and not only in terms of size: he is louder. Easy to spot from a few sectors away. Either Frank decided he wanted all three of them gone for good, or there is something else going on, something Gerard isn’t sure he likes.
It's Ray. Or, rather, Frank’s inability to trust anyone, least of all the newcomer. This is why he sent Dewees, one of the few people who won’t hesitate if Ray turns out to be a spy from Central.
Gerard chooses a longer route. It involves a lot more climbing than Gerard likes but it allows them to stay away from large open spaces — and, if his calculations are correct, they will arrive at the precinct right in time for the midday sermon. Gerard is many things, most of them unflattering, but he isn't an idiot, he knows exactly why Frank wanted them to get the information as soon as possible: the midday sermon takes thirty minutes and the entire city is obligated to attend, including the saints. Which, in turn, means a thirty minute window when nobody is going to be in the archive.
“How do you remember all that?” Ray huffs as they climb another staircase.
Gerard shrugs. “I’ve been around.”
“He’s a genius,” Dewees chimes in. “I once saw him walk all the way down from the Motorway, never took a wrong turn once.”
Gerard raises his hand in a warning gesture. They're close to the precinct now, two turns away, and his inner clock is telling him they're late: the sermon is about to begin, and the last thing they should be doing is staying out in the open. That, and he also wants Dewees to stop before he says anything Gerard doesn't want Ray to know.
“So what exactly are we looking for?” Ray asks.
“Intel,” Dewees says. “Frank thinks the saints might know something.”
“Something about what?”
Frank would have told Ray to stop with all the questions. Probably put a gun to his head, too, just to show he's serious. Too bad Gerard could never shut up when needed.
“Have you ever heard about cleansing?” he asks.
Ray scratches his head. “Maybe. It’s about the gangs, right? The triads?”
Dewees scoffs. “The triads, right.”
“That’s what they’re telling everyone,” Gerard explains. “They’re getting rid of crime syndicates because the East has been ungoverned for so long it's basically run by them. Officially.” He pauses, not sure if he should give Ray all the details yet. “In reality they cut a sector off, make sure nobody gets in or out, and then the saints come marching in and open fire until there's nobody left. Doesn't seem to be an obvious pattern but Frank thinks…”
He trails off. It sounds too much like a conspiracy theory, even if he himself believes it. He tried to come up with another explanation and failed too many times to be able to deny that Frank is right in his suspicions.
“Frank thinks The Tower wants the East gone,” Dewees finishes for him. “Personally, I agree. Dunno if it's the Cardinals, the Justice or the High Priest, but they want to cleanse the entire district.”
“Because of the uprising?”
Ray sounds so naive Gerard could actually believe he doesn't know anything about the state of things. Which only confirms his theory that Ray is not from the East, and combined with his lie about not being related to Toro-Ortiz… it doesn't look good. Gerard might have made a mistake after all.
“That was ten years ago,” he says. “They had their chance to bomb the place into oblivion back then. This one is something different, and this is what we want to find out.”
“It's like a rat in a boiling pot,” Dewees adds. “They're doing it slowly on purpose, so that nobody notices until it's too late to fight back, but we're dealing with a fucking genocide here.”
Ray stops in his tracks.
“Genocide?!”
Gerard snorts. “What did you expect? South brings food to their tables, West keeps them warm, North gives them all the fancy crap they want, and the only thing East has to offer is snuff broadcasts.”
“Snuff broadcasts?!”
“Livestreams of people getting killed,” Dewees winces. “I’ve heard people in Central are into this shit.”
“What I’m trying to say is,” Gerard continues. “East is useless for them. And it was too much trouble before, so of course they’re trying to get rid of us.”
Because the East, especially the lower levels, is home for those who have nowhere else left to go. People at the border sometimes keep in touch with other districts, but Gerard knows that, if they decide to escape the East, if they try to climb the wall and get out, they won’t last long. Nobody likes refugees, even more so if they come from places like this.
Ray nods slowly.
“I’ve heard rumours,” he admits. “Didn’t think it was really… that messed up.”
Dewees smirks. “Welcome to the East, baby. Now get moving.”
***
They barely make it to the precinct in time. Gerard presses the skeleton card Tyler gave him against the back door panel and rushes Ray and Dewees inside moments before an overwhelmingly loud horn pierces the air, drowning out most of the other sounds. Out of the corner of his eye Gerard notices Ray cross his heart; he is obviously trying to hide it, and Gerard has other things to worry about, he could always ask later. It might be nothing: an old habit, the remains of the faith Ray once had. Most of them used to be sincere believers anyway, including Frank, even if he is trying to deny it now.
“Fuck,” Dewees breathes out. “That was a close one.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Gerard grumbles. “We still got shit to do.”
Dewees nods and readjusts the scarf covering the lower half of his face. “Lead the way.”
They’re not far from the archives; one of the many reasons why Gerard chose getting in through the back door instead of waltzing in through the main entrance. They could have done it: all the saints are in the praying room, listening to the sermon, nobody would notice anything unusual until they were halfway back to the base. But the path to the archives is longer, and the chances of the saints finding them are higher. If Gerard was alone, he probably would have risked it anyway.
Gerard motions at the door leading to the archive. Dewees nods and steps closer, his finger tightly pressed against the tiny earpiece in his ear.
“East is up, Josh,” he whispers.
“I told you not to say names,” comes Josh’s voice through the screeching of static. “You ready?”
“Born ready,” Dewees smirks.
Gerard tunes out the rest of the conversation — most of it is technospeak he is never going to understand anyway, — and instead focuses on Ray. The guy doesn’t seem too nervous at first but Gerard quickly notices how he keeps his right hand closer to his waist, how his muscles tense at every sound. He’s ready to fight, Gerard realises. If something goes wrong, if they get ambushed by an army of saints, Ray is going to fight them tooth and nail. Gerard isn’t sure he is comfortable with this thought.
The door slides open without a sound. Dewees enters first, followed by Ray. Gerard takes one last look around, making sure nobody is watching them, and steps inside. The door closes behind his back, making him flinch, and he silently prays that they won’t have to get Josh to open it again. They have exactly twenty six minutes and thirty one seconds, this operation has to go without a hitch.
“Watch the door,” Gerard whispers to Ray. “And keep quiet.”
Ray nods.
The archive looks a lot like some of the abandoned rooms on the lower levels, filled with dusty old tech, plastic boxes with wires, primitive processors, old computer monitors. Unlike those rooms the archive looks more alive: not as much dust and dirt, and the monitor is working, as well as the keyboard. Gerard tries not to stare as Dewees gets to work and instead focuses on watching the door. Ray stands by his side, hand on the holster, and no matter how hard he tries he can’t hide the tension in his body.
“It’s okay,” Gerard whispers to him. “You don’t need to hide it.”
“Hide what?” Ray asks, and he really is a horrible liar, isn’t he?
“Two things.” Gerard takes a quick look at Dewees, making sure he isn’t eavesdropping, and moves closer to Ray. “It’s okay if you’re scared, you don’t need to pretend. Everyone gets scared sometimes.”
“I’m not scared.”
Gerard gives him a knowing look. He is going to let Ray have it, if he wants to pretend to be tough. This is his rite of passage, after all, of course he wants to seem stronger than he really is. He’ll figure it out on his own, when he gets more familiar with the dynamic of their group.
“You’re a worshiper, right?” Gerard continues, and watches Ray’s eyes widen with an odd satisfaction. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, don’t worry.”
“But you want something for it, right?”
It’s tempting, now that Ray inadvertently offered it. A favour for a favour, just like they do Up There. Every single person in their group has denied the Church, nobody is officially a worshiper. Gerard has certain suspicions about Josh and Tyler, but those two keep it to themselves and don’t skip their duties because of sermons and fasting, so who cares what they believe in anyway? They’re not part of the congregation anymore. This is the part that matters.
Ray, on the other hand, might be an interesting case. If he really is a worshiper, or used to be one until recently, he might have stories to tell, the ones nobody else is willing to talk about.
“I want to know more,” Gerard whispers. “About what it’s like to be with the Church.”
Ray lets out a nervous laugh. “You don’t know?”
“Not much. I was young when I left.”
And he doesn’t remember anything from his childhood. He doesn’t even know if he was part of the congregation in the first place, if his family tried to stay away from the Church, only performing obligatory rituals. Or maybe they were borderline fanatical and followed every word coming from the High Priest like it was gospel — and it is a gospel, in a way. Gerard tried looking for answers once but quickly gave up. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Whoever his parents were, they’re probably dead.
“Okay,” Ray breathes out. “I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just—” he throws a quick glance behind Gerard’s back. “Not here, okay?”
Gerard nods. This conversation should stay between them, Dewees doesn’t need to know about Ray’s beliefs.
“Fuck yeah,” Dewees whispers loudly enough for Gerard to hear. “Josh, I’ve started the upload.”
“How long will it take?” Gerard asks.
“About five minutes,” Josh replies. “Get out of there.”
“Someone will have to cover the traces,” Dewees argues. “Gee, how much time do we have left?”
“Twenty two minutes. Maybe a bit less.”
Dewees grins. “We can do it, then. No hurry.”
“You don’t have to stay there,” Josh tries to argue. “I’ve redirected the traffic, they’ll think you’re sending it to someone in the fifteenth sector.”
He is right, of course: if Josh says he can remotely cover their traces and send the saints on a false trail through the cleansed area, then he really can, and most of the data in the archive is probably endless reports anyway, and out of them all they only need a handful. They will be wasting precious time.
They will only need five minutes out of twenty two.
“We’re staying,” Gerard says. “We have enough time.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Josh grumbles.
Gerard isn’t sure he does. He should probably trust Josh and get out while they still can: the longer they stay the greater are their chances to be noticed, and while Gerard himself can easily escape he can’t say the same about Dewees, and Ray is going to get lost in the maze of upper levels, and Gerard is not going to leave his team behind.
“Relax, man,” Dewees murmurs. “We’ve got guns, and Gerard knows his shit, we’ll be fine.”
Gerard watches the numbers on the clock above the door change. Too slowly. He can barely hear the sermon broadcast from the outside, but he has an uneasy feeling that today is going to be one of those days when the sermon is cut short. They do it on certain days. Days that are somehow important but Gerard has spent the past eight years trying to figure out the pattern and couldn’t find as much as a hint. The Church works in mysterious ways.
One minute and twenty seven seconds left. Twenty six. Twenty five.
The walls almost vibrate from the sound of the horn announcing the end of the sermon. Dewees flinches and stares at Gerard with wide eyes.
“You said—” he starts but Gerard interrupts him:
“No time. Stop the upload and let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Dewees obediently smashes one of the million buttons. In one swift motion Ray takes the raygun out of the holster and switches the setting to the maximum. And Gerard may not have much experience with rayguns, and he has seen what maximum impact can do to a human body only once in his life but he doesn’t want to repeat the experience.
“Lower the setting,” he orders in a hushed whisper.
“No.”
“We're not killing anyone today,” Gerard hisses. “Lower. The fucking. Setting.”
Ray doesn't move.
“Gerard, leave it, let's go,” Dewees whispers.
Gerard hesitates. Just for a fraction of a second, but this turns out to be enough. The door slides open, and, before Gerard has time to react, he is faced with a raygun pointed at his head. A saint, in a uniform too big for him, young, skinny, trembling at the sight of the intruder. stares at them with wide eyes.
Ray raises his shotgun without a word. Dewees does the same, while Gerard finds himself frozen in place.
It’s just a kid, he thinks. This is probably his first week at the job, he has no idea how to deal with intruders.
“Out of the way,” Dewees grunts.
The saint switches the setting from ‘stun’ to ‘kill’.
Everything happens so fast Gerard doesn’t even have time to understand what is going on. Dewees places himself between Gerard and the saint, pushing Gerard back, Ray presses the raygun against the saint’s temple, and at the very same moment the kid pulls the trigger.
All Gerard can see is red. Something sticky and hot splatters on his face, pieces of bone and something wet and slimy get tangled in his hair, decorate his overcoat, and in the next second Dewees is falling, and this wasn’t supposed to happen, they had twenty two minutes left, the sermon is supposed to be still going, what is the saint even doing here.
He looks so young, barely Frank’s age, and his eyes widen with surprise and shock of what is about to come. He knows before Ray pulls the trigger, and all he can do is stare at the raygun, scared and helpless and so, so young.
It’s so easy to forget that saints are human too.
Gerard doesn’t look when Ray pulls the trigger. Can’t make himself look, not when right in front of him, on the floor, lies what remains of Dewees, and he can’t stop staring at it, at the hole in his head, at the dark thick blood oozing from the wound and mixing with dust and dirt. Dewees is unnaturally still, and this is so wrong, Gerard has never seen him so quiet.
Someone grabs his arm. Gerard barely registers the sound of Ray’s voice yelling something at him; he can barely concentrate, not when he has blood on his face and taste of iron on his tongue. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to get in and out without a hitch, his plan was nearly perfect, midday sermon almost always lasts thirty minutes, they had time, and Dewees can’t be—
Ray drags him outside the precinct. The smell of smoke, rotten food and piss hits his nostrils, and Gerard has to suppress the urge to vomit. He is vaguely aware that he is still wearing his mask, so even if someone saw them they didn’t get a good look on his face. It seems so insignificant now. Dewees is dead, the saints know they were looking for something, and this is all Gerard’s fault.
Only when they reach one of the upper levels does Gerard come back to reality. Ray is holding his hand tight, and the haunted look in his brown eyes tells Gerard everything he needs to know.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “This wasn’t supposed to—”
“I know,” Ray says quietly.
Gerard takes his mask off and tosses it aside. He doesn’t care about discretion: in this part of the City a bloodied piece of cloth is a usual sight, not even the saints are going to notice it. He still has pieces of Dewees in his hair and on his clothes, and Gerard is sure he swallowed some of his blood and probably a piece of brain. The very thought makes him want to throw up.
The lunatic is on the grass
“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard grumbles under his breath. Ray gives him a worried look. “Not you.”
“What now?”
Gerard shakes his head. “We find a place to sit this mess out for an hour or two. Then go back to the base and I explain to Frank how I fucked this up.”
Frank is going to kick him out now. Or maybe kill, if he has doubts about Gerard’s ability to keep his mouth shut. Probably for the best: Gerard deserves to die for what he did, the unnecessary risk he put his team at. He should have listened to Josh. He should have been cautious, and all he did was let his pride get the best of him, and Dewees paid the price.
They end up on a roof, somewhere at Level Twenty, above the Motorway. Gerard isn’t sure: he hasn’t been keeping track of where Ray was taking him. He doesn’t even know if he cares about how they’re going to get back to the base. He’ll figure something out. If there is one thing he is confident in, it’s his ability to always find the way to Frank. And even this skill — his only skill — failed him time and time again back when he was still trying to find his way home. The irony.
Ray sits on the edge, and Gerard follows his example. He desperately needs a cigarette, and has to stop himself from reaching for the inner pocket of his overcoat. He already had his dose of nicotine for today. He has already messed up enough, he can’t allow himself to break the one cigarette rule.
From the roof opens one of the clearest views at the Temple. A tall structure made of grey concrete, with narrow slits of windows — Gerard likes to imagine them as stained glass, some resemblance of beauty among all the rubble, — surrounded by empty buildings. The area around the Temple used to be full of life once, but the cleansings have left it dark and abandoned. Dead. It was the first place to be cleansed; the Bishop must hate to see all the poverty and decay around them. More than blood and death, it seems. Further west, a sector or two away, the wall separating Central from East towers above the houses. From his position Gerard thinks he can make out a few makeshift houses clinging to it. It’s only a matter of time until the inhabitants will be forced to leave — they’re too close to Central, even if they stay on their side of the City. People in Central might get scared of the rot potentially poisoning their perfect lives. And above it all, in the middle of the Central District, stands The Tower: a colossal building brightly lit by the projectors even during the day, with three statues placed at the top, facing North, West and South. The Three Divinities turning their backs on the East. Gerard has heard once that it wasn’t always that way, and the statues were turned away from the East after the uprising as a kind of punishment.
Frank has always hated it. Gerard doesn’t quite share the sentiment: the building itself isn’t ugly, it’s the people that occupy it. It’s always about the people.
“Were you close?” Ray asks.
Dewees. He’s talking about Dewees.
“I don’t know,” Gerard shrugs. “We were friends, but… Not sure if we were really close. Still friends.”
“I’m sorry,” Ray says softly.
Gerard shakes his head. He is suddenly too aware of the blood on his clothes, the smell of iron and death lingering on him.
“Don’t,” he exhales. “Just fucking don’t.”
“If you need someone to talk to—”
“I don’t know how you people do it in Central,” Gerard hisses, “but around here nobody has time to talk about their fucking feelings.”
Ray stares at him like he has just been caught by the saints on the lower level pushing mud to a five year old.
“I’m not from—” he starts but Gerard interrupts him:
“You’re from Central. I know you are. And you lied to Frank, because I know you are a Toro-Ortiz, so drop your stupid act,” a wicked half-crazy smile appears on his lips. “You can fucking shoot me now if you want, I don’t give a shit, but just so you know, Frank’s gonna obliterate you if he finds out — and he will find out. You can tell that to your fucking superiors.”
Ray blinks slowly.
“Okay,” he mutters. “That’s… a lot to unpack.”
He doesn’t touch his gun. Doesn’t even put his hand on the holster, makes no attempt to run. Gerard could shoot him at any moment, or push him from the roof, and he wouldn’t put up much of a fight.
“Fine,” Ray breathes out. “Okay. I’m from Central, and I’m one of those Toros, you got me there. But I’m not a spy, and I don’t have superiors or anything like that, I really wanna help.”
“Why?”
Why would anyone from Central want to help a bunch of misfits from lower levels? Gerard doesn’t even want to know how Ray found out about their existence, it’s not that important in the grand scheme of things. Someone might have talked too much at the wrong place. They might be compromised — dammit, they are definitely compromised after the shootout at the precinct.
“They took my Dad away,” Ray says. He sounds surprisingly distant, like the very memory of it brings him pain. “Dad, he… okay, what do you know about him?”
“That he owns the power plants in the West and that nobody’s heard about him for the past three years or so.”
Shortly before the cleansings began. It’s probably nothing but a coincidence.
Ray gives him a shaky nod.
“He doesn’t own the plants anymore,” he says. “He’s gone. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but knowing those people, probably not.” He takes a shaky breath. “He knew that the Council was planning something big and he hated it. He never really liked them in the first place, I think since the Prophet and her apostles disappeared, but that time he was really pissed. Tried to convince the Justice to stop it.”
Ray takes a short pause to recollect himself.
“The Justice sent the saints. In the middle of the night. They took Dad away, then the Council came and took everything he owned. We were allowed to stay in Central, at first, probably because they didn’t want to make it look like they’re silencing the opposition. We thought we could survive, wait it out until the government changes, but a few months ago the Justice sent the saints again,” he shudders. “I barely escaped. Figured out nobody is going to look for me in the East, so I came here.”
Gerard doesn’t want to believe him. Ray’s story has too many blank spots, he is not telling something important, Gerard can feel it, but, as much as he hates to admit it, it makes sense. If the Council can allow the extermination of entire sectors, they wouldn’t even hesitate before getting rid of one of their own for being a nuisance.
“You need to tell Frank all this,” he says quietly.
Ray winces. “He’s gonna kill me if he finds out.”
“Not if I tell him not to. He listens to me.”
Usually. Gerard is not entirely convinced Frank is not going to overreact at the news that Ray is from Central. But it’s only going to be worse when he inevitably learns the truth on his own, and Gerard might not be around to intervene, which leaves Ray with only one option. Ray seems to understand it too, because he lets out a long tired sigh and nods.
“Okay,” he grumbles. “I’ll tell him.”
Chapter Text
“Gerard, what the fuck?!”
Gerard winces. He somewhat expected this reaction, and still it comes as a shock when Frank begins yelling the moment the door closes behind him. He hates seeing Frank so furious, hates that he knows he deserves everything second of his wrath.
“I didn't know they were going to end the sermon early!” He tries to protest but Frank refuses to listen to his excuses.
“When you're told to get out, you do exactly that!” He scowls. “Josh had it under control!”
“I had to make sure!”
“You had to follow the fucking orders! We’re compromised now because you had to go and fuck it all up!”
“We got out,” Gerard argues weakly. “That's important, right? We got out, and we have the data so we can start again…”
“We lost Dewees! You call this ‘getting out’?”
“I’m sorry…”
“Shut the fuck up. I don't need your fucking apologies.”
Frank turns away — a clear signal that he is not going to continue this conversation. It hurts more than Gerard would like to admit; sure, they had a fair share of fights before, but Frank used to listen. He used to pay attention to what Gerard had to say, even if he didn't agree or they both knew the fault was with Gerard.
Frank stopped listening when Anthony came along. Maybe Gerard should give up on the idea that he might have Frank back, even as a friend. Maybe he has been lying to himself in thinking that he had a place here, that he was wanted. After all, he is nothing but a cheap whore, a used product, why would anyone want him? Why would Frank, the only one who knew him during the times he was selling himself out on Boogie Street for a few pieces every night, want him when he has Anthony? Anthony never sank so low. Anthony used to have a proper job in the North. Anthony never had to spend days worrying about catching the Sodom plague from sucking a stranger’s cock because he had to choose between that and starving to death.
Who is he trying to fool anyway?
“He was my friend too,” Gerard says quietly.
“Really, Gerard? You think this makes it better?”
He has to ask. He has to ask now, while Frank is agitated enough to tell the truth without thinking about it first.
“Why was he there?” Gerard breathes out. “Tyler was supposed to go with us, why did you send Dewees?”
“I needed Tyler here.”
“This doesn't answer my question.”
“I think it does.”
“It doesn't. Why didn't you send Tyler?”
“Because both of you would have been dead if I did!” Frank spits out. “Don’t you fucking get it? Dewees was there to make sure you made it out if things went wrong.”
“He didn’t,” Gerard points out. “Make it out, I mean.”
“Because you didn’t follow the fucking orders,” Frank hisses.
He wants Gerard gone. It’s clear as day now: Frank wishes Gerard was the one dead instead of Dewees, and Gerard couldn’t blame him even if he wanted to. He wishes he was dead too. This is what he deserves after all. Maybe it would be better if Gerard left for good, went back to Boogie Street and stayed there this time, right where he belongs, until someone made him a snuff broadcast star or he caught Sodom plague and died like a sinner like him deserves.
Maybe he should just kill himself.
“Go get some rest,” Frank grumbles, somewhat calm. “I’m gonna deal with that fucker from Central, and tomorrow we’ll think what to do with this mess.”
Gerard frowns. “What are you gonna do about Ray?”
The dangerous glint in Frank’s eyes speaks louder than words.
“Don’t,” Gerard breathes out. “Frank, please…”
Frank cuts him off. “He’s from Central. He could be a spy for all we know.”
“He saved my life!”
“So fucking what?!” Frank scoffs. “Don’t tell me you actually believe his sob story.”
“I do,” Gerard says firmly. “Frank, please, give him a chance.”
Frank bites his nail. Gerard winces at the sight but forces himself to stand still. He hates it when Frank bites on his nails, chews and picks on hangnails until his fingers start to bleed. It always feels like a failure, like Gerard is a bystander watching his best friend — his only friend for a very long time — hurt himself instead of helping.
“I don’t like it,” Frank says. “It’s really fucking weird,” he takes a deep breath. “He shows up here, and then they end the sermon early and our operation goes to shit exactly because of that.”
“He didn’t have anything on him,” Gerard argues. “He didn’t— I was watching him all the time, he didn’t talk to anyone, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t send out beacons.”
Frank squints. “Are you sure or pretty sure?”
“About eighty-nine percent sure.”
“And another eleven percent?”
“I had my back turned for a few minutes,” Gerard admits. “It was on the way up, I had to look at the road. But Dewees was watching him, he would’ve—”
“Dewees isn’t here anymore,” Frank grits through his teeth. He is silent for a few moments before looking Gerard in the eyes. “If he turns out to be a spy, this is on you, got it? I want you to watch him until I’m sure he’s not gonna betray us,” They both know Frank is never going to be sure. “I’ll tell the guys to do the same, but you,” he points at Gerard’s chest, “will be responsible if he pulls any shit. Understood?”
Gerard nods. He has a feeling that it could have gone better, that he could have come up with a better argument, but what truly matters now is that Frank isn't about to give into his bloodthirst. Gerard still remembers what happened last time, when a local gang decided to mug Bob on his way back to the base and stabbed him in the artery. They probably didn’t plan to kill him, but it didn’t stop Frank from going berserk when he found out.
He killed the gang leaders. Every single one of them. And the scariest part was how he never let himself lose composure; he didn’t show any remorse, even though it was clear to Gerard that he didn’t enjoy killing either, and that day was one of the rare moments when Gerard was sincerely afraid of Frank and things he is capable of when he loses his composure.
A quiet knock on the door makes them both flinch. Frank lets out an annoyed groan.
“What?”
The door opens, and Tyler steps inside the room. His brown eyes focus on Gerard for a second before darting to Frank, and Gerard has to look away.
“I found something,” Tyler says. “About Ray Toro-Ortiz.”
Gerard frowns.
“You told him to—” he starts but Tyler interrupts him.
“Nobody told me anything,” he seems to be genuinely offended by Gerard’s assumption. “I was just curious, that’s all.”
“And?” Frank prompts him. “What did you find?”
“He’s on the wanted list,” Tyler replies. “Raymond Manuel Toro-Ortiz, armed and dangerous, wanted dead or alive, yada yada.” He shrugs. “He’s from Central. The report claims he killed one of the wall guards and escaped to the East, but it’s really vague about why he wanted to get out of Central to begin with.”
“See?” Gerard gives Frank a pointed look. “Told you.”
“Told whom what?” Tyler asks.
“Nothing,” Gerard sighs. “I was right about Ray, that’s all.”
Tyler scratches his head. “Dunno,” he mutters. “It’s weird. I thought everyone wanted to get into Central, not the other way around.”
“Did you find anything else?” Frank asks impatiently.
“Nope,” Tyler shakes his head. “I think the Central database might have something, but it's gonna take too much time to breach their defences, and time is something we don’t have right now.”
Gerard shoots Frank a warning glare.
“Don't,” he says quietly. “We know now that he told the truth, that's enough.”
“We don't,” Frank argues. “We know that he is on the wanted list and that he's from Central. That's it.”
“Enemy of my enemy,” Gerard points out.
“I’m with Gerard on this one,” Tyler chimes in. “There must be a reason why he came here, so if Central has a problem with him, fine by me.”
Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Okay, fine,” he grumbles. “Do you have anything else? Cleansing orders, who gives them, why? Literally anything.”
“We’re working on it,” Tyler crosses his arms. “It’s gonna take time, Frank.”
“We don’t have time!”
“Well, excuse me!” Tyler snaps. “We have four people looking through literally millions of useless reports, five including myself, it’s gonna take as long as it’s gonna take. I’m not a wizard, I can’t snap my fingers and make that info appear outta thin air.”
Frank rubs his face.
“Okay, fine,” he mutters. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Me too,” Gerard adds.
Frank gives him a stern look. “No. You're gonna get some rest.”
“But I wanna help!”
“You will,” Frank tries to reassure him. “But you need to rest first. Get your shit together and all that.”
If Gerard allows himself to stop now, if he gets a moment to breathe and think about what exactly happened at the precinct, he is going to lose his mind. He needs to move, needs to occupy himself with the most mind-numbing and tedious chores he can possibly find so that he can forget for a moment.
Frank is not going to listen. Why would he? Gerard has already ruined a simple breaking and entering operation, he can’t be trusted with something so delicate as this search for the information on cleansings. With his current record he’s going to erase everything they managed to gather and they will have to start over again.
“Tyler,” Frank says in a low voice. “Can you please give us a moment?”
Tyler responds with an indifferent hum and leaves before Frank has to ask him twice. Gerard stares at the floor, mentally preparing himself for another scolding.
“Gerard,” Frank’s voice is surprisingly soft. “Gee. Look at me.”
Gerard obediently raises his gaze. He still doesn’t look Frank in the eyes, instead choosing to stare at his collarbone.
“I’m not putting you in time-out,” Frank says. “And I’m not going to punish you, okay?”
“But I fucked up,” Gerard mumbles.
“You did,” Frank agrees. “And I’m really fucking pissed right now. But we have their archives, and you came back. This is the important part. You came back.”
“Dewees didn’t.”
“I know, you don’t have to remind me,” Frank sighs. “We’re at war, Gee. Sometimes people die, and I really fucking hate it but,” he sucks in a breath. “People are important. You made a mistake, yes, and it sucks, and I’m so fucking angry at you, but you never failed me before.”
Which means exactly nothing. This might be only the first mistake out of many more to come, and Frank doesn’t need to play favourites with him. It’s only a matter of time until Gerard messes up again, and more people will die because of his arrogance and inability to follow orders.
It could have been Frank. Gerard could have gotten Frank killed instead of Dewees.
“And honestly,” Frank continues, “I don’t think one fuck up is enough to send ten years of friendship down the drain.”
But it is enough, Gerard wants to scream. If anyone else did what he has done Frank would have kicked them out or executed them on the spot, depending on his level of trust. And besides, there are better people than him. People that wouldn’t have made the same mistake. People like Anthony. Anthony is everything Gerard could never be, and he’s clean, and pure, and he knows who he is and where he comes from.
He’s not getting another chance. Next time Frank is going to put a gun against his head and pull the trigger.
“Go rest,” Frank says. “I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”
Gerard obeys. This is the best he can do right now to make up for what he did (he will never redeem himself): keep his head low and follow orders. Maybe this way he is not going to get anyone else killed.
In the corridor Gerard runs into Hayley. She rushes past him, not even sparing him a glance, and for a moment Gerard believes that she has already heard about Dewees and figured out who really was to blame. After all, it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. But then Geoff, who has been accompanying Hayley, throws Gerard a pained look and whispers:
“Another one.”
Gerard frowns. “Another?..”
“Stillborn,” Geoff clarifies. “Third one this week. She’s not taking it well.”
Right. Gerard completely forgot that Hayley has been trying to put her medical skills to use ever since she joined the group. He can understand why: he would have tried to help the locals too, if he had any medical skills. He also knows that Geoff is worried about her, even if he doesn’t let it show: women have been banned from practicing medicine in any form for a few years now, and Hayley running around the sector, not even trying to hide who she is, is too dangerous. At least with Geoff’s present she can pretend to be his assistant if a patrol decides to question them.
“Weird,” Gerard mumbles.
“You’re telling me that?” Geoff throws a quick glance in the direction of the door leading to Hayley’s room. “We never had that many before.”
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Gerard tries to argue, even though he already knows how weak his suggestion is.
Geoff shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he mutters. “There’s been too many. Every third one is either stillborn or so mutated they die in the first few hours. I swear there’s something in the water.”
“Or in the air,” Gerard adds. “There’s definitely something in the air.”
“Oh, trust me, there is,” Geoff snarks. “A nice cancerogenic bouquet and way too much carbon dioxide. No, I think there might be something else.”
Or it could be natural, as much as Gerard hates to say it. People are not supposed to live like this. The human body is not made for these levels of pollution, for spending most of their lives in narrow hallways, away from the sun, surviving on poisoned water and food filled with forever chemicals. No conspiracy, just the way the world works.
He doesn’t say any of it. The last thing Geoff needs now is an argument — and Gerard isn’t in the mood for a debate either. They’re all going to die, either by the hand of a saint or when the air turns so poisonous a single breath could kill. Gerard has made his peace with the idea that he is not going to die of old age in his own bed. Best case scenario, he will end up like Dewees, giving up his own useless life for Frank, at worst he will catch something, maybe even the Sodom plague, and end his days in a dark back alley, choking on his own blood. And in the end it won’t even matter.
Gerard quietly retreats to his room. It’s dark and cold, with a small narrow window facing the wall. Gerard never tried to turn it into anything more suitable for living; all he needs is a bed and a locker for personal belongings and spare clothes. The only thing that gives out that someone lives here are the drawings covering every wall. It’s not easy to find paper and pencils, even on the black market, and digital art doesn’t last long enough, so at some point Gerard retorted to drawing on the walls. For an outsider it must look like he’s crazy. Gerard stopped caring a long time ago.
He finds a free spot in the corner by the windowsill, and pulls a switchblade out of his pocket. For a moment he hesitates: it’s not the most visible spot, and Gerard needs a reminder.
On the other hand, he is going to use a knife. It’s not that easy to cover up something carved into the surface. This might be enough for now, or at least until the moment Gerard figures out how he can paint on the ceiling.
His hands are trembling as he carves Dewees’s face, the way he remembers it, before the raygun shot blew away half of his skull. He cuts his fingers several times, and his blood leaves traces on the wall, and for some reason it feels right. Blood for blood, Gerard sacrificing a part of himself in return for Dewees’s life.
It’s never going to be enough anyway.
Gerard doesn’t remember finishing the portrait. The only thing he knows is that at some point he put the switchblade back into his pocket and got to the bed. He must have taken his clothes off, too, because he feels the bedsheets rubbing against his bare skin.
He’s only going to close his eyes for a moment. Just a few minutes of darkness and silence.
A woman’s hand gently grips his shoulder. Gerard stares at the screen in front of him, trying to make out the words, but the letters blur together, turn into strange shapes, an alphabet he has never seen before, and the words twist and change, and Gerard is trying so hard, why can’t he read a simple text?
“It’s okay, sugar,” the woman says. “Just try again.”
“I don’t wanna try again,” Gerard murmurs, and his voice sounds more high-pitched and raspy than he remembers it to be. He sounds almost like a child. “This is useless.”
“It’s not useless,” the woman argues. “You are too young to understand, but one day this knowledge might save us all.”
Gerard turns his head to take a good look at the woman but her features are too blurry to make out. He knows her, he can tell as much, has known her for a long time. Her name escapes his memory. Something starting with an E, maybe?
It’s his memory. He has always had a poor memory, ever since he woke up in that alleyway, confused and lost, knowing only his name and a few bits of a stupid old song. He has no way to be sure that the song is not something his brain conjured to fill in the spots where his past once was. There is no music in the City aside from hymns, after all. The Council banned it a long time ago, before Gerard was born. He should know that.
“We’re not leaving this place,” he mumbles. “We’re gonna stay in this city forever.”
Soft warm fingers run through his hair.
“We don’t have to,” the woman says. “There is a world out there, Gerard, and it’s been waiting for us to come back.”
“No,” Gerard shakes his head. “The bombs destroyed it all. In the Great War, you told me!”
“The boy is right.”
An unfamiliar voice makes Gerard flinch. He didn’t hear the door open, or anyone approach him from behind. Stupid of him. He tries to make out their features but once again all he sees is a blur. The only thing he knows is that he is afraid of them.
“Cardinal,” the woman’s voice could freeze the whole room. “We’re busy.”
She is ignored. The Cardinal unceremoniously grabs Gerard’s shoulder and makes him turn around to face them.
“We’re safe here,” they say, and Gerard tries to look away from their face, too scared to look them in the eyes. “The Three guided your ancestors to the City when the bombs fell. Your life is a gift given to you by Them. Don’t you ever forget about it, Gerard.”
Gerard wakes up with a gasp. For a few long moments he stares at the ceiling, trying to come back to reality. The pillow is too warm, the blanket is too heavy, it almost feels like he is about to suffocate in this tiny dark room. Has it always been this hot in here?
He hates these dreams, brief glimpses at the past he doesn’t remember. Hates that he can’t put the pieces together no matter how hard he tries, not even entirely convinced any of this ever happened, that this is not a life he secretly wishes he had, or memories of someone else, someone who might be long dead. Sometimes he thinks he has no past at all, that he came to life in that alley, already an adult — or maybe he was a teenager; even his real age is a mystery. He likes to assume that he should be closer to thirty now. It’s more comforting this way: he was about twenty years old when he ended up in the East District, he wasn’t abandoned as a child. Whatever happened that led to him losing his memory and everything past Gerard cared about, it happened to an adult.
Cardinal. He couldn’t possibly know any Cardinals when he was a child, right? He is from the East, no Cardinal ever comes here. It’s just a stupid dream, he’s been shaken by the shootout and his mind is trying to process it by coming up with a more tangible enemy.
And then he hears it: the noises coming from behind the wall, the rustle of bedsheets and quiet stuffed moans, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand what is going on in the next room. A sharp hot pain pierces his chest, and Gerard curls into himself, tries to cover his ears, to tune out the noises, but the sound of Frank’s moaning is stuck in his brain now, and the more Gerard tries to avoid it the louder it becomes.
He should be happy for Frank. Why can’t he be happy for him?
The lunatic is on the grass
Gerard gets out of bed. His mind barely registers what his body is doing, Gerard acts on autopilot until he ends up in the corridor, fully dressed and facing the front door. It’s stupid and childish, he knows; he is supposed to be an adult, he feels like an adult, he shouldn’t get so distressed by his friend having sex with his own partner. Adults take heartbreak in stride. Just because Gerard has known Frank the longest doesn’t mean that Frank owes him anything. He needs to grow up.
And yet there he is. Running away from his problems. Just like he always does.
“Sneaking out again?”
Hayley’s voice is too loud in the empty corridor. Gerard flinches: he really hoped he could get out unnoticed while everyone is busy. He needs his time alone. If he can’t sleep he should at least try to think about the events of the past day, figure out what went wrong, how could he mess such a simple task up so spectacularly. How he can keep on living now that Dewees’s blood is on his hands.
“I need some air,” he says.
Hayley raises an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?”
Of course she has already figured it out. Out of all of them she has always been the one to see right through Gerard’s pathetic little lies. She probably knows about his memory problem, too, just hasn’t told anyone else about it yet.
“Not really, no.”
Hayley rolls her eyes.
“Can you please stop?” she grumbles. “You’re clearly not okay.”
Why would Gerard be okay? His friend is dead because of his mistake, he managed to mess up the operation they have been planning for a few weeks, and Frank doesn’t want to even look at him anymore. Hayley knows all that. She also knows that Gerard is a quick student, and if there is one thing he has learned, it’s that opening up is dangerous, even to people he considers friends. You never know who the person really is. But Hayley is looking at him expectantly, and it’s clear from her expression that she is not going to let him leave that easily.
With a sigh Gerard follows Hayley to her room. It used to be more spacious than Gerard’s once, before Hayley moved in. Now it's full of medical supplies carefully stored in crates and drawers. She tried to make the room look like home, even put fairy lights on the wall above the bed — Gerard has no idea where she found working ones: the pre-war ones have long since turned into junk, and the only district that is allowed to have decorations is Central. But at least it makes the space look cozy. Almost like home and not a temporary shelter.
Hayley gestures at the spot on the bed next to her, and after a moment of hesitation Gerard sits down.
“What did they say during the sermon?” he asks before Hayley gets the chance to ask him how he feels.
“Not much,” Hayley shrugs. “Why?”
“I wanna know why they cut it short.”
There is something he is missing. They never cut the sermon short this early, there must have been something else to it, something Gerard doesn’t know because he wasn’t listening when it mattered.
“They didn’t say.”
“Of course they didn’t.”
“But I think,” Hayley continues, “there is something going on in the Tower. Political stuff. Because today’s sermon was about how we should be grateful for what we have and how the Three take their gifts away from those who rejected them. Talked about the wall, too.”
It doesn’t sound like anything new; Gerard has no idea if the entire city has to listen to the same sermon or if they’re recorded specifically for each district to make sure they cover every vice the Tower believes the people hold, but the sermons for the East are always about obedience and keeping the faith in the Three. Gerard has to suppress a sarcastic scoff every time he hears it: the Three have abandoned him a long time ago. It’s easier to believe that the Divinities were made up by the Church than to think that nobody, not even the ones that supposedly created the world, wants him.
“They’ve been talking a lot about the wall lately,” he murmurs.
“So I’m not going crazy,” Hayley purses her lips. “Maybe people have started running again. More than usual. And the Tower doesn’t like it, so they’re getting aggressive and trying to force people to stay.”
“I thought they wanted to get rid of us with the cleansings.”
Hayley shrugs. “They still need someone to clean up after them.”
Gerard responds with a noncommittal shrug. He doesn’t really care about the reasons behind the actions of the Tower, he realises with dull surprise. Not anymore. Not when Dewees is gone, and Frank looks at him like he committed an unforgivable sin, and he should be dead. Dewees was wrong when he put himself between Gerard and the saint. He should have let the saint shoot Gerard dead. It’s Gerard’s body that should be lying in the morgue right now, ready for being processed.
They won’t even give Dewees a proper burial. They’ll probably send his body to the South, use is as fertilizer, and Dewees never was a worshiper but he still deserves something better than this, he deserves to be remembered. He deserves a grave, or at least an urn, something to remind the world that he used to exist once, too.
“Gerard?”
Gerard shakes his head. His throat is too tight, he can’t make a single sound, and his chest hurts so much he fears his heart might have given out from all the stress. But he’s still breathing, no matter how hard it feels, and this isn’t fair, he is not supposed to be here now, he’s not supposed to be the one to still breathe.
It should have been you.
Dewees’s voice echoes in Gerard’s head, and he lets out a desperate, terrified yelp before he can stop himself. This isn’t real. It’s his stupid, sick brain acting up again. Ghosts don’t exist. Dewees is not going to come back to haunt him.
The walls are closing in. Panic settles in his stomach, and, acting on instinct, Gerard bolts to the door, ignoring Hayley’s surprised yelp. He needs to get out. He needs to get out right now, before the walls collapse and smash him like a cockroach under a saint’s boot.
“Gerard, wait!”
But Gerard is already out of the door. He doesn’t remember getting outside, doesn’t remember his way up, and only comes back to his senses when he is on a small terrace that simultaneously serves as a roof for an apartment below. Gerard feels his entire body tremble, and he has to fight the urge to curl into himself, become small and invisible. Someone might see him, alone and vulnerable, and then it’s not going to end well for him. He has to keep up the masquerade. He’s fine. Everything is fine, he is not falling apart at the seams, and his brain isn’t a minefield, and he didn’t get his friend killed less than a day ago.
The sound of footsteps behind him makes Gerard tense. His right hand slides inside his pocket and grips the switchblade handle. It won’t help against a raygun, but Gerard feels safer with a knife in his pocket.
“Gee, it’s me.”
Gerard flinches at the sound of Frank’s voice. Some part of him is glad that it’s Frank who went out to look for him, even if there was no need to — Gerard lucid enough, he isn’t going through some kind of psychotic episode. He just needs some time to grieve and beat himself down. He isn’t going to lose his memory again.
But what if he does? What if one day he wakes up in an unfamiliar place and forgets everything this time: his name, who he is, where his home is, forgets Frank? Last time he got lucky, and he met Frank quickly enough, and Frank was merciful. He is not going to get this lucky next time.
Frank sits on the edge of the roof next to Gerard, rests his hand on his tense shoulder.
“Hayley says you ran off,” he says. “What happened?”
Gerard shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m okay.”
“You didn’t look okay to Hayley,” Frank sighs. “It’s about Dewees, right?”
“Maybe,” Gerard mutters.
It might have started much earlier, and Dewees’s death was just a catalyst. Maybe there has always been something wrong with him — there must be, otherwise why would he be so jealous all the time?
“Maybe?”
Gerard takes a deep breath. Frank might understand, and the very thought scares him. He doesn’t want Frank to understand, doesn’t want to put this responsibility on him. He has enough problems already, he has a revolution to lead, and Gerard’s stupid useless brain and all the mess that comes with it is not something Frank needs to know about. It’s on Gerard to make it work. Get up, put on a mask, keep running.
“I just think,” Gerard says, “that maybe if Tyler was—”
“Tyler has no idea how to handle a gun properly.”
Gerard shakes his head. “I know. But he knows more than I do when it comes to tech. More than Dewees did.”
“Frank frowns. “What are you getting at?”
“I didn’t listen to Josh,” Gerard breathes out. “I should have, but I didn’t. And I’m trying to— trying out different scenarios, in my head, and I think that Tyler would have listened to Josh.”
“So it’s Tyler’s fault now.”
“No. Still mine,” Gerard stares at his trembling hands. “I gave that order, right? Didn’t trust Josh when he said he could cover our traces. And Dewees listened to me, because, well, I was in charge, right? I was in charge, and I got him killed, and I think that there was a possibility for everyone to survive—”
Frank’s grip on his shoulder tightens.
“Stop,” he says softly. “It happened. There’s nothing you can do now.”
“But I could,” Gerard argues. “There was a chance, Frank, and I fucking blew it.”
Frank is silent. Gerard doesn’t dare look at him, too scared to see hatred in his eyes. He deserves to be hated, and if Frank put a gun against his head he would have accepted it without a fight.
“There is no point,” Frank finally says. “You beating yourself up won’t bring anyone back, so you better stop right now.”
“But—”
“It’s an order, Gerard.”
Gerard bites his lower lip. He wants to argue, wants to tell Frank everything, wants him to understand how much it hurts to know that he could have done something differently, that Dewees didn’t have to die saving his life. It’s not going to work anyway.
Frank pulls a cigarette pack out of his pocket and lights a cigarette. Gerard fights the urge to ask for a smoke: he needs to keep something under control, even if it’s just a nasty habit that is going to give him cancer sooner or later.
“Still on your “one per day” diet?” Frank smirks.
Gerard nods.
“You don’t really need to worry about cancer, y’know,” Frank says. “All the shit in the air is gonna kill you sooner than cigarettes.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Frank breathes out the smoke with a quiet huff. “Suit yourself.”
They both are silent for a while. Gerard stares at the sky, trying to make out anything other than clouds of smog. He wonders if the sun still exists or if the bombs destroyed it too. If the sun ever existed in the first place and wasn’t made up by someone a long time ago.
“That one’s new,” Frank murmurs. “Over there, see?”
Gerard turns his head to look in the direction Frank is pointing at. There, on one of the columns of the Motorway, he sees a mural he never noticed before. He briefly wonders how the artist managed to get there in the first place: the column is removed from the nearby buildings, and it’s nearly impossible to reach. Which is probably the reason why it hasn’t been removed yet: it’s too provocative, and it’s art, art made without permission of the Church is sinful. Especially when the mural depicts two women, completely nude, sharing a passionate kiss — something that might give a Bishop a stroke. Above their heads bright red letters read
NO TOWERS CAN OUTLAST THIS MORTAL LOVE
And below it, partially covering women’s chests:
TEAR DOWN THE WALL
“Nice message,” Frank mutters. “I like it. We should tear down the wall.”
“I don’t think it’s about an actual wall,” Gerard says.
Frank shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean we can’t start with a real wall and see how it goes from there.”
Gerard remains silent. He has a feeling that his turn to speak hasn't come yet.
“I hate them,” Frank grumbles, and Gerard immediately understands whom he means. “Hiding behind their precious fucking wall when the rest of us are drowning in shit. And they think they’re better than us, that they can order us around because they don’t have to fight for survival every fucking day. Made up their fucking Church just for that.”
He puts out his cigarette and immediately lights a new one.
“I mean, what’s the fucking point anyway? All these rules aren’t for them, they can live how they want. Do whatever they want, wear whatever they want. Fuck whoever they want.” Gerard can hear barely hidden bitterness in his voice. “And then they turn around and call us sinners if we step out of line they created.” Frank takes a long drag. “I’ve heard they have music there. And dancing. And, y’know, art like that,” he waves at the mural. “And their women are allowed to take the same positions as men, like, I’ve heard they’ve appointed a woman as a Bishop in the North. And they can do it because they have the wall and the rest of us are fucked. We’re their fucking slaves, man.”
Gerard gives up. He takes a cigarette out, holds it between his lips for a few moments, contemplating if he should do it. Frank leans forward, closer to him, and Gerard holds his breath for a moment as Frank helps him light his cigarette with his own.
“When this is over, I’m gonna write a song,” Frank says after a small pause. “And I’ll sing it right at the top of the fucking tower. And then I’m gonna dance. Have no fucking idea how to do it, but I will.”
“I’m gonna wear a dress,” Gerard adds, and flinches at the sound of his own voice.
Frank gives him a long studying look.
“You’d look great in a dress,” he says quietly.
“Really?”
Frank shrugs. “Yeah. I think you’d rock a dress. One of those shorter ones, knee-length or something.”
Gerard is grateful for the darkness surrounding them: this way Frank can’t see him blush at this off-hand compliment. He couldn’t possibly ask for more, no matter how much he yearns for tenderness, for Frank to look at him the same way he looks at Anthony. He doesn’t deserve it.
“Wait,” Frank huffs the cigarette smoke out. “I almost forgot.”
He reaches for something under his overcoat and pulls out a bunch of graphite sticks and a stack of clean paper. The sheets are sewn together on one side, preventing the stack from scattering apart, and for a second Gerard forgets how to breathe. He has no idea how much trouble Frank had to go through to get all this, isn’t sure he even wants to know.
“Frank…”
“I wanted to give it to you when you came back,” Frank says. “But, y’know, with everything that happened, I completely forgot I had it.”
“I can’t take it,” Gerard whispers.
“Bullshit. It’s a present, of course you can take it.”
“It’s too generous, I can’t—”
“Gerard, stop it,” Frank sighs. “We’re friends, friends give each other gifts sometimes.”
It’s still too much. Gerard doesn’t deserve this kindness, not after what he has done, not after he failed Frank like he never had before.
He still accepts the paper and graphite. He can’t offend Frank by rejecting this generosity.
“I don’t have anything in return,” he mumbles. “But thank you.”
Frank sighs.
“I’m not asking for anything in return,” he says softly. “Gerard, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” Gerard whispers. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
“Let’s go back, then,” Frank suggests. “Hayley’s probably worried sick.”
Gerard obediently follows him. He can’t stop staring at the paper in his hands, like this is the most precious thing in the world — and in a way it is, not only because paper is nearly impossible to find in the East, especially paper of this quality, the kind that probably only the Cardinals and the High Priest can afford, but also because Frank went through all this trouble for him.
He thinks he notices a smile flicker on Frank’s face. It must be nothing but his imagination.
Notes:
A bit of me yapping about references because I have to let it out of my system
1. The mural Frank and Gerard are discussing is partially a reference to the Next World Mural from Disco Elysium (I really need to play another game), partially an allusion to the My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love graffiti painting. It's one of my favourite art pieces, and I felt like it resonated with the story so I had to include it somehow.
Here is the Wikipedia article about the mural.
And here is the mural itself.
2. The Sodom plague, as you might have figured out, refers to STDs (all STDs, not just HIV/AIDS, even though the name itself is a reference to the misconception that only gay people can contract HIV) because the society the characters live in is founded on a bunch of twisted religious concepts glued together by raging homophobia, sexism and the desire of the government to control every aspect of people's lives, so the understanding of sex and everything sex-related among general population is somewhat on the level of a Dark Ages monk or a modern fundamentalist.
Chapter Text
In the morning Gerard is woken up by a loud knock on the door. It takes him a few moments to come back to reality, and by the time he manages to gather his thoughts together the door opens and Anthony peeks inside.
“Get up,” he rushes Gerard. “Josh found something.”
These words make Gerard fully wake up. He practically jumps out of bed, ignoring Anthony’s awkward laugh when he sees Gerard completely naked save for his underwear, grabs his pants from the floor.
“Coming,” he huffs. “Close the damn door.”
Anthony obediently closes the door, giving Gerard some privacy.
Gerard knows he looks disheveled and half-disoriented when five minutes later he stumbles into what Frank occasionally refers to as the war room — in reality it’s another one of many rooms without any windows, with walls covered in maps of the city and East District. He is one of the first ones to arrive: aside from him the only people present are Josh, napping in the furthest corner of the room, Anthony and Frank, discussing something in hushed voices. Gerard watches Anthony gently touch Frank’s arm as Frank rests his head against Anthony’s shoulder.
“Man, I’m so fucking tired,” Gerard hears Frank say and has to fight the urge to hug him, like he used to all those years ago, and tell him everything is going to be alright even if he himself doesn’t believe it.
Anthony pulls Frank into a hug, runs his fingers through his short dark hair and plants a small kiss on Frank’s forehead. Gerard turns away: this is clearly a private moment, he shouldn’t be staring. Some part of him wants to look. Some part of it wants it to hurt.
Gerard watches as people slowly gather in the room. First Tyler who, it seems. hasn’t had a proper sleep, then Hayley and Geoff, followed by Ray, and, finally, Pete, still half-asleep. Gerard expects to see Dewees last — he’s probably running late, as always, — until he remembers. The knife in his chest digs a little bit deeper.
“Right,” Frank says. “Listen up, this is fucking important.”
Josh stirs awake and rubs his eyes as Frank marches to the table in the middle of the room. On it lies a detailed map of the East District, graphite markings showing the sectors that were hit by cleansings.
“I found their schedule,” Josh says. “They had several orders come from the Tower over the past month, they’re planning to cleanse about fifteen sectors in the nearest future.” He sucks in a breath. “Which is a lot. I mean, more than they usually do.”
Gerard stares at the markings signifying the cleansed areas. Whoever made them had trouble establishing the precise borders of the sectors — not all that surprising, considering how hard it is to navigate certain sectors and entire levels without a guide, — but they managed to express their general idea. The first, largest area is located around the Eastern Temple, effectively separating it from the rest of the district. This is where the saints started. The next few cleansed sectors are situated right next to the wall, and Gerard’s heart breaks a little when he notices that only two sectors remain standing, the narrow passages from the main district to the wall. Then, according to the map, the saints began striking randomly, but as Gerard traces their movements he notices something. Some kind of logic nobody has noticed before.
Most of the destroyed sectors are on the borders with South and North, or close to the outer wall. The gaps remain, and Gerard notices quite a few dots in the middle of the district, seemingly random, but they can’t obscure the greater picture anymore.
A hand rests on his shoulder. Gerard flinches and blinks, trying to shake off the feeling of upcoming dread. Frank looks at him expectantly.
“Do you see anything?” he asks.
Gerard gulps. He has no idea how to say it and not cause panic. But everyone is staring at him now, and every second he spends in silence is only going to make it worse.
“They’re trying to surround us,” he forces out. “It’s a— a siege or something.”
“What do you mean?” Anthony frowns. “What siege?”
“They’re trying to cut the East off,” Gerard tries to explain. “See?” he points at the line of cleansed sectors along the northern border. “They’re making sure nobody is getting out.”
“Or maybe it’s easier for them to start at the borders because they have more troops there,” Geoff suggests. “I mean, what’s the point of the siege? And,” he points at the map. “there are still too many escape routes.”
Josh shakes his head. He is staring at his laptop screen, his frown getting more pronounced with every passing second.
“I think Gerard is right,” he says quietly.
He picks up a graphite stick, leans closer to the map and begins to rapidly cross out sectors, occasionally checking his notes. Above each crossed out sector he adds a date, and with rising anxiety Gerard realises that the date range is limited to the next week. If the plan Josh demonstrates is right, then the saints are going to finish cleansing sectors next to the wall before moving onto closing all the breaches between the district borders, until eventually East is completely cut off from the rest of the city.
“Here,” Josh breathes out as he crosses out the final sector. “They don’t have any more cleansings planned.”
Frank rubs his chin. Gerard can feel the tension radiating from him. So does Anthony, it seems: he casually wraps his arm around Frank’s shoulders and pulls him closer, whispers something to his ear. Gerard hurriedly turns away.
“And then what?” Pete asks. “If they don’t have more cleansings planned, maybe it’s… dunno, some property thing?”
“What makes you think it’s about property?” Tyler asks in a hushed voice.
Pete shrugs. “Central is overpopulated too. Maybe they want to annex parts of all the districts and move people to the cleansed sectors here?”
“Yeah, they just chose a shitty way to do that,” Geoff grumbles.
“Hey, I never said their methods were okay!”
“It’s not about property.”
Everyone turns to Ray, who stares at the map with disgust clear on his face. He doesn’t seem to notice the way Frank is looking at him, like any word he is about to say is going to sound like an insult or a provocation to him.
“East is a problem for Central,” Ray throws Gerard a quick glance. “You told me that, and I’ve been thinking about it, and I think it’s personal.”
“So they hate us,” Frank grumbles. “Tell me something I didn’t know.”
“It’s not just that,” Ray tries to explain. “You’re a problem. You’ve been a problem for them even before the uprising, and I think that the only reason why they didn’t... cleanse the entire district before is because the Tower had its own crisis at the time—”
Frank crosses his arms. “Cut to the fucking chase.”
Ray tilts his head. For a moment his eyes meet Gerard’s, and Gerard has a sudden feeling that whatever Ray is about to say now is going to change whatever plans Frank has laid out for his own uprising.
“They’re gonna kill everyone,” Ray says. “They’re gonna cut the East off from other districts, put their troops in the cleansed areas, and then they’ll drop the bombs. Or send reinforcements and just shoot everyone.”
“How do you know that?” Hayley asks quietly.
Ray winces. “Because that’s how they deal with problems. They make them disappear,” he lets out a humourless chuckle. “Trust me, I know.”
Gerard throws a quick glance at Frank. Frank stares at the map with an unreadable expression on his face, and for a second Gerard is worried that he is about to lose control over his emotions and do something he is going to regret.
When did it all go so wrong? When did Gerard get so afraid of Frank? He has known him almost as long as he remembers himself, and this might not be that long but what matters is that Frank has always been somewhere near Gerard. Even when they were apart, he was still there, one of few constants in Gerard’s life. They only had each other for so long. So why is Gerard so afraid now?
“We need to warn people,” Tyler says, and his voice is trembling with anxiety. “They need to evacuate.”
“Not gonna work,” Gerard mutters. “The saints are gonna notice.”
And even if the saints for some reason look the other way and manage to ignore thousands of people fleeing to other districts, they won’t be able to save everyone. All the border checkpoints, Gerard notices, are in the cleansed areas, and the only other way around is through the tunnels, and Gerard has no idea if the saints have already sealed those. They probably have.
“Then we need to fight,” Tyler argues. “There are gun caches all over the district, we can arm people, and we can tell people in the border sectors to evacuate, we can—” He takes a rapid breath and Gerard thinks he can see his bottom lip tremble. “We can’t just sit here and wait. Right?”
But what other options do they have? Tyler knows just as well as everyone else that half of the guns stored in those caches are broken, and it’s impossible to give out weapons to people and tell them to fight back when they are attacked by an organised, trained army. What can Mrs Higgins from Level Four do against men two times younger and three times stronger than her? She barely remembers how to get from her room to the market and back, she won’t be able to handle a gun. What can Bugs, who spent the better half of the decade doing every single drug in existence and lost his mind in the process, do against an army? They can only save themselves now.
“Meeting’s over,” Frank grits through his teeth.
Gerard whispers: “Frank…”
“No. Get out.”
Tyler might be right. There might be something they’re missing, a way to fight back they haven’t thought of yet, but maybe, if they get more time…
“We still have a week,” Hayley points out. “Before they drop the bombs. There might be a way out,” she turns to Gerard. “The tunnels are still there, right? We could use them to get people out.”
There is so much desperation in her eyes Gerard can’t find the strength to tell her the full truth.
“Get the fuck out,” Frank growls. “All of you. Get. Out.”
Gerard knows better than to argue. He has seen it before, the moments when Frank can’t trust himself around other people, and the best thing to do is leave him alone, no matter how counterintuitive it sounds. There is nothing else Gerard can do now. Nothing to quiet Frank’s rage.
He slips out of the room before anyone else. He needs to think. Hayley might be right, and the tunnels might be their best option to get as many people out as possible, at least temporarily, until the High Priest is dead. There even might be someone who could help, and Gerard mentally slaps himself for not thinking about it sooner. The only problem is, he hasn’t seen those people in a long time, for more reasons he can count, one of them being Frank’s absolute hatred for them.
Gerard weighs his options. He could check the tunnels himself, see if the saints blocked them, but the situation is changing too fast, they might not have enough time to gather people up before the way out is gone. The guns are only going to work as the last resort, the Tower is going to send reinforcements the moment they catch wind of a possibility of another uprising.
Which means he’ll have to give it a try.
Frank is going to kill him if he ever finds out.
Ray catches up with him the moment Gerard reaches the door leading to his room, thus successfully ruining his hopes to slip away unnoticed.
“Listen,” Ray whispers. “I just wanted to say thanks for vouching for me.”
Gerard shrugs. “Don’t mention it,” he mutters.
Ray squints.
“You’re gonna do something stupid,” he says. “Am I right?”
Gerard rolls his eyes.
“No, I’m not.”
“I have two brothers, I know when someone is going to do something dumb.”
Well, lucky you, Gerard wants to snap at him. He is losing time, and Ray has chosen the worst moment to show his gratitude.
On the other hand, Ray might help. He could stall Frank for a few hours, until Gerard gets back, and the chances might be low, but it's better than Frank finding out who Gerard is meeting with.
“Listen,” Gerard lowers his voice. “I think I have an idea.”
Ray frowns. “You know how to get people outta here?”
“Not yet,” Gerard admits. “But I know someone who might know something. It's a long shot, but—”
“I’m coming with you,” Ray interrupts him.
“I can do it on my own, you really don't need to—”
“You’ll need a cover story,” Ray argues. “You don't want Frank to know, right?”
“You don't want me to know what?”
Gerard flinches. Just his luck.
Frank leans against the wall, looking at him expectantly. He looks somewhat better now, more collected, but Gerard has known him long enough to realise that Frank is seconds away from blowing up. And the worst thing Gerard could do now is lie to him.
“I wanna visit someone,” he breathes out. “They could help, I thought…”
Frank squints. “Tell me it's not who I think it is.”
“I don't know, who do you think I’m talking about?”
“Don't get smart with me,” Frank grunts. “It's those two. Brendon and Ryan.”
Gerard nods. His throat feels dry all of a sudden, and he doesn't dare look Frank in the eyes.
The main problem is, Frank despises Brendon. Anyone who has ever seen them in the same room together — and not many people could claim they did, — knows that every second they spend in each other's presence bears the risk of someone dying in a particularly cruel and unusual manner. Gerard has no idea what was the initial reason for this animosity and he isn't sure he ever wants to find out. What matters is that Frank would never go to Brendon and Ryan asking for help, and he would never let Gerard do it either.
“They don't know shit,” Frank grumbles. “Why the fuck do you think they could help?”
“It’s either them or going straight to Otter,” Gerard says. “And I don't think Otter’s gonna listen if I come to him on your behalf.”
“Otter’s not gonna listen, period.” Frank sucks in a sharp breath. “And Brendon talks too much.”
“Ryan doesn't,” Gerard points out. “It doesn't fucking matter, Frank, I can't sit here and wait, Tyler’s right.”
He glances at Ray, desperately looking for support. Ray seems to understand.
“Listen,” he says, “I understand I don't know enough, and I don't know what's your problem with that Brendon guy, but I’m sure as fuck not going down before I know I did everything I could. So if Gerard thinks it could work, I’m gonna take this chance.”
“You don't know shit about these people,” Frank grits through his teeth. “Don't think you can waltz in here and play the saviour just because your Dad owns the West.”
Ray winces. “I’m not—”
Frank refuses to listen. This is going to end in tears, Gerard thinks. He should have sneaked out sooner, before Ray got the chance to stop him.
“I’ve seen people like you,” Frank hisses. “You come here thinking you know better because you didn't have to fight all your life to survive. And when things go to shit you're gonna fuck off back to your Daddy in Central—”
“He’s dead,” Ray says quietly. “Mom’s probably dead too. I’m not gonna go back home because I don't have a home anymore.”
Frank rolls his eyes. It's a desperate attempt to pretend Ray’s words didn't stir something in him.
“So you're gonna make it personal,” he grumbles.
“And you're not making it personal?” Ray asks. “You don't strike me as someone who’s doing this for ideological reasons only. The Tower took something from you too, and it's none of my business what it was, but we're here for the same reason. You can hate me all you want, you can make me disappear when you're done with the High Priest, I honestly don't care, but right now I want to do something right.”
This seems to strike a nerve. Frank opens his mouth, ready to say something undoubtedly hurtful, and Gerard barely gets a chance to interfere.
“Give it a chance,” he says. “At worst we're gonna waste a few hours.”
For a few moments Frank is silent. Gerard is almost ready to come up with another argument when Frank finally says:
“Okay, fine. But I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t need to,” Gerard tries to protest, but Frank stops him mid-sentence.
“I’m coming. End of story.”
Gerard takes a deep breath.
“You don’t need to babysit me, you know,” he says quietly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time, I swear.”
He should have expected that, really. If he managed to get Dewees killed in a simple breaking and entering, he can mess anything up spectacularly. Even something so easy as walking to the next sector and asking a few questions. Of course Frank doesn’t trust him anymore, not when so much is at stake, not when they’re only one week away from being obliterated.
They might not even have a week. Not after what Gerard has done.
Frank winces. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?”
“I need to get out of here,” Frank grumbles. “Fuckin’— can’t sit on my ass all day and wait for something to happen.”
Ray clears his throat.
“If this is about what happened yesterday,” he starts, “it’s not on Gerard. It was impossible to predict they’d end the sermon so early, and—”
“Don’t,” Gerard breathes out. “I mean, thank you, but please don’t.”
Ray nods. He looks awkward and somewhat lost, surprised by Gerard’s rejection of what he probably thought was an attempt to set things right, and Gerard can’t help but feel like an asshole. Ray was only trying to help. It’s not his fault that he is new and doesn’t fully understand the relationship Gerard and Frank have. Gerard isn’t entirely convinced he understands it himself.
“Meet me at the front door in five minutes,” Frank commands, choosing to ignore Ray’s speech entirely. “I’m gonna leave Anthony in charge.”
Gerard pretends it doesn’t hurt. He should have expected it, really: Frank can’t possibly trust him anymore — he wouldn’t have trusted himself either, — and Anthony is his partner, of course Frank is going to entrust him with making sure everything runs smoothly while Frank is away keeping an eye on Gerard. It doesn’t hurt. Gerard doesn’t want to hide in the darkest corner and never come back to the outside world. He’s been hiding his feelings for years now, he can last a few more.
Will Frank even want him around when this is over? If somehow, against all odds, they succeed and Frank personally guts the High Priest and hangs the Cardinals’ bodies from butcher hooks, will he still want Gerard around? Maybe he will let him stay, give him a place to live — and Gerard knows he will take it, even if it’s going to mean nothing to Frank, even if for him it’s going to be nothing more than paying out an old debt. Or maybe that perfect new world won’t have a place for people like Gerard, and he will have no other option but to go back to the East. He has made his peace with the idea that Frank might not need him anymore when he succeeds in his revenge a long time ago.
So why does it still hurt so much?
Ray is staring at him. He doesn’t say a word, but he’s staring, and Gerard shivers under his intense gaze.
“What?” he murmurs when Frank is out of earshot.
“You’re in love with him,” Ray states.
Gerard lowers his head, trying to make sure his hair obscures his face. “I’m not.”
“I see how you look at him,” Ray says. “And unless you call it something else around here…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Gerard breathes out. “He has a partner. They’ve been together for some time, it’s not one of his flings, so what I'm feeling doesn’t matter.”
Ray frowns.
“Of course it does,” he says softly. “Or is it because I’m a—”
“I don’t care what the Church thinks,” Gerard crosses his arms. “Unless you’re gonna lecture me on how I have to repent, in which case, sincerely, fuck you.”
He already knows he’s a sinner: a blasphemer, a rebel, a whore. A killer, too. Too poor to afford his own room, instead squatting on the lower levels, which obviously means that there is something inherently wrong with him if he doesn’t even try to change his life. So what if he adds homosexuality to the long list of everything that makes him undeserving of the Three’s love?
“I’m not gonna lecture you,” Ray says. “Between you and me, I think the Church gets some things wrong.” He pauses. “Okay, plenty of things.”
Gerard immediately grasps on the opportunity to divert the conversation.
“For example?”
Ray scratches his head.
“Like, the fundamental questions,” he shrugs. “The Three were human, right? Once. Before the revelation. It’s confirmed, we have the sources and everything, but the Church teaches that they were never human in the first place, and to me this seems strange, because… what’s the point of hiding it?”
“You are getting very close to blasphemy here,” Gerard smirks.
Ray huffs. “I know. But I’m not trying to deny that they saved us from extinction, because they did, it’s the Church’s position that bothers me, and— and, listen, I’ve seen it up close. Met a Cardinal once. They don’t live by what they’re preaching.”
He stops and stares at the wall behind Gerard’s back with a distant look on his face.
“I guess I’ve just been having doubts,” he says finally. “Not about my faith, about… y’know, when you’re trying to live your life by certain rules, and then you find out that the people making these rules don’t really care about following them and it means nothing. Makes you think what else they made up.”
“Because the entire point is to make you obey.”
Once again Frank appears behind Ray’s back without a sound. He’s fearing a scarf covering the lower half of his face, and Gerard wants to tell him that they’re not about to get anywhere close to the saints and it’s still allowed to leave the house during the day, but he already knows it’s not going to help.
“Howard Rosenbaum was a piece of shit who thought he could buy a city for himself and his friends, and when things finally went wrong he suddenly realised that after the bombs fall he’ll have to wipe his own ass and didn’t like it, so he graced us with this beautiful slum,” Frank continues. “Because people that wipe your ass aren’t human, obviously. The best thing he had ever done in his life was getting shot.”
“We wouldn’t be talking right now if he didn’t—”
“We wouldn’t be talking right now if he did everything exactly as he wanted,” Frank scoffs. “The Three were the biggest assholes this world has ever known. They didn’t give a shit about humanity, only about their own survival. Doesn’t sound all that nice and holy now, right?” Gerard can sense a proud smirk in his voice. “Now move it, we’re wasting time.”
Ray doesn’t dignify Frank’s speech with an answer but Gerard still notices a hurt look in his eyes.
Frank takes the lead this time, and this is giving Gerard anxiety for some reason. He doesn’t doubt Frank’s ability to navigate the sector, far from it, but he has gotten too used to his usual role of a guide to give it up so freely. So instead he tries to focus on Ray, who chose to keep his distance from Frank, and Gerard probably should have anticipated this: Frank isn’t the kind to easily trust people, he has been hurt too many times, and Ray has the misfortune of being the exact kind of person Frank tends to hate. Gerard might have realised already that Ray means well (that, or he is incredibly stupid to trust everyone who tells him a story about their dark and traumatic past), but Frank will sooner die than admit he was wrong to judge Ray so harshly.
“It’s just his opinion,” Gerard whispers, hoping Frank can’t hear him. “He didn’t mean to offend you, he’s just… Frank.”
Ray purses his lips.
“Don’t defend him,” he whispers back. “I know what he meant.” He sighs. “And I hate that it makes sense, in a way.”
“Your religion isn’t the problem,” Gerard tries to explain. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with it. Frank doesn’t either, he’s just… y’know, projecting all the shit the Church is doing on an alright belief system.”
“There’s nothing alright with the belief system,” Frank grumbles. “You’re worshiping a dead guy who didn’t give a shit about anyone.”
“It has some decent points,” Gerard argues. “You know, like “don’t kill people”, or “don’t be an asshole”?”
“I don’t need a religion for that,” Frank scoffs. “Kinda worried about those who do.”
Gerard desperately wants to point out that nobody they know has been following the commandments and Frank himself has broken almost all of them, except for maybe “thou shall share your bread with those below you”, and even that is only because of the situation he ended up in. There is no point: Frank is only going to get defensive, and Gerard is definitely not the one to act like he has been following the Church’s teachings to the letter all his life.
“To each their own, I guess,” Ray murmurs.
Frank stops in his tracks. For a second Gerard fears that he is about to start a fight with Ray but instead he grabs Gerard’s arm and ducks behind an overfilled trash container, motioning Ray to do the same. Gerard barely suppresses a surprised yelp. Whatever it is Frank has noticed, it can’t be good.
He soon finds out himself, as he peeks from behind the container. A group of men in heavy armour walks past the alleyway they’re hiding in, and Gerard immediately notices how out of place they look. Whoever they are, they’re not one of the many gangs and militant groups inhabiting the East: their armour is too clean, and it looks manufactured — a rare sight in the City, and especially in this part of the district. Metal helmets (Gerard doesn’t recognise the material) obscure the men’s faces from view, breastplates cover both front and back sides, leaving only a tiny window unprotected, and Gerard catches a glimpse of identical black shirts. On the left shoulderplate each of the men bears an insignia, an image of a large bird pierced by an arrow.
At least the men don't seem to care about their surroundings. They don't even look in the direction of the alleyway, probably not expecting anyone to attack them. Gerard is not even remotely surprised: only a lunatic would try to mug these guys.
“Shit,” Ray whispers the moment the men disappear from view. “Fuck.”
Frank turns to him.
“What?” he asks.
“That’s PSMR people,” Ray forces out. “What the fuck are they doing here?”
“Who?”
Ray glances at the street, making sure the armoured men haven’t returned.
“Private Security and Military Resources,” he explains. “At least they used to call themselves that, they might have had a rebranding. Guns for hire.” He looks like the very idea of it makes him sick. “They mostly provide bodyguards, but I’ve heard that sometimes, when there’s a problem on the farmlands or at a factory, some owners hire them to…”
“To kill everyone,” Frank finishes for him. “Let me guess, your Dad…”
“Hated them,” Ray cuts him off. “Never worked with them. Not everyone in Central is a piece of shit. And stop bringing my Dad up, he’s gone.”
Frank clearly wants to say something but Gerard manages to chime in at the last second.
“Frank, don’t,” he warns him. “You’ll deal with it later, we still have stuff to do.”
“Can’t believe you’re doing this,” Frank grumbles.
“Doing what?”
“Teaming up with him!” Frank points at Ray. “We were supposed to be on the same side!”
“We are on the same side, Frank, stop acting like a fucking child!” Gerard huffs. “You two can figure your shit out after everyone is outta this place, but for now please, Frank, stop antagonising people, I’m actually begging you!”
Frank rolls his eyes.
“You’re not my Mom.”
“I know. But we have the same enemy to fight, and you know it. So please, just… try to keep it down, okay? Please.”
Frank gives him a strange look, one of the few in his arsenal that Gerard still hasn’t learned how to read.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”
Gerard lets out a relieved breath. The crisis isn’t over yet, he is well aware of that, but at least it’s not about to get worse for now. Or, at least, he hopes so.
The rest of the way to the level where Brendon and Ryan live is uneventful, mostly because they don’t talk to each other. Frank does his best to demonstrate what he thinks about Gerard standing up for Ray instead of joining him, but it’s obvious that he is doing it more out of principle than because he is seriously angry with Gerard.
Brendon and Ryan's place isn’t much different from every other in the same street, at least from the outside: a battered steel door, curtains in the small barred window facing the street closed to keep the overly curious away. Gerard throws Frank a quick glance. Frank gives him a sharp nod, as if trying to tell him to get on with it, and Gerard takes it as a permission to knock on the door.
For the first few seconds all he can hear is silence. Then the curtain moves, and Gerard hears the key turning in the lock.
Brendon is the one to open the door, much to Gerard’s disappointment. At the sight of Gerard he grins and takes a step to the side, letting the three of them in, before shutting the door and falling into the nearest armchair.
Gerard takes a second to take a look at the surroundings only to discover that not much has changed since his last visit. Brendon has found another armchair somewhere, and it takes Gerard one look to understand that Brendon has been frequenting the landfill in the southwestern part of the district, where Central leaves its garbage. He is more surprised to see that Brendon has managed to find something useful; he himself usually misses the moment when the garbage carts arrive, and by the time he finally gets to the landfill all that’s left is rotten food and rags that can’t be used to sew something.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Gerry-boy,” Brendon winks at Gerard, ignoring Frank’s threatening scowl. “I even thought you forgot about silly old me.”
“It’s Gerard,” Gerard says. “Not Gerry.”
He has almost forgotten how hard it was to deal with Brendon Urie. The guy keeps acting like he is in charge of the entire district and tries to put himself as a dark and mysterious figure from the shadows, even though, in Gerard’s humble opinion, there is nothing dark or mysterious about him, and for a creature of the dark his outfits have too much colour and glitter. In a way Gerard envies him: he wishes he could have no care in the world, living every day like it was an endless party and he was the king of the world.
“As you wish, Gerry-boy,” Brendon grins. “I see you brought friends,” he gives Ray a long studying look. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”
Ray awkwardly waves at him. “Hi,” he mumbles. “I’m Ray.”
Brendon offers him one of the most charming smiles from his vast arsenal. Gerard rolls his eyes; this is going to take much longer than he anticipated, and all because Brendon just has to constantly flirt. It’s not that Gerard minds — Brendon is a natural, and Gerard knows for a fact that he is just as good in bed as he claims to be, but there is a time and place. Especially when it comes to an obviously inexperienced Ray.
“Absolute pleasure,” Brendon shakes Ray’s hand.
Ray slightly purses his lips.
“I have a fiance,” he warns him. “Before you get any ideas.”
“She’s not here, right?” Brendon winks at him. “This is East, baby, we live fast, die young, and—”
“I’ll pass,” Ray interrupts him.
Brendon pouts. “You’re no fun. Is this the kind of people you’re associating with now, Gerry?”
“He said he’s not interested,” Frank interferes. “Is Ryan here?”
“Why do you want to see Ryan? Ryan is boring, I’m way more entertaining, right, Gerry?”
“Stop calling me Gerry,” Gerard grumbles. “We need to talk to Ryan, it’s important.”
The curtain behind Berndon’s back moves, and Ryan steps inside the room. He looks like he just woke up, and Gerard wouldn’t be too surprised if that was exactly the case: both him and Brendon have a strange schedule, and Gerard isn’t sure he wants to know what exactly led to it.
“What’s important?” Ryan asks as he lands in the battered armchair next to Brendon. “Hi, Frank.”
Frank gives him a quick nod.
“We got the saints’ cleansing plans,” Gerard says.
Brendon frowns. “So that’s what all that noise was. I’ve been wondering.”
He does sound concerned, no matter how hard he tries to keep his unbothered appearance up. So the news of the shootout must have gotten out. Gerard briefly wonders if anyone knew who exactly was there on that day, if Brendon had any idea what exactly happened there and who was to blame.
“They’re gonna cut the East off in the next week,” Frank continues. “Ray says they’re gonna bomb the entire district next. We almost ran into a bunch of mercs on our way here, and I think I know what they’re doing here.”
“We thought about using the tunnels to escape,” Gerard adds. “But I’m not sure if they’re still open, or if they will be open long enough, so—”
“So you’ve been wondering about other ways out,” Ryan interrupts him. “You realise that you can’t get everyone out in a week, right? Unless you wanna breach the gates and go outside.”
“That’s suicide,” Ray frowns. “We’re not going outside, right?”
“I sure hope you’re not,” Ryan scoffs. “Anyway. Do you know how many people live in the East?” And then he adds: “Don’t answer that. Almost a million people, give or take a few thousands. Do you think other districts will be happy to see a million refugees?”
“We need to try,” Frank grits through his teeth.
Ryan shrugs. “Your funeral.”
Brendon rubs his chin. His usual cocky smile is gone, and Gerard quickly realises that this is one of those rare moments when Brendon Urie is planning to be serious for once.
“There’s a tunnel under the Temple,” he says. “Emergency exit.”
Frank raises an eyebrow. “Emergency exit?”
“How do you think our beloved Nicky the Bishop escaped during the uprising?” Brendon smirks. “All Temples have these tunnels.”
“Where does it lead?” Gerard asks.
Brendon shrugs. “No idea. Somewhere up North. Might be another Temple, might be a safe house. Could be the Tower itself,” he frowns. “No, forget that. Not the Tower, they wouldn’t risk it.”
Gerard turns to Frank.
“We could use that,” he says.
Frank crosses his arms. “And how do you think it's gonna happen? They control all the nearby sectors, and we don't even know if this tunnel is real.”
“It’s real,” Ryan chimes in. “But I wouldn't recommend it.”
“It's in Nicky’s personal quarters,” Brendon adds. “You need to be under fifteen to get a pass.”
Ray visibly pales as Gerard rolls his eyes in an attempt to hide his discomfort. He understands why Brendon makes these jokes, he really does, but it doesn't make it feel any less uncomfortable.
“Not funny,” Frank grumbles. “How do we get in?”
Brendon beams up. “Oh, that’s easy! You just walk through the zone of control, get into the Temple, open the blast door, go all the way down the hallway, open another blast door, and you're in! Oh, and you might run into a bunch of heavily armed guards, then it's gonna be even more fun!”
Frank glances at Gerard.
“Sounds doable,” he shrugs.
“Maybe for one person,” Ryan says. “Not if you wanna evacuate the entire district.”
Gerard leans closer to Frank.
“This is crazy,” he whispers. “We can't do it on our own.”
“Come on, you can get anywhere!”
“By myself, maybe. Maybe with a small group, if I know where I’m going,” Gerard argues. “Not a million people, Frank, that's just impossible.”
“You could ask the Musta Paraati guys,” Ryan suggests.
Frank glares at him.
“I’m not asking the fucking Musta Paraati!”
“Who’s Musta Paraati?” Ray asks innocently.
“Scum,” Frank spits out. “Don't bother.”
“They’re not that bad,” Brendon chirps. “At least they're looking out for their own, right, Frankie?”
“They’re kinda like local militia,” Gerard explains. “The saints don't do much around here when it comes to, y'know, keeping the peace, so Otter gathered a bunch of people to patrol the streets. They're mostly making sure that the elderly have food on their tables and the kids don't play with guns in the streets. Keep the gangs away from certain sectors.”
“And control the drug trade in half the district,” Frank adds. “Don't leave that part out.”
“It’s better than it used to be,” Ryan points out. “The place was a wasteland after the uprising.”
Gerard remembers. He might not remember the uprising itself, but he knows what the East was like right after. The people didn't have enough time to mourn their dead when the gangs showed up and flooded the streets with drugs and blood. Gerard himself more than once had to give up what little he managed to earn during the night to some shady people — a tax for refusing to unionise, they were calling it. Gerard was quick to figure out that going hungry a few times a week is still much better than what they were offering him.
“Doesn't matter,” Frank grunts. “So they got rid of the competition, big fucking deal.”
“They have the numbers,” Gerard points out. “And authority. Way more than we do. I think we’ll have to work with them.”
“He’s right, you know,” Ryan says. “Otter is your best chance if you want to save someone other than yourselves.”
“What about you?” Ray asks quietly.
“Oh, we have our own plan,” Brendon smirks. “Am I right, babe?”
Ryan cringes. “Brendon, we talked about it,” he murmurs. “We have a plan, yes. Had it for some time, to be honest, but thanks for the heads-up.”
“Are you sure?” Gerard asks. “You could join us, if you want.”
Ryan shakes his head. “No. Thanks for the invitation, but we’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourselves,” Frank shrugs. “We have room for two more, if you change your mind.”
Ryan rises to his feet.
“We won’t,” he says firmly.
This conversation is over. Ryan doesn’t say it outright but Gerard can sense it in the way he’s looking at Frank, like he wishes they left.
“Right,” Gerard says. “Thanks. See you around, I guess.”
He drags Frank and Ray outside before either of them has a chance to protest. Frank uses this opportunity to light a cigarette, ignoring Ray’s judgemental glance, and mutters:
“Well, that was a waste of time.”
“Not really.” Ray takes a quick look around to make sure nobody is eavesdropping. “We know there’s a tunnel under the Temple.”
“And no way to get inside,” Frank argues. “Especially if we want people to evacuate.”
“We need to let Otter know,” Gerard says.
Frank scoffs.
“I’m not gonna talk to—”
“Then what do you suggest, Frank? Running away ourselves and leaving everyone else to die here? Otter has enough people to fight back, Musta Paraati could, dunno, organise shelters, something like that.”
“And then what?” Frank frowns.
“I don’t think they can fight against PSMR,” Ray adds. “You’ve seen their armour, you won’t breach it with a shitty raygun.”
“But PSMR is used to fighting against workers, right?” Gerard points out. “Farmers, factory workers, people who go out on peaceful protests. Otter and his guys are more organised, they know how to fight, and they know the district, unlike those guys. I don’t think they’re expecting resistance anyway.”
Frank rubs his forehead.
“Dammit, Gee,” he mutters. “They’re gonna get killed, and you know that.”
“But someone might get out,” Gerard argues. He knows how desperate he sounds, and the East doesn’t stand a chance, now that he thinks of it. “It’s better than a million people dead, right? Even if only a thousand of them get out, it’s still gonna be more than zero.”
Frank takes a long drag of his cigarette. Only now Gerard notices that the street is almost empty — the midday sermon is about to begin soon, and they should probably look for shelter before the saints notice them. They are already in enough trouble.
“Fine,” Frank breathes out. “Let’s do it this way. Otter’s not gonna listen to me, but he might listen to you, so you go talk to him. Ray and I are going back to the base, maybe they have something solid.”
“Promise you’re not gonna fight.”
Frank rolls his eyes. “Gerard, for fuck’s sake—”
“No fighting until this shit is over. Promise me.”
“Fine,” Frank grits through his teeth. “No fighting.”
Gerard turns to Ray. Ray responds with a sharp nod and a quick glance in Frank’s direction. This should do for now, Gerard thinks, at least until they’re back at the base.
“Okay,” he breathes out. “I’m off.”
Frank grabs his wrist at the last second, and Gerard does his best not to flinch.
“You,” Frank points at him, “are coming back.”
“Of course I am.”
“No,” Frank huffs. “I mean it. If you have to choose between getting to Otter and coming back safe, you’re coming back. Got it?”
Gerard isn’t sure why Frank got so worried about his safety all of a sudden, doesn’t dare dream about it meaning what he wants it to mean. Frank is probably still on edge because of Dewees. He has already lost one friend, of course he doesn’t want to lose another one so soon. Nothing more. This has never been about Gerard.
“Okay,” he says. “Got it.”
Notes:
Yapping about references again because I love references
1. Howard Rosenbaum is named after Howard Hughes and Ayn Rand (also known as Alisa Rosenbaum), with an extra jab at Ayn Rand because that woman hated religion.
2. Musta Paraati is a real post-punk/gothic rock band from Finland, and their name, according to Google, means 'Black Parade'. No deep meaning behind it, it's just a funny coincidence that I wanted to use. Plus, their 1983 album is really good.(I don't know if anyone is reading these but I think I'll keep doing this little commentary of sorts because I need to share the knowledge and feel smart)
bleeding_eyes on Chapter 1 Thu 28 Aug 2025 03:23AM UTC
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Bird_of_Prey on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 07:31AM UTC
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IHaveNoEyes on Chapter 2 Wed 03 Sep 2025 07:10PM UTC
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Bird_of_Prey on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Sep 2025 01:41PM UTC
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the_hellish_justice on Chapter 2 Sat 06 Sep 2025 11:38PM UTC
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Bird_of_Prey on Chapter 3 Tue 09 Sep 2025 02:48PM UTC
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