Crows breath catches for a half second as his feet make contact with white linoleum. Artificial light bathes the space in a pale blue, that catches the dark feathers of the boy in the room's center.

  He’s the same age as crow, with the same large black wings, his hands curled up into fists to support the two feathered push daggers in each hand.

  tap tap tap

  Blood leaks from a laceration across the boy’s cheek, soaks down into his black clothing to finally drop in a steady rhythm on the ground. His eyes shift, widen at Crow and Starling's arrival. He glances between them, terror mounting.

  “Oh thank god! Thank god, you’re site-51 right? Holy shit thank you!”

  The words fall from the boys mouth to join his dripping blood. His shoulders drop, wings fold in, but the weapons and feathers don’t vanish right away.

  More blood stains the creases of the boy's hand, drip from the edge of his feathered dagger. Its been several minutes since the initial batch of Vanguard arrived here at this base and were captured. Blood from such a shallow laceration even on the face would have dried up and slowed down.

  Crow narrows his eyes, counts the seconds between each drop, watches as it mingles in the steadily growing puddle on the floor.

  “Wait! Wait-wait-wait!” The boy backs to the far edge of the room. “You don’t have to do this! You…we found a way to break the conditioning!”

  The noise washes over Crow like a tsunami, crushing him under the weight of it. His muscles convulse, twitch, and his body is brought down by the spams.

  Starling shifts her focus to Crow for only a moment, her expression unreadable as she watches him punch the ground and force himself upright despite the cascade of agony currently assaulting his every sense.

  “I know who you are, I…I can help you! You have to believe me!”

  Crow takes a single step forward, his voice like a stranger's as it leaves his mouth.

  “Shut up.”

  The boy’s words echo over and over and over as time slows to a crawl, and Crow lunges forward. The boy's eyes go wide, his mouth agape, tears already building in the corners of his eyes.

  It’s all a lie, a ruse, Crow calculates the deception in the droplets of blood, and as the boy's eyes shift to meet the approaching blade, he realizes it’s failed.

  Crow's blade begins to bite into the neck of the boy. He wills himself faster, but the noise continues to crush him, pull on his muscles, hesitate at the promise the boy's words brought.

  The cut on the boy's face might have been a deception by his words aren’t. They found a way…

  Starling appears beside Crow in an instant, and it's only then that Crow notices the push knife beginning to prick his own throat.

  Time stutters, and then shifts to a more normal speed as Crow turns just in time to watch Starling catch the boy's wrist.

  “Crow.” Starling's voice comes clipped, monotone but masked with something different.

  Crow's eyes narrow, his adrenaline drops, and time slows even further.

  The boy’s wings explode outward, but he’s too slow. Starling twists the wrist that holds the black feather knife while Crow kicks the boy in the ribs.

  More noise rips through Crow as the boy’s bones shatter, his foot digs into the flesh and his arm gives way at the shoulder, begins to pop and rip.

  Another rush of black feathers and the boy is gone.

  Time resumes

  “Crow, you’re worrying me.” Starling says flatly, but it's enough to wash a fraction of the noise away.

  She’s worried? How? That shouldn’t be possible either. Is she—

  “Move.” She says, and Crow's consciousness kicks itself back into gear.

  Crow focuses on the thought of the boy's face, and teleports after him.

  It’s then that he realizes the error. A flurry of black feathers meet him from all directions, more shadows in the corners of the basement space, an ambush, the other members.

  Starling appears in a fraction of a second next to him.

  His awareness extends, time around him stretching out to a near perfect standstill as the hypersonic feather barrage sits inches from making contact with his body.

  Crow's speed increases, his muscles threaten to tear from the bone as he extends a hand to touch Starling and teleport the both of them away from the barrage.

  Time moves faster, the feathers collide in the room's center but before the sonic boom can sound, Crow launches his own.

  Black feathers erupt from his back, tear through the air and carve a gory path through one of the rogue vanguard members in the shadows. Starling moves just as quickly—vanishing again, and when she reappears it’s with her kukri shaped feathers inside someone's guts. She pulls her arms apart, bisects a girl and then force teleports Crow in front of another target.

  Crow's sword is a blur as it arcs towards another rogue member who blocks the attack with a massive shield of feathers. It doesn’t matter. The force of the sword strike forces the enemy's arm to buckle down. Their wings fold in, ready to spear Crow through but Starling appears and cuts the target's arms off in a single flourish.

  Crows sword strike sends the shield crashing into the ground. Starling pivots and launches a feather barrage into the boy, turning him into pink mist, while Crow spins the opposite direction, just in time for his sword to plunge into the heart of another rogue vanguard member who tries to attack him from behind.

  Then the sonic booms sound. The room erupts from the noise, battering the corpses of rogue members while the survivors brace against the blasts. Blood spills from broken bodies, Crow finally takes a breath, and the room goes still.

  Thud, Thud, Thud. Three bodies smack the ground like wet towels. The boy who initially targeted them gasps, his one arm hanging on by a thread. Another girl screams, falls to her knees at the body of one of her team mates.

  “What the fuck....” Crow mutters, standing up straight and once again trying to blink the blood from his eyes.

  “Please!” The boy begs, one good arm raising up to stop Starling's advance. “Please! We can help! We broke our conditioning! We did it! We escaped!”

  Crow's stomach turns, bile rises in his throat and he’s forced to lift his mask to spit the acid onto the ground. He can feel Starling's eyes burning into him, he tries to ignore it but the silent accusation rings too loudly.

  No small part of him wants to reach out, to understand, to learn, but a far greater piece of his mind remembers the dying words of his friends, remembers the smell of his blood soaking into the grass. Crow presses a hand to his chest, and tries to carve away the Morse code that lingers there.

  “Traitors.” Starling responds flatly, taking her eyes off Crow long long to approach the still living vanguard members. She lets out a long breath as the boy's whimpering is cut short at the end of Starling's blade, while a girl still sobs at the body of her fallen team-mate

  Crow finally finds his breath, wincing as the noise tears him apart from the inside just as a rush of feathers signal the arrival of Falcon, Vulture, Condor and Sparrow.

  “Awe, party over?” Vulture asks, looking around at the corpses. “Come on, at least give me a consolation prize?”

  Starling ignores him, and brings her blade up into the air.

  A wave of terror crashes into them like a tidal wave, forcing Crow's breath to catch and his body to freeze. He tries to gasp, and only spits as Vulture stalks over.

  “I asked nicely, the least you could do is be considerate and acknowledge me.” Vulture coos softly, placing himself in Starlings line of sight, in front of the girl. While she remains unaffected by the aura, her gaze shifts to Crow and the others as they are left paralyzed.

  The girl on the ground gasps, shakes, and sobs. Tears stream down her face though no words come to her.

  “Vulture, this is unnecessary." Starling tries to look past him to the girl on the ground, but with a spin he drops down and blocks her.

  Ignoring Starling, Vulture pinches the rogue member's mouth as he examines her face.

  Crow's blood begins to boil slightly, watching as Vulture inspects her like a cut of meat, one taloned hand meeting her, tapping at her lower eyelid and drawing a small pearl of blood from it.

  “Vulture.” Starling says again, now looming over him.

  Crow tries to breath, but the fear aura radiating from Vulture is just too much, even after all this time. He can feel his vision fade slightly around the edges, feel himself begin to give in, but he fights against it.

  “What.” Vulture snaps, not taking his eyes from the girl. His jaw works, one eye twitches, while his other hand strokes her hair back, glides down to her neck, and presses into it. “What's the difference if I kill her anyway?”

  “That’s not it.” Starling rests a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment her voice drops low as she whispers the words into his ear in a tone Crow is not used to hearing from her.

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  Vulture's eyes snap to Crow, and seem to realize something.

  The fear aura drops, Crow collapses to the ground and sucks down a desperate breath of air, as do the others.

  The girl gasps, begins to beg, but Vulture closes his fingers around her throat and rips it out with his talons.

  She gurgles, falls to her hands and watches the blood spill from her, and onto the corpse of her friend.

  Vulture stays squatting, watching the girl die.

  “Vulture, what the fuck was that?” Falcon grinds out, catching his own breath still.

  “Nothing.” Vulture stands, and stuffs his hands back into his trench coat pockets.

  Falcon spares Crow a look, one that says more than any words, but Crow can’t bring himself to share any information, instead his focus is entirely on Starling, watching as her mask slips off and her eyes return to their usual apathetic state.

  “Clear.” Falcon announces over the comms line, watching Sparrow confirm that there are no more living entities in the surrounding area.

  “Excellent work. Cleaners are en-route. Crow, Vulture, round up some of that armor and bring it to base. Director Williams wants his son to take a look. Starling, run a final sweep with Sparrow for stragglers. Condor and Falcon, help the cleanup team move the mess. Our team is good but I doubt we are lifting armored vehicles."

  “Get stronger men.” Condor counters.

  “Working on it.”

  “Any word on what all of this was about?” Falcon continues.

  “No, and don’t expect any either. 0-6’s orders.”

  Falcon once again looks towards Crow, who offers a faint nod. He would tell Falcon what he discovered later. For now, they need to continue to follow orders.

  Crow tries to focus on the wave of pleasure that follows carrying out his orders. He teleports back to the surface, and replays the fight in his head until he locates the location of a suit of armor left mostly intact. Each step towards that goal is like a drug, washing his brain with dopamine and serotonin until he can’t help but smile under the mask.

  He can feel his lips curl up into a grin, feel the relief as he peels corpses from the metal, and the very fact that it gives him pleasure makes him sick to his stomach. He silently heaves under his mask, tries to force back the tears that threaten to fall down his cheeks, but fails.

  Blood saturates the snow, while pillars of fire and smoke burn out. Crow tries to focus on the pleasure following the orders, tries to drown out the noise and sick that build inside of his head as his fragments tear him apart from the inside more now than ever.

  The noise doesn’t stop until he teleports into the war room, Vulture appearing only a second or two after him. Under the gaze of Director Williams, Crow is utterly helpless. The noise vanishes, as though the man's eyes can see it inside of him, and will it away in an instant. Director Williams’ smile drains Crow of any doubts, the pride in the man's face more absolute than Crow's own understanding of himself. Director Williams knows Crow, and if Director Williams is proud, then Crow should be too.

  James and Doctor Yiva look on with similar satisfaction, while a new figure is far more focused on the armor Crow and Vulture have brought.

  “We should have it cleaned first.” The boy says, adjusting his square rimmed glasses as he takes a tentative step towards Vanguard before pausing.

  “They won’t bite.” Director Williams rolls his eyes.

  The boy, presumably Director Williams’s son, would be much taller if he didn't hunch himself over. He toys with a curl of white hair, bites his lip, and tries to hide his strikingly slim figure under a baggy sweater and sweat pants. Evidently self conscious of that fact as well, as he shrinks under Crow's assessing gaze.

  Pale skin, soft blue eyes with heavy bags under them. His breath smells like coffee, his heartbeat accelerates, though it's not until Crow takes an even closer look does he realize that the boy is more scared of his father than he is of Vanguard.

  “Oliver, I am assigning you to James and the Vanguard unit for now. Lets ensure we nip this problem in the bud this time?” Director Williams raises an eyebrow, and Oliver shrinks even more in on himself.

  “Right, of course…I assume then we should start with a spectral analysis?”

  Director Williams says nothing, only stares until Oliver looks like he might snap and bleed out on the flood under the pressure.

  “You are the lead on this, you tell me.”

  “Y-yes, we start with full spectrum analysis.” Oliver mutters.

  Director Williams turns, and examines something entirely nonexistent under his fingernails as he leaves the war room. “Are you speaking to yourself? Or are you trying to tell the team?”

  “The…”

  Oliver doesn’t have time to finish speaking as his father leaves.

  Vulture snorts his amusement, James clears his throat and Doctor Yiva reappears from her hiding place in the shadows.

  Oliver watches the floor, his voice rising not much higher than it did before. “Crow, Vulture, please bring the armor to the lab and inform the team that I would like a full spectrum analysis, thank you.”

  “What if I don’t feel like it?” Vulture coo’s, and for a brief second Oliver's eyes shoot up wide with terror.

  Crow notices that Oliver's words don’t bring the same desire to obey, and for a brief second Vultures fear aura leaks from his body before James clears his throat a second time. “Do as you’re told. Oliver Williams is onboarded under myself and Doctor Yiva, play nice!”

  Now the desire to follow the orders reignites, and with a faint click of Vulture's tongue the two teleport to the lab.

  “You look like shit.” Vulture snickers while dropping the armor on the table. He cracks a smile under his mask as the reverberating bang makes the lab team jump, gasp, and curse under their breaths.

  “You act like shit.”

  “Bah, I’m allowed to have a little fun. Just because you can’t keep your noise in check doesn’t mean I need to play by your rules.”

  Crow tries to ignore him as they teleport to the locker room, but Vulture doesn’t appear to have any intention of letting up.

  “It’s nagging at you, isn’t it? What Starling said to me? Jealous I got to hear her sweet voice instead of the monotone one?”

  “Not particularly.” Crow strips off his coat, and throws it into the wash bin.

  “You are so full of shit! Come on, it's been over a year! You can at least try to talk to me like you talk to the others.”

  “The others don’t try and get under my skin and fuck with my head.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Vulture takes his mask off, and sucks down a long breath of fresh air.

  “Kindly fuck off?”

  “Nah.”

  Crow takes off his mask, strips out of his uniform and makes a line straight for the showers. He doesn’t have the patience or energy to deal with this. He needs to think, to process—

  “Just let it go, Crow!” Vulture's voice echoes after him, and Crow closes his eyes to try and drown out the boy's cackle.

  It feels like hours, as the steaming hot water cascades off his skin and washes the blood down the drain. Hours spent trying to keep the bile down and the noise out. He tries to focus on his breathing, on compartmentalizing, but as his face sits bare, trying to justify crushing down his fragments feels infinitely more impossible than before.

  In reality it’s only a handful of minutes, and soon the rest of Vanguard enter the showers in relative silence.

  Crow picks up their heartbeats. Condor’s as cold and steady as ever. Falcon whispers something to Sparrow, calming him as he picks pieces of dead men from his hair.

  A familiar prickling runs its way up Crow's spine, and he turns just in time to see Starling watching him.

  He ignores her at first, shifting his gaze to focus on the wall in front of him, but a second later the sound of her approaching footsteps become too apparent.

  “Here to wash my back again?” Crow tries to tease, but it doesn’t come out well. He catches himself, clears his throat and tries again, but by then Starling is already grabbing at the back of his head.

  Crow tears himself away, eyes narrowed at the ever apathetic girl. “Whoa, what's going on?”

  “I am fixing your hair.” She reaches out towards his head, but Crow bats her away.

  “Not necessary, I’ll buzz it off.”

  “It will look bad, a buzzed haircut doesn’t suit you.”

  “Since when were you a judge on good haircuts?”

  Another prickling sensation, and Crow shifts his gaze to meet Vulture’s eyes. His expression is unreadable, or rather that hatched wound grin is pretty obvious, but what it means isn’t always clear.

  “Would you rather I ask Vulture to cut your hair?” Starling says.

  “Id rather no one cut my hair.”

  “I’m hurt you think I would do a poor job.”

  “You aren’t hurt, you don’t care.”

  “Correct, I only said that because I thought it would get a reaction from you.”

  Crow rolls his eyes, tries to step away, but Starling grabs him by the shoulder. “I am serious about cutting your hair though. I believe I can do a good job if you let me.”

  Crow has half the mind to fight her, but can’t bring himself to fully blow her off. There is something in the way her hand rests on his shoulder that he can’t help but to admit he enjoys.

  The noise threatens him then, but Starling must have sensed it and pulls her hand away before it can escalate.

  “Alright, fine.”

  “Good, now sit, you’re too tall.”

  With a sigh, Crow turns the water off and sits on the shower floor, while Starling squats behind him. Crow can feel her summon her feathered weapon, and for only a second his body tenses under her touch.

  The blade is so sharp, that he can’t hear as his hair is shaved from his head. He watches it fall to the tile, get trapped in the spaces between, and can’t help but breathe a little steadier as her fingers dance around his scalp.

  The fragments linger, but never rise. He can feel her presence behind him, and in it he feels reassured, comforted almost. She makes small adjustments to his head, making him look down as she straightens the hair line at the back of his neck. It's the longest another human being has made contact with him, without drawing blood. It feels wrong to admit it's relaxing, but Crow doesn’t care.

  She guides his head back, and brings the blade to his throat. In that very moment, a small piece wishes she would press just a little harder, but once again she must have sensed it, and pulls away.

  “You have some stubble coming in.” She says, and places the blade to his neck again to shave at the small hairs.

  “I was working to grow that out actually.”

  “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “You sure have a lot of opinions on what suits me.”

  “I do. Don’t I…Hmmm.”

  Crow can’t help but chuckle.

  When Starling pulls the blade away, she stands and offers a hand to Crow, who takes it and stands up.

  Starling takes a step back, and admires her work. Well, admire it as much as someone who is clinically apathetic can admire something. “You have hair everywhere. Wash again.”

  “Thank you.” Crow says, turning on the shower head once again to clean himself from the fresh cut.

  Starling doesn’t respond, just walks away, leaving Crow to watch the hair suck itself down the drain.

  He’s the last to leave the showers, and dries off slowly, lingering in the memory of Starling's touch. He isn’t supposed to feel good about it, he isn’t meant to care, and yet as he glides his fingers over the back of his neck he can’t help but shiver. It reminds him of listening to a good song, that tingling sensation that rolls through the body.

  Crow carries that sensation all the way back to his bedroom, where he examines himself in the mirror.

  A skin fade with a few inches left on top…damn, he has to admit it does look very good. He rubs his hand down the side of his head and cracks a smile.

  As quickly as the smile appears, he slaps a hand over his mouth and his stomach knots up.

  He shouldn’t be feeling this.