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Rex wakes up with a start. An utterly unpleasant start.
He curls up, clutching his head with both his hands. His nanites are freaking the fuck out. He’s woken up with his fair share of headaches and pains, but never to something as unstable as this.
His very cells scream. Lines upon lines of data fill his brain and practically flood out his ears. He feels his skin break out into circuit patterns, which carve down to the bone in thin ever-searing lines. He’s running through the first signs of overloading. Mierda.
Rex has never said so in as many words, but the procedure for unloading genuinely terrifies him. From the gas that gives him freaky dreams which border on nightmares, to the painful worry on Dr. Holiday’s face, to the encompassing emptiness he feels for days afterwards—his nerves spark just thinking about it.
It takes an indeterminable amount of time and no small amount of will, but he finally gets his nanites back under some level of control. The circuit cuts patches themselves up for the most part. He feels a bit like a water balloon duck-taped together, but hey, if it works it works. That’s the usual mantra for anything to do with his body, which is a freak of nature among humans and EVOs alike.
Anyway, as long as Rex lays off curing for the next week or so, he should be as good as new without any need to visit Purgatory or Paradise. Hopefully.
Rex slowly relaxes his fingers, which were holding his hair in a death grip. Ugh, he hopes he didn’t pull anything out. Besides his nanites, everything else seems to be in working order. Nothing (else) aches, he didn’t bleed too much, his clothes aren’t torn, his goggles are still safely on his head—
“Oh, what the fuck,” Rex says.
The body of a Providence soldier is strewn a mere foot away from him. With all that armor on, she looks like she’s just unconscious, but Rex knows without a doubt that she is dead. Her native nanites have long dispersed; only the bacterias’ remain.
Rex scrambles into a sitting position and scoots away, back hitting the metal wall behind him. Where…? He’s in a room of some sort. There are a few tables with machinery on them, a large computer on one wall, and an innocuous door opposite of him.
As for people, it’s just him and her—er, just him.
Rex doesn’t recognize any of this. He’s not at a Providence base, that’s for sure. He’s been to all of the major ones worldwide, and he’s barred access from the smaller ones. Just in case, White says, which makes literally no sense, but whatever.
He tries to remember how he got here, but his mind draws up a startling blank. His nanites hiccup again. Rex pinches his arm. Calm down.
Let’s see…there was a mission. Probably. Six was there, as always. Rex was due for a check-up soon. Bobo lost his gun. Noah owed him five dollars. Oh man, this isn’t helping at all.
The fact that he remembers the others should be a good sign, but Rex isn’t all that comforted by the thought. How much time has passed since his last memories and now? What happened? Why isn’t Six here with him?
More importantly, why isn’t Holiday in his ear demanding him to report in? Rex’s hand goes up to his comm, but he is only meant with empty air. Shit.
He glances again at the dead soldier. All personnel are equipped with communicators. He reaches over and turns her around, unclipping the piece of equipment from her belt. He doesn’t know her name. If he removes her mask, he wouldn’t recognize her face, so he doesn’t.
It’s not the first time Rex has seen a corpse, but usually Six is there to lead him away.
He fiddles with the device for a few seconds, unsure if it’s even functioning, then remembers, duh, he can literally speak to machines. He connects some wires, twists some screws, and voila. Comunicación achieved.
“Yo,” Rex says, scooting away from the body once more. He’s starting to notice a chill seeping through his jacket. “Is anyone there?”
Static. His nanites hiccup again.
“Hellooo? Holiday? Six? …Bobo?” Nothing. “Hey Six, if you don’t say anything I’ll take the tank for a joyride again.”
After a few more beats of silence, Rex sighs and clips the communicator to his own belt. Looks like he’s on his own for now.
He heads over to the machines lining the room. The large computer on the wall reminds him a bit of the weird evil AI that tried to kill every living thing, twice, but a brief touch tells him that it only runs data like a normal piece of tech should.
The nature of that data, however, leaves him stumped.
Interacting with machines is different from communicating with nanites. For one, they don’t talk back, or resist, or explain themselves. All Rex has is his own intuition of engineering and circuitry to guide him. He thought he had a functioning breadth of knowledge to work from, but he can’t make sense of any of this incoming data.
Convoluted schematics…failsafes for unknowns…incomprehensible biodata…yeah, no, he’s got nothing.
He memorizes a few important looking details for Holiday, and moves on.
The hallway is somehow even colder and emptier than the room, but it’s a relief to get away from the scent of blood. Rex looks to the left, and then to the right. Six would use ninja magic or whatever to tell where the exit is. Rex just spins in a circle and heads in the direction he ends up facing.
His steps echo. If anything is here, let them come and get him. The silence is starting to freak him out.
He looks into a few doors he passes, but each room is identical to the last, minus the soldier’s corpse. Rex stops checking after the tenth one.
Occasionally he touches the wall, hoping to get a sense of his location, but it gives him nothing each time. Que padre. He punches the wall just to feel something other than frustration.
He keeps walking, and walking, and walking. He wouldn’t mind the frustration as much if his nanites weren’t doing rollercoasters in his gut. He has to take a break every ten minutes to lean against the wall and stabilize himself. Honestly, he’s tempted to let the nanites loose anyway, just to signal Providence to his location.
Bad idea. Holiday would kill him if he does that. White, too.
He turns a corner after one such break, wondering what kind of asshole built a place like this, when he runs straight into something solid yet distinctly not metal.
Hands come to steady Rex by the shoulders before he falls flat on his back. Rex looks up, and his face goes blank. “Am I dreaming?”
Van Kleiss smiles indulgently, like Rex is a fucking dog or something. “I’m afraid not.”
Ugh this suuucks. Van Kless frowns. Whoops, Rex said that aloud.
They stand and stare at each other. Van Kleiss has machines pumping dirt or some shit into his veins. Usually, things would have devolved into violence by this stage—Rex would have liked that—but despite what Holiday and Six think, he does know his limits. If he makes one more build today, he is going over the edge and then some.
Well, he could punch Van Kleiss the old-fashioned way…
But, as tempting as it is to crush Van Kleiss into the nearest wall, he resists. Starting a fight he can’t finish is low on his priorities right now.
Van Kleiss appears to be stuck somewhere between bemused and all-knowing, and also remains silent. This is getting super weird super fast, and Rex super has to get out of here.
“Adios,” Rex says, and walks away as casually as he can. He’s being so mature right now, and Holiday isn’t even watching.
Blessedly, Van Kleiss doesn’t attack him.
Unblessedly, Van Kleiss follows him, and keeps doing so no matter how many pointed looks Rex sends his way. His menacing aura grosses Rex out. Can he not be weird for just one second?
After a few more corners, Rex is convinced that he’s walking in circles and that Van Kleiss is secretly laughing at him. He probably has that stupid evil smirk on, but Rex hasn’t stooped low enough to turn around and check.
Rex knows that Van Kleiss’ eyes haven’t left him. They burn into the back of his neck. Does he know how creepy he’s being, or is this just how he naturally is? Oh man, he actually feels bad for Circe and Breach now.
“Rex,” Van Kleiss says in what probably passes as a pleasant tone for him. “I assume you have found yourself trapped here as well?”
Wait, as well? Rex gives in to his curiosity and fully turns around. “And how did someone like you get stuck here?” he asks, hands on his hips.
“Same as you,” Van Kleiss simply replies. Rex knows that he knows that Rex doesn’t know how this happened. Actually, Van Kleiss probably knows that Rex knows that he knows that Rex—
“Don’t blow a fuse. I know thinking is hard for you,” Van Kleiss says. Rex flips him off for lack of anything else.
The structure shakes around them. Rex braces himself against the wall, feeling his brain rattle in his skull. Van Kleiss roots himself with his, well, roots, which somehow grow from his back instead of the ground. It takes a minute for the building to stop shaking, but it takes a bit longer for Rex to feel stable again.
“Ugh,” Rex groans, a little freaked out and trying not to hurl. “¿Qué mierda fue eso?”
“I think it’s in both our best interests to work together for now,” Van Kleiss says calmly, dissolving his roots. “I highly doubt this facility is stable.”
Rex looks doubtfully at the wall he’s still against. “It seemed just fine to me a moment ago.”
Van Kleiss looks at him with vivid condescension. Rex cringes. “Fine, okay. Let’s work together. The sooner we get outta here the better.”
Van Kleiss smirks, then swiftly takes the lead. Rex has to jog a bit to catch up to him, their height difference obvious in their strides. Rex huffs. This is going to be a long day.
…
Boredom has taken him by the throat.
Rex is the type to go stir-crazy fast. Bobo knows it, Holiday knows it, and Six definitely knows it. It shows in many ways: destroying property, attempting to sneak out, actually sneaking out, giving himself a concussion (twice), and chatting a poor victim’s ear off.
Van Kleiss is subjected to the last of these.
“So like, are you German or what?” Rex asks, having gotten sick of giving the silent treatment a while back. Talking distracts him from the fact that he’s feeling worse and worse the longer he goes on without a break.
Van Kleiss’ name sounds German, at least. Like that dead music guy. Beathaven? Boathoofen? Yeah, that sounds right.
Van Kleiss glances at him. Despite saying that they’ll work together, he’s refused to divulge any ideas or plans with Rex. “I’m of German descent, more precisely.”
“Cool. Awesome.”
No reply. Rex clears his throat. “...how come you don’t have a German accent?”
Van Kleiss sighs heavily. “Because I don’t.”
Rex throws his hands into the air dramatically. “Come on, give me something to work with here!”
Van Kleiss doesn’t reply. Predictable.
Whatever building they’re in has tremored a few more times in the last two hours. Rex had eaten shit quite a few times during them, and on one memorable occasion crashed directly into Van Kleiss’ back. The man hadn’t made any comment about it, but that didn’t stop Rex from dying a little inside.
Van Kleiss smells like grass and cologne. Rex wonders if has to mention that in his inevitable report.
Rex himself is starting to get twitchy, and it’s not just because of the boredom. In his effort not to show any weakness, he’s pushing himself in a way that would make Holiday sedate him on the spot. His skin is tingling, and the nanites are eager to carve into his skin and grow a metal shell. His growing hunger and thirst are not helping.
Rex is on the edge of an apocalyptic shitshow and he’s very aware of it.
Chill. He’s going to be so chill. Chillest guy in the land, that’s who Rex is—
He hiccups.
Van Kleiss halts, then slowly turns around. Rex considers the logistics of melting into the floor.
“There’s something wrong with you,” Van Kleiss states. His expression looks more curious than blood-thirsty, but Rex backs up all the same.
“Dude, hiccups are totally normal. I get them like all the time. Don’t you?” Rex knows he’s babbling. Dios, he knows he’s babbling.
Van Kleiss marches forward in a flash and grabs Rex’s arm in his prosthetic hand. The grip is crushing, and only tightens when Rex flinches away. “Don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”
Instinctually, metal coats Rex’s arms, attempting to form a barrier between him and his attacker. His nanites, above anything else, work to protect him from harm. It’s their greatest boon and their biggest flaw.
Rex’s knees go weak almost immediately. He yelps as he goes down, only held up by the grip on his arm. Pain twitches his muscles, metal racing through his blood. He wrestles the nanites once more into submission. He’s sweating buckets. Mierda, he wants to vomit.
Van Kleiss is looking down at him with vague curiosity once Rex finally has the strength to pick his head up. “Interesting,” he muses.
Rex clumsily finds his feet. He wrenches his arm away, and this time Van Kleiss lets him. Rex rubs his arm and carefully peels off the metal coating it. Everything hurts.
“You’re shaking,” Van Kleiss says blandly.
Rex glares at him. “No shit. It’s freezing.”
Van Kleiss raises an eyebrow, but before he could say anything an alarm starts blaring through the building. Searing red lights flood the hallway they’re in. Rex covers his ears, and even Van Kleiss flinches at the sudden disruption.
“Did whoever brought us here realize we got out?” Rex asks, but he doubts his own words. They’ve been wandering around for hours unsupervised. Why would the alarm go off now?
“We must leave,” Van Kleiss announces ceremoniously, then once more grabs Rex’s arm and drags him through the hall. His nanites don’t react this time, and Rex can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Distant crashes echo both in front and behind them. It feels like the whole place is coming down on top of them. Van Kleiss strides forward like a man on a mission, and Rex does his best to match his pace despite his rapidly growing weakness.
And then the ceiling explodes.
By pure unthinking instinct, Rex pushes Van Kleiss onto the ground and builds. He’s not sure what he makes, but whatever it is it stops the two from being crushed like bugs. The ceiling remnants slide off of his makeshift shield, and the build dissolves into pieces immediately afterward. Rex collapses on top of Van Kleiss as the dust settles.
Things get a little blurry after that.
His nanites go batshit insane, that much is certain. Overloading is just as agonizing as he remembers. He thinks he screams, or it might be the building around them wailing. He feels a pinch in the side of his neck. Pain follows him into his unconsciousness.
…
“Are you awake?”
Rex blinks blearily at the sterile white ceiling. What an ugly color.
“You know you say that same thing every time you wake up here, right?” The voice lightly laughs.
Rex turns his head—holy shit that hurts—and sees Dr. Holiday sitting next to his bed. He’s back in her lab somehow. Her neat bun is messier than usual, and the bags under her eyes sink into her face, but she looks genuinely relieved.
“How’d you find me?” Rex slurs. Sleep already wants to drag him back, but fuck that. Rex obeys no one.
Holiday gives him a small smile that hides secrets. Or maybe Rex is hallucinating. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll fill you in later.” She brings a hand and gently brushes a piece of hair away from Rex’s sweaty face. “You really worried us.”
Rex snorts. Now that he’s more awake, he realizes that he must have been unloaded while he was unconscious. He has emptiness to look forward to for the next couple of days. “No evil building or Van Kleiss can keep me down.” He grins weakly. “There’s no need to worry about me.”
Holiday’s eyes shoot wide open. “Van Kleiss!? He was there?” Concern and anger are both clear on her face. She hates Van Kleiss more than Six and Rex combined.
Did Van Kleiss run away before they found him or something? Or did he get crushed and Rex just imagined he saved him? “Er, never mind,” he says. All’s well that ends well and all that. There’s no need for Holiday to worry. If Van Kleiss was going to do something he would have done it back then.
Holiday purses her lips. He thinks she’ll start lecturing him, but she takes a deep breath and her eyes soften instead. She looks at him like that occasionally. Rex doesn’t know why. It’s the same look she gets when she talks about her sister…
Nope, Rex is way too tired to follow that train of thought.
“You should remember to thank Six for rescuing you,” Holiday says. “He carried you out of the EVO’s stomach single-handidly.”
Rex groans. “Can’t you use a cooler word than rescue?” Then her words sink in. “EVO’s stomach!?”
Holiday’s smile gains a science-mad edge. “It’s fascinating. A rebel group had built a whole facility inside a whale EVO’s stomach. It’s a portable base and a feat of technology all in one! Too bad Providence put it down before I could investigate…”
Rex’s eyes droop. Holiday blinks down at him, then chuckles fondly. “I should let you get back to sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you until you wake up.”
Rex hums, and drifts away into the emptiness.