Each Quad was apparently designed in the same fashion, a central hallway with four doors for each individual cell of the Quad.

She paused at each door. Jor's name was listed on the third, with three other names she didn't recognize. She took a breath. There was no guarantee he was here yet, and she'd be punished if she was found in another Quad without a pass or a guide...but she had to see him. Two weeks without him with the strain of her father's disdain had left her smoldering, and she wasn't willing to endure any longer.

Riiiiiiiight.

The door slid open at her touch and he followed her in, and winced when he saw the look on Sasha's face. He was ... unthrilled, to say the least. "Uh...hey Sash- sir. This is Tayce. She's one of the new fish from Cell B." Sasha's cold stare went from Castor to Tayce - very briefly - and then back to Castor. Dark blue eyes narrowed just a little. Perfect. Time to rally.

"She's...a hell of a pilot, sir. I think she'd be a great scout." Sasha's eyes widened this time, first at his audacity and then at his ridiculous suggestion. A girl in his scout? Not bloody likely.

At 5'11, Sasha topped Castor by a good 3 inches, and practically towered over Tayce. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked the girl over, the ice in his eyes melting a little as they became unreadable. He would see what this girl was made of. If she didn't pass, he'd trade her, and that was it. As for Scout, he didn't care how badly Cas wanted to land the girl, there was no way in hell he'd put some inferior girl pilot as his eyes and ears in a battle.

He wouldn't go to the gym. Those were all machines created for the sole purpose of straining muscle without moving. The exertion wasn't all there was to exercise -- Rabin needed the feel of speed, the wind against his face, the ground beneath his feet. Of course, in this place, there was no wind, and the ground was metal plating. But the spirit was the same. He could not sit in a machine and lift heavy objects. He had to be moving.

So he didn't go anywhere. He just ran. And steadily, his pace did increase. What started as a jog became a run, and then a sprint. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, felt the brush of the recirculated air against his face, not like real wind, but as close as he could find in this prison. He dodged numerous students in the hallways -- vegs and vets alike. He paid them no attention. His mind hardly even registered what he was doing, except at the most basic levels. He was moving without bothering to look where he was going -- his body could take care of that for him. Meanwhile, his mind was free, his mind was clear.

They slowed and stopped several feet from him, making a solid semi-circle. They didn't draw their guns, but they didn't approach him. They'd been briefed on his file, knew what he could do with himself if they got too close, but he had to show some sort of force before they'd use their weapons to subdue him.

He made no threatening moves. A few of them looked a little too eager as it was, and only half of them were tranquilizers.

"Nathan Terrence, you are under arrest for the assault of Moira Callenstrom. You will accompany us to the Detention Block."

He felt curiously light and indifferent. He didn't care anymore. He'd gotten what he wanted to done, and that's what mattered. Now he didn't care what happened to him. His vengeance was complete.

Why did he feel so hollow?

An image of Kat flashed through his mind, and he pushed it away. He moved forward as they indicated, bowing his head a little. What would happen to her now? He would never know. He knew what happened to Charybdis kids who violated their probation.

Then the guards were around him, and one of them shoved him forward from behind.

The other boy paused, voice loud. "What happened today, flash? Who did that to her?" A little confused, Nic narrowed his blue eyes at Rabin, disliking his arrogant demanding tone. Until he realized that he must be talking about Wick... Wick, stuck in the infirmary, bruised and burned and beaten.

He would start with the probie's cell, because if he was in the Detention Area, there wasn't much chance of Rabin getting in to see him. And Rabin wanted to get close. He wanted to see for himself if this "Mode" had done it.

His boots pounded heavily as he ran wildly through the corridors, breathing rapidly as he pumped his legs, running as if demonds were chasing him, hellfire burning at his heels. And in a sense it was; his own guilt and anger was after him, remorse for leaving Wick to face Nathan's wrath and revenge alone... a crazy fear that the boy had done more than just beat her, had actually... he couldn't even think the words as he sprinted. Passersby cursed in annoyance as he shoved through groups of soldiers gathered, but he ignored everything and everyone in favor of the single thought that repeated brokenly through his mind.

He was standing perfectly still, in the hollow of one of the empty Quad entrances with no sigil on the door. His muscular arms were crossed, but he was completely unfocused, swirling smoke eyes staring at the blank wall just two feet from him, oblivious to the passing traffic in the hallway.

Mode.

Wick approached warily, fear making her light on her feet despite her injured ankle. He took no notice of her, not even when she walked right up to the alcove, not until she spoke. "Nathan...?" Her voice was low, wary and a little curious. There were other people in this hallway. He wouldn't attack her here, she was certain. He wasn't that unbalanced. Yet.

The change in his eyes was rapid enough to be frightening as the slate solidified, his head snapping towards her with all the shock of someone waking from a dream. Recognition flared a second later, and he unfolded his arms and stood away from the wall, hands at his sides as he looked at her coldly, eyes narrowed, a tiny smirk on his features.

Wick fell back a step, but then stood her ground. She had been looking for him. She hadn't expected to find him this easily. She couldn't trust Jor or Dominic to do this prodding for her. They didn't have the knowledge, and they didn't have the tact...and they didn't have the ammunition she did with this particular subject. This she had to do for herself.

"Hello, Wick," he said with the slightest of smirks. "Need something? A light, maybe?"

Her pale eyes widened briefly, but then it was gone. "You promised," was all she said. The fear wasn't in her eyes, but it was in her voice, the razor edge of terror making him smile a little wider before her words reached the rational part of his mind. Promised...? "I didn't promise you shit, Wick. What the hell are you talking about?" He was irritable and angry. His trip to the showers had cleaned his body, but his mind refused to shut down. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this little bitch and she knew it.

"I'm talking about Jor. Damn you, you promised, Mode! Promised..." He glared at the girl in confusion. Jor? He hadn't laid a finger on the boy since their little altercation in the barracks, and even then, Kat did most of the work. "I didn't touch him, you little pyro bitch," he growled, reaching forward and grabbing her left arm. "You must be wrong."

"No, you let Kat do it instead, you lazy, cowardly BASTARD. That's the same thing. If you can't keep your bitch under control - "

"What's wrong, Mode?" she said with a contemptuous smirk, her voice too low to be heard by the passersby but thick with sarcastic pity. "Is she a little too much for you to handle? Or have you just been holding back too much? You do seem to have a problem drawing the line when it comes to chastising your women." Those grey eyes widened, and she stared in fascination as the madness in them began to grow.

Her eyes widened and she let out a tiny gasp as he put her into her favorite pain lock, the edges of her vision fuzzing and going red as the pressure against that buried nerve complex had her panting with the effort to scream, but she couldn't get enough breath. The rest of his hand tightened and began to interfere with her blood flow, and she began to shake as her muscles started to go lax.

He held her up easily, maintaining the hold, allowing her a little more air or blood if those wide ice eyes got too clouded, but never enough to cry out. Her muscles were twitching in sympathetic pain as she tried to remain calm, but she was rapidly approaching a state of pure panic.

He leaned towards her, placing his head next to hers, his mouth near her ear. "Listen very carefully to me, Wick," he said, his voice smooth, lethal. "I was ready to let our acquaintance end, before, but every time I see you reminds me of how much I would enjoy spending some more time with you." His voice turned mockingly broken. "It's...so hard to stay away from you, Moira...if you don't keep yourself out of my sight, I might not be able to restrain myself." He pulled back, narrowing his eyes, murderous intent written on his features. "Do you understand me, flicker?"

He dropped her then, and she hit the floor, gasping and gagging, her muscles still spasming a little as she tried desperately to catch her breath. Watching her struggle, he was suddenly aware of how easy it would be to drag the little bitch into one of these empty Quad sections and finish her off...but the Quads here might be holocammed, and he wasn't going to ice just for the meager satisfaction her painful death would bring him.

Dominic had been one short, rather amusing but disturbing distraction. Whatever his interest in her was remained unclear, but his comments concerning Mode had alerted her to retreat. Anything concerning Mode right now was beyond her capacity to handle logically. With every step she took down the corridors, her mind would refocus on him, the weight of the dagger strapped to her right calf a constant reminder. No, she hadn't wanted to discuss that with Dominic at all, no matter the potential for fun he had carried. At this point, personal involvement was not an option.

The other boy she'd managed to find hadn't been much fun either. A few punches, a nice solid kick or two, and he'd been down on the ground, already begging. She hadn't even bothered to toy with him more, his whining voice irritating her. She wanted a fight, real hand-to-hand combat, and even as she beat the boy, each punch reminded her of her skirmish with Mode.

Damnit. Kat was tired of thinking about Mode.

Perfect.

Breathing was agony. Her windpipe and the nerve complex he'd pressed on were bruised. She favored the pain lock because little pressure could cause a lot of discomfort very quickly without causing lasting complications. He was more powerful than she was. He'd used way too much strength, and he'd damaged her. She needed to get to the infirmary, but she doubted Kat was here to help her out.

She remained silent, head tilting slightly, curls falling into her face as she examined Wick with all the disinterest she could muster. But the identification rubbed a little on the edges of her nerves. Wick knew her name. She doubted that Mode had mentioned her at all during his attack, so unless he'd seen this girl recently, that was most unlikely. Which left the only other possibility, and her eyebrow raised as she watched the girl.

There had been that small... altercation with Jor in the barracks. She knew of their relationship, and Jor must have told Wick about how she'd stepped in and attacked him first. She wondered briefly whether Wick knew of her protection of Jor too, but that thought was quickly dismissed. Wick knew her, knew what happened. Delightful.

"Mmmmm..." Kat purred, still eyeing Wick carefully, warily. The girl was struggling to breath, struggling to even whisper. She couldn't even turn her head, and the passivity of her muscles did not escape Kat's notice. Something must have happened, or someone must have attacked her. Even more interesting... with a quick flick of her head, she glanced up and down the corridor, eyes scanning for any sign of Mode. She didn't know of anyone else who might want to harm Wick, and the girl's presence meant she hadn't been sprawled here for long; there were too many other soldiers in the hallways, and someone surely would have spotted her. Which meant that Mode had been here, and recently.

When she could speak again, her thoughts were scattered when the girl spoke again. "Mode was here."

Wick passed her eyes over the girl before her. Muscled, but it was low-key. Scars. Graceful, not the inhuman liquid grace Mode dealt in, but the smooth animal grace of a feline. Green eyes flecked with gold, sharp teeth, sharp nails and a calculating look on her pretty face. The fire in the girl's eyes spoke for itself, and the pain was eclipsed by her answering flare, and she gave the girl a small smile that died almost immediately.

"Yes...rough...boy, that one." She closed her eyes and checked her muscles again. Responding a little better, but she couldn't yet sit up. Mode had gone far beyond what she'd expected him capable of out in the open. What had made her think she could still gauge him? Stupid, stupid. She'd been too long out of the loop, too used to being predator instead of prey. She was getting careless.

The girl had a knife.

Technically, it was possible that it was a gun, but she considered that exceedingly unlikely. Projectile weapons of any sort were prohibited in all space stations and facilities, and with good reason. Depressurization was a miserable way for hundreds of people to die in the space of a minute or two. The MPs here were equipped with lasers, with the occasional flechette pistol, but no real bullet weapons.

This girl had also just come from the Charybdis institute. There was an even smaller likelihood of her bringing a gun from that location. A knife was silent and effective. A gun would have been...impractical, in such a circumstance, loud and troublesome to acquire ammunition for.

So a gun was unlikely. But she'd seen the outline of what was undoubtedly a holster casing under her uniform material as Kat lazily rubbed at her leg. She watched as Kat spread her fingers, examining her fingernails, but Wick wasn't fooled. The rest of her body had tensed, and Wick's tensed as well. Kat must have seen her looking at the knife. What would she do to keep her quiet?

Best to try to keep it friendly, then.

She offered the girl another little smirk. A strange and completely inappropriate feeling of camaraderie was nudging her, and she shoved it away as she prepared to get up. Fire was always beautiful, always enticing, but not always friendly, and this girl was the embodiment of several of fire's most salient aspects...beautiful, enticing and dangerous. A pity. Under other circumstances, this girl might have proved an interesting partner.

Pressing her hand flat on the floor, she tested the muscle and grimaced. She could push herself up, but whether she would stay up or not wasn't something she could speculate on yet.

Taking slower breaths and trying to shut out the pain in preparation for the effort ahead, she took a moment to study Kat's face. Bruises and the remains of a black eye or two. Mode - or whoever - had not been kind. She wondered what sort of a girl would find someone like Mode to be a viable bedmate. She understood, a little; Jor was sweet and fiery like few others, but he was unquestionably sane. Mode was afflicted with no such restraint.

Braver than I, she thought to herself as she gathered her strength. Braver, but not smarter. You'll bear watching, Kitten, before I can plan around you...but planning is what I do best.

Wick was standing now, leaning her weight against the wall to protect her right ankle. With lazy grace, Kat reached out to grab the girl's pantleg, fingers tightening into the material as she tugged strongly, tumbling her down to the floor once more.

He had been acting differently lately. Over the course of their years at the Institute, she'd grown used to his mood swings, from quiet Angel to the rough Mode she loved. This new twist she'd discovered was concerning. Kat was painfully reminded of their interaction that morning in the barracks, when he hadn't even spoken to her, staring with abject loathing. He'd been the one to invite himself to spend the night beside her, and she didn't particularly enjoy his lack of response. Remember what you have to do...

She noted the vicious light that came into Kat's eyes as the girl fell into thought. Jor had been right about one thing. There was a lot to Mode and Kat that didn't fall into the "blissful harmony" category. Maybe she'd gone to a lot of trouble for no reason. Maybe Katera had intended to deal with him without any outside interference...

But there was a hesitancy in the girl's tiger eyes, even now. She wasn't entirely convinced. Something was holding her back. Wick would have given a lot to know what it was, but now was not the time to ask. Now was the time she needed to get to the infirmary and get anti-inflammatory and pain killer injections and hope to avoid Jor long enough for the obvious swelling to go down. She bit her mental lip as she imagined his reaction. He would not approve of her extracurricular activity, her match.

And Kat did not like her toys stolen.

She pushed herself standing, turning to leave before she paused, hesitating in the alcove entrance. Wick couldn't possibly manage to drag herself all the way to the infirmary, for she was sure that was where the girl was headed, judging by the random winces and hisses of pain she emitted. Rolling her eyes in self-deprication, Kat bit her lip with a pointed tooth and then turned around, towering over Wick as she still sat on the floor. Reaching down, she grabbed the girl's hand, tugging her roughly to her feet before leaning in to purr menacingly. "I saved your boy... I suggest you watch him more carefully. And don't touch Mode."

She turned away and headed for the infirmary. Hopefully they could give her something immediately, and Jor wouldn't notice. She could just go back to her barracks and stay there for the rest of the night, and tell Jor she'd fallen asleep tomorrow...sleep. Sleep sounded blissful, and she'd only been awake a few hours.

She was limping down the hallway nearby his own barracks.

She was there, looking nearly as bewildered and lost as he felt.

Donovan had walked silently through the corridors, never looking back to see if she was still following. She could have very well left, gone back to her own barracks or elsewhere, but some compulsion she didn't understand forced her to continue. Her uncertainty was complete as he turned to face her, pausing at the door to Diamondback barracks.

"In the six months I've been here, they've improved little. They managed to drag themselves into the top ten and over DiamondBack, but just barely, and they've maintained their position by circumstance alone. Your commander needs to learn to moderate his use of troops. Lightning attack only goes so far if it isn't managed properly."

"Datz aboot mozt uv dee zchool, von't takeya long to lern your vay aroond diz plaze. Eetz been too loong! Diz keepz me beezee boot I haft mizzed yoo, y'know, aftaire dee fight and vee graduateed I nevaire deed geet to reely zay gootbye." She paused in front of the Griffin Quad barracks, motioning with her head toward the door. "Diz eez my barrackz, voold yoo like to meet zum uv my freendz? Perhapz aftaire vee vill all go geet Dantee and dee udderz and haft loonch..." Swede was interrupted by a whooping laughing that echoed through the corridor, and both her and Rye turned to see Rox bounding forward.

She had a grin plastered over her face, and Swede rolled her eyes, dropping Rye's hand to nudge him with her elbow in his side. That smile usually only meant one thing, and with Rox, her trouble was always spectacular. "Oooh, who's this, Nene? We gotta new fish in our barracks or what? He's a cutiepie..." she eyed him and winked cockily.

"Nope, heez een Pheenix vith Dantee. Ryee, diz eez Rox. Roxee, diz iz Ryee, my oold toon zecoond from Fox Armee, remembaire? I eem juzt geeveeng heem a tour uv dee zchool, he juzt got heer."