Pallas? What could she possibly want?

He'd never really had much to do with her. She was Wick's toon leader, not his, and had been graduated the same time as Dante had. It wasn't as if they'd ever known eachother in Fox Army, not really. She was... reserved, withdrawn, like Dante. And he didn't have any friends or companions for that last year except for Wick.

Hands gripped her arms, pulled her off the bunk and onto her feet. The hand on her right arm was painful, but the left felt...nothing.

This fresh reminder of her injury brought her more awake, and she struggled, but only slightly. The MPs didn't react at all, just dragged her to the doorway. Peripherally, she saw Sergei, his eyes wide as he huddled in his bunk, and Rabin, his face a mask of rage as the scattered MPs began to beat him.

This was visible only in small slices before she was to the door. Gloved fingertips lifted her chin almost gently and she looked up into a face nearly invisible in the ambient darkness, but the eyes caught the light and glimmered, a cold blue-grey that reminded her of NO3 flame and smoke.

"No more wasting time. We have much to discuss." His voice was smooth and free of all but the slightest hint of an accent. His tone was almost mild, and that scared her despite herself. She could hear the MPs beating Rabin as the spectre disappeared and she was dragged away. Anyone who took these proceedings with such equanamity deserved her fear.

She came fully awake as they dragged her down the hallway, and began to struggle in earnest as her brain threw off the last of the sleepy haze. MPs in riot gear. RIOT gear, just to collect her in the middle of the night? What for? None of this made any sense. She hadn't done anything worthy of arrest since her arrival. Her logic skipped its track and she wrenched at the MP holding her left arm and was rewarded with a faint feeling of pressure in the muscle tissue beneath the numb skin.

The MP almost let her go, and then the world dipped sharply as someone cuffed her efficiently from behind. Her head lolled back and she caught a brief glimpse of the same face, those burning eyes remarkably in tune with the little amused smile on his lips. Wick's fire sprang to take over and she wrenched her arm free of the MP on her left and stumbled forward and away, bringing her left hand around in a tight arc to contact the wrist of the man who held her right, but he was too well padded for her to reach the necessary nerve complex.

"There were five of them. Four MPs in motherfucking riot gear and one bitchass in a fancy uniform. They took Wick without a goddman word."

The blood wasn't running from his mouth quite so badly, but his chin was covered with blood. Rabin didn't bother to wipe it away.

He could feel the green's rage growing. That was good. Rabin knew his own limits; he hadn't been able to take on those MPs in the cell, and that was when he was still uninjured. He needed help, and this veg was the first one he could think of. It was a damn sure thing those weepy little bitches Wes and Sergei weren't going to be any help.

And he was going to get his spark back.

Rabin was still bleeding from the mouth, but his stoicism prompted a mirthless grin from Jor. The two exchanged one long, very knowing, very enraged glance before they continued to stalk silently through the corridors. Oh God, how he was angry. No, angry wasn't quite the word; rage didn't seem to fit either. It was beyond that. Beyond anything he'd felt; more so than any of his fights in Battle School, more so than when he beat that accursed Angel back in Fox, more so than when he'd seen Wick burned and beaten in the infirmary.

He clenched his fists, and the muscles stood out along his arms and back, all those years of exercise and fighting about to pay off. Jor tightened his jaw as they approached the detention center, carefully scanning the hallways and remaining quiet despite his urge to run in and beat anyone who had touched Wick to the ground, and he nodded his head at Rabin. Waiting for a signal. Waiting for a plan. If he was going to get Wick back, they had to execute this perfectly, because he was not about to be beaten and leave her at that official fucker's mercy.

Sue was silent for a minute, not sure how to react to his embarassment? uneasiness? She led him through the hall, when she got to an intersection of corridors she paused for a second and casted a glance at the way that she knew was her quad. But she didn't want to go back...not yet. She started walking again continueing the way they came, pretending that they were still going the right way. She'd eventually loop them back... eventually.

"Did you really? Florida? Yeah, it is great. We live on a small island off the cost, I wish you could see it..." He stopped himself. He had told her all this a thousand times. Even though she never seemed to mind hearing it again and she always listened he wouldn't drag her through it again.

Sue almost broke her stride when he'd said that but recovered quickly. She thought about her own time on earth. With the uncomfortable silence that insued between her father and her, she'd found herself, hearing his voice in her head. The stories that he'd shared of his home. The words he'd used couldn't even describe what it was really like to be there. And she'd even found herself talking into the wind during more than a few of her sunset walks, almost as if she expected him to be able to hear her. And she had to admit, she'd been looking forward to seeing him when she was on her flight up. But then again, he was supposed to be shipped up before her and yet, he'd been shipped up at the same time.

"...I didn't think I would be back."

Then it hit her, he didn't plan on coming back.. he had planned on staying back at his home. And she understanded why. He had a home, not just a house in florida like she did, but a home there. A loving family to stay with, not some slut that had warmed up to her daddy...

"When I first left Battle School with the graduates and flunkees, I was a flunkee. "They had a talk with me just hours before telling me that I was being transfered to command school a year early and that I would have three weeks leave earthside. I guess knowing that I was going home influenced my decision but I told them that I wouldn't come back. I told them that I wasn't a hero and that I wasn't the type of person they were looking for. They argued at first but it didn't last long. I..." He paused a moment wondering how she would think of him, "They didn't give me a chance to tell you." He didn't tell her that even if he would have been able to he couldn't tell himself truthfully that he would. I was jsut scared that you would think I was a loser.

As they came to a door and stopped Kyle realized that they were here at last. "I know, I guess everything will work out ok."
With that he told her good night and before he knew it he was on his way toward his room.

Who was "Mode"?

They paused together at the bend in the hallway, and she took the lead. That matched movement was more of a comfort than an oddity now. They were older and stronger and better trained than she was, and there were three of them and only Kat and Jax against them.

Stabbed?

"At least he's alive. What? Do you go looking for trouble, veg?" Sol shot him a defiant glance that did nothing to perturb his snide reserve. Stupid kids. All the information that Wick had shown him concerning Kat flooded back. He had only talked to the girl once. It was enough to convince him not to take her lightly.

And yet these two greens of theirs obviously had. Well, it wasn't enough information. Dominic was not about to place himself or his twin in danger for some battle between these children. He held loyalties only to Donovan-- and if Kat had a dagger, and had actually stabbed this Gabe, there was no guessing who she might target next.

She considered trying to explain that they had no time for this explanation, but they were still moving right now, and if her talking would keep them moving, she'd do it. They had to get to that dagger before Kat or Jax made it back there. A hand rubbed absently at her neck, and her expression darkened further.

The picture of a childish Kat and her Jax imaged itself in his mind, and he smirked coldly at Sol, ignoring her glare. Mode. She was talking about Mode; those two were never far from one another, indeed.

Her footsteps slowed for a moment as realization came to her, but she quickened them immediately to catch up. No scar. He didn't have any scars. Maybe it hadn't scarred...but she'd seen the cut the sink made when she kicked him and he fell into it.

Not Jax, but...Mode, whoever the hell that was.

Her masked disbelief almost amused him, in a sardonic way. If Donovan had been unable to deal with Mode; a Creche, trained in combat, and unbelieveably fight-ready; then a little girl such as herself was no match. That Mode was willing to do anything to protect Kat was an obvious fact, and this made him share another smile with his twin, a grin that reached neither of their midnight eyes.

He'd stopped back there quickly, after leaving Wolf, to change out of the stolen riot gear and warn the two greens -- for he'd decided that the only other student in his cell who deserved the title "vet" was Wick, and most certainly not that bitchling Wes -- that if they breathed a word about what had happened that night they would both answer to him.  He assured them that he could make their lives very unpleasant if he wanted to, and they believed him.

Now he set out from Hydra Quad in his uniform pants and undershirt, slowly accelerating, his breathing deepening, his heart beating faster, his strides getting longer with each step.  Even here, in an environment so artificial that he, Rabin, dreamed of home most nights, he could close his eyes and run whenever he wanted to feel the wind in his face.

Rabin was in a good mood today.  He would have thought he might be angry, after all that had happened.  He'd taken a bitch of a beating from a pair of MPs back in his cell, and had been sent away at gunpoint from that Wolf veg's cell just a few minutes ago.  But he wasn't angry.  Tonight he felt alive.

Students were appearing in the hallways, cluttering up his path, but those that didn't get out of his way were knocked aside.  So he left the Quad area behind, and instead ran the corridors of the rest of the school, the parts that would be nearly empty this early.

He spotted her stalking past the Engineering Bay.  Rox.  She was moving away from him, in the same direction, but his speed was much greater, and soon enough the distance was closed.  Rabin slowed, though he kept jogging in place, not wanting to let his heartrate fall too low.  Even so quickly after arriving, Rabin could smell her.  An interesting mix of pheremones; sex and rage.  The sex was older and the rage was newer, as was so often the case when Rabin found both together.  Nevertheless, Rabin didn't let on what he knew after only standing next to her.  He made no secret of his talents; maybe she knew and maybe she didn't.  Either way, not many people liked knowing how easy it was to read them.  People liked to think their emotions were in their head.  They liked to think of them like thoughts. Rabin knew better.  They were all just juices and senses.  It was all simply chemistry.

Great Buddha, what I wouldn't give to crack right now...

Her fingers were actually itching for a keyboard. Normally, she wasn't destructive, not at all. Too dangerous. Digging through files and finding information and sending letters for people was one thing. That was easy and didn't require too much thought; just a little time. But what she was dying to do now was far worse. Rox didn't want to preserve. She wanted to break.

A familiar taunting voice broke her from her destruction-hungry thoughts, and Rox tilted her head to meet Rabin's malicious smirk as he spoke. "Whatsamatter, Roxy? The flashboy do a dance on your head this time?"

Well, at least it was only Rabin. He gave it as good as he got it, and perhaps a little verbal sparring would take her mind off of its incessant demands to get back to her desk and get to work. Or maybe he'd be up for a bit of mischief tonight himself. She hadn't been able to locate Vinny, which wasn't unusual; the man had a way of completely disappearing off the face of the asteroid, and then appearing at the oddest moments. Dante's cellmate Fin had been off with that other cellmate of his, that Bali. Fin was young and reckless, and that's why he was so vastly amusing. Damn. Even her other playmates and contacts were unreachable. Rabin would have to do.

Rabin was a hunter. Having game just handed to him was . . . unsportsmanlike.

"That, Rabin, you almost wouldn't hafta trade me for." Nicolai. Why hadn't she thought of Nicolai to take her bad mood out on? Cracking was fun, but torturing the flashboy... almost infinitely better. Besides, he deserved it. Badly.

Her eyes twinkled again and she skipped playfully beside him, excited with a malicious smile across her face. Rox giggled and poked Rabin, hopping around him. "Heehee, didya like my prank in the game arena? Flashboy dinnit know what hit him, and he's still all sulkin' to himself. But..." she remembered Bali having to throw Nicolai out of the barracks, Dante having to sleep in her own cell to avoid his anger. "He's been mean 'bout it. I think he needs a reminder, neh?"

"Roxy, you're my hero."

Lights out. Another hour away. He had some time to kill, then. He'd already covered almost all the corridors accessible to students, and besides, with classes out and dinner ending there would be too many greens in his way.

Rox's busy little mind rejoiced.

Anjel...

Lost...

She was as lost to him as he was to himself. He could feel himself slipping again, and this time he felt no reason to fight back. There was nothing left to him, nothing but Katera and her bloody dagger and everything he'd done to give him life at all.

That wasn't a life he wanted to face, and the one who did was struggling to come free.

Footsteps in the corridor made him shrink back against the crates instinctively, and he was pressed tightly against them in shadow when the walker came into view. She paid him no mind, and he stared at her with wide eyes as she moved past him and into the Girls' Showers. Solenis. Katera's Wick.

Yet she didn't look like Wick. There was no hint of mockery or deviousness in her features. She looked slightly apprehensive and lost in thought. His eyes narrowed a little. They were all the same, Dante, Roxy, Katera, all of them, ready to use and discard and move on to the next...but he remembered her face as she fought with Katera. He knew that face. He'd worn it when he fought Jor in Anjel's quarters.

But Solenis had been winning.

Was she really so far gone that even hunting couldn't clear her mind?

Mode. Everything was Mode. She'd picked a random soldier and followed him through the school, stalking, waiting until there were no other students around to see her pounce. What a delicious little piece of prey, too, and he hadn't been afraid to fight back. Each strike redeemed her just a little. Each drop of his blood soothed her soul.

It still hadn't been enough.

The pain was welcome and cherished, yet her thoughts kept stabbing through the pleasant haze of cold adrenaline in her veins and hot anger in her psyche. Disgusted with her failure, she'd let the boy go, dejected and sulking to herself as she wiped the blood that trickled from her nose, licked her cut lip, and watched the drops of crimson that leaked slowly from the cut on her arm.

A few passing soldiers gave her wary, almost frightened glances, but with her world revolving around current situation with Mode, everything else went unnoticed. Kat simply didn't care. It was time for a strategic retreat, and as much as she wished to avoid it, she knew she'd have to go back to her cell and lick her wounds and try to make some sense of it all.

The sting of her gash distracted her momentarily, and Kat pressed her hand against the injury, watching in detached fascination as the blood welled between her fingers. Nothing severe. She'd live. For a dark moment, she almost wished she wouldn't.

So melodramatic. Snap out of it and get back to work. You have quite a repetoire of enemies this time. Won't do to mope around when you could be doing something about that...

Kat was oblivious to the muted footsteps approaching from behind as she stalked silently down the empty corridor and sighed bitterly to herself.

Her eyes were soft emerald, and he just stood there, looking at the new injuries, the cut on her arm and the bloody nose, the split lip. She'd gone and fought someone else. Not Ryan, surely not Ryan, not in her current state, but someone.

Kat could only watch him silently.

A tumult of emotion. First, disbelief, that considering his injuries, he could manage to walk with such graceful ease again. Maybe he'd found someone else to tend to his wounds, since he'd been so reluctant to let her last night. And then a flash of anger at his sudden change. Didn't he know how much his distrust had hurt her? Yet he had the audacity now to act as if nothing had happened. Sometimes Mode changed too quickly for her to follow, and she wondered if she'd ever understand that.

But she was tired. Blood continued to flow from between her fingers as she kept her hand pressed to the cut on her arm, and there was nothing more she wanted than to curl with him around her, to rest safely with him and not to be alone. Perhaps she could forget about everything for just a little while.

"I'm sorry, Kat," he said quietly, his eyes on hers. "Thank you for taking care of me."

As soon as the words left his lips, he felt better. It wasn't enough to displace the dark, wasn't enough by a long way, but it was something. He was not heartless, he was not worthless; his love for Katera made him better than that, and he brushed her hair away from her face with the other, a light touch that barely moved her hair, and kissed her forehead. "We should wrap that," he said matter-of-factly, and gave her a small smile. It was a light wound, and she'd probably had fun acquiring it.

She didn't know what to say, and so she remained silent, but her eyes betrayed her. Finally that gratitude and relief hit her features, and she smiled tentatively at Mode, glancing down to where his hand wrapped around her arm, sealing her wound. They could take care of eachother.

Kat was content.

As they did, Gabe was thinking. He'd decided that a meeting was necessary in order to buy them time. Which was a perfectly good plan. They needed some way of putting off Kat and her dagger for a few days, and a meeting was a god way to do that. Except, of course, for the fact that Gabe had no idea what he would say, or what could possibly smother the flames of rage inside the monster called Quistin.

Well, we're on our way now. I'd better damn well think of something fast.

He had to appeal to Kat somehow. He had to use logic she would understand. He had to speak her language. But how? What could he appeal to, in a creature with no heart or soul? What would she understand?

Not threats. It was pretty clear that she was too crazy to fear for her own life. But then, threat of death wasn't the only kind of threat, was it? So perhaps threats were viable, so long as they were a very specific kind of threat.

What about emotion? Was it possible to appeal to this creature's emotions?

Internally, Gabe sneered. Of course not. That... thing... could never understand. Letting her know what I feel for Sol will only make her understand our vulnerability. Because we love each other we are strong. But because we love each other we are also very, very weak. Too dangerous to try. She woudln't understand anyway.

Would she? Gabe could remember Jax. It had been odd, but Gabe knew that there had been something between those two. It was like love, in a way, but... love that was tainted by hate as well. It certainly wasn't the type of love Gabe understood.

Well, Jax was gone. Apparently this Mode character had taken his place.

Mode. So very similar to Jax, really. Things began to fit together in Gabe's mind. Could it be, perhaps, that Kat did know love? Even if it were sick, twisted, homicidal insanity; even if it was more lust and hatred than love. But if Kat thought of it as love, then that was all that mattered. Because if that's how she thought of it, he could appeal to that. That could be the bridge.

As he paced down the hallways, von Starnburg found his thoughts divided between two desires. The first was to punish the boy Rabin - Johan had read the files and had deduced that he had been then one with the gun in the detention cell. Such impudence could not go unanswered, and he felt that punishing the boy in front of the rest of the students would send an acceptable message. Secondly, he still found himself intrigued by the case of young Terrence - or Asmodeus as he preferred to be called - how could one boy show such unique potential and yet such obvious weakness. Von Starnburg resolved to find out about this boy.

Past that, he had only general plans for the school. Discipline would have to be tightened of course, even as security and surveilance were strengthened. Most of his goals were short-term - in spite of what he had told the major, there was no telling what would happen when his superiors found out about his actions.

Johan's reverie was interrupted when he rounded a corner and saw a female student approaching him. Long hair, red, silver-grey eyes. Dante, he remembered, Terrence's former commander. As they passed each other she saw him eyeing her, and a look of curiosity flitted across her face, quickly replaced by a careful mask of neutrality. She kept walking.

The corridors were crowded, but she paid the other soldiers no heed, stalking silently through the hallways back toward the quad barracks. As she came around another corner, a tall, older man, dressed in the stark imposing black of the IA, paused and stared intently at her. His gaze was unsettling, cold and calculating, and Dante buried her unwilling curiosity beneath the ice.

Only a few steps past him, however, until she heard an accented voice call her name. "Ms. Iddantel. A word, if you please." Dante stopped midstride, features masking as she turned to face him and gave him a stare of pure glacier calm, eyes freezing to quicksilver. She didn't know this man. What could he possibly want with her?

He motioned her to follow, and she fell in step with nearly imperceptible hesitation. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked in silence for a moment, before finally turning to face her.

What he did want with Nathan?

Impressions. Oh, but she could give him so much more. More than much more; everything. Every single little heartbreaking and brutal detail of their time together, their bloody reunion, their battles and words and touches. But she wouldn't. Memories of Angel were sacred. Memories of Mode... those she didn't care to remember.

And so Dante gave him the glacier blank stare that had become her trademark following their fight, regarded him with the cool deference given a superior officer, and answered in the most noncommital polite tone she could muster.

He can't touch you, the ice sneered. You've done nothing wrong. You owe nothing, and whatever he wants to know is none of his business. Show him, Commander Iddantel, that you don't appreciate such inquiries upon your pain...

"I don't know what you're referring to, sir." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and displayed that while she knew perfectly well what he was talking about, he would get nothing from her. She waved her own hand in reflective dismissal, mercury gaze dancing with coldfire, and regarded him placidly as she paused in the corridor. "That was two years ago, and whatever misdeeds Nathan committed, I'm sure he's paid the price."

More than paid that price, her icy gaze told him. I spent days in the infirmary recovering from his misdeeds. And the twisted man that is no longer my Angel is the result. I paid as much as he did. But you won't get that from me, whoever you are.