The old sub sank beneath the ocean.
Metal creaked. Water pressed in from all sides.
And just like that—
Jöten was behind them.
Left to smolder in the distance.
Inside the sub, it was dark, narrow, and unbearably quiet.
No one spoke—except the two who couldn't help it. The ones whose pain poured out uncontrollably.
Luce sobbed in Bobo's arms, fists clutched in his shirt like a lifeline.
Amelia sat curled on the cold steel floor, her arms around her knees, shaking, tears dripping onto the metal.
"It's my fault…" Luce wept, her voice cracking wide open. "He wouldn't have been in the junkyard if it wasn't for me. It was my idea. I told him to sneak us out."
Bobo held her tighter. His large hand gently patted the back of her head. His other arm hung limp and broken, unmoving at his side.
Tears slid silently down his face.
"It's not your fault," he whispered. "Not at all…"
Luce shook her head violently and buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled by the fabric.
"It is. I got him killed. I killed him, Bobo. What am I supposed to tell Marlene? Or his children?"She choked on the words. "It's all my fault…"
A voice cut through the silence.
Mikey.
Sitting near the back of the sub, arms draped on his knees, head down. His voice low, cracked—yet sharp.
"It's not your fault, Luce."
Everyone looked toward him. His head still hung low, eyes burning.
"It's his."
He lifted his eyes. They were full of fire.
"Payne."
He spit the name like venom.
"He killed your friend. The same way he killed my dad."
Amelia's head snapped toward him. Eyes wide.
"W-what…?" Her voice trembled. "Your… your dad?"
Mikey looked over at her, pain behind his rage.
Bobo's voice followed, quiet, hoarse.
"He's dead, Lia…" he said. "Dez is gone."
Amelia's entire body froze. Her hands began to tremble.
"No… no, no…" she shook her head. "You didn't listen to me. I warned you—on the rooftop—I told you—"
Her voice cracked as she scrambled toward Mikey, rising to her feet, fury overtaking her grief.
"You didn't fucking listen to me?!"
Mikey stood slowly, guilt and rage etched in every line of his face.
"I didn't know you were telling the truth," he said, voice low. "I didn't want to believe it at the time."
"You didn't believe me?" she barked. "You didn't believe me?! You could've stopped them—Desmond—he might still be—fuck!"
She shoved his shoulder.
"You got him killed!"
"You don't think I know that?!" Mikey shouted back, voice breaking. "You don't think I've been living with that since the second he died?!"
His fists clenched.
"I know, okay? God, I know…"
"You're an idiot," Amelia shot back, tears trailing down her cheeks. "A prideful, arrogant idiot!"
Mikey stepped toward her, getting in her face. His voice trembled with fury.
"Maybe if you hadn't seduced me!"
Amelia's eyes went wide.
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
"You invited me to the rooftop!" he shouted. "You held my hand! You leaned in to kiss me! I thought you were trying to manipulate me!"
"Manipulate you?!" she gasped, utterly stunned. "You actually think I—Jesus Christ, Mikey! I was trying to connect with you! I was trying to help you! You self-absorbed, emotionally-stunted idiot!"
Their voices ricocheted through the narrow metal walls of the sub.
Luce flinched in Bobo's arms. Amelia's sobs had returned, sharper now, angrier.
The cabin filled with heat—rage, grief, guilt—until it all threatened to blow.
But then—
"HEY!"
A voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Both Mikey and Amelia froze.
Ryosuke stood at the far end of the sub, arms crossed, his voice low but hard.His red eyes were swollen. He hadn't spoken since they'd boarded. Not a word. Not a sound.
Until now.
He stood up slowly, eyes locked on both of them as he stepped forward, each footfall solid, deliberate.
"Time and a place," he said, voice shaking but firm. "This is not it."
He gestured toward Luce, still sobbing in Bobo's chest, barely breathing between cries.
Then to Bobo, who looked like a man held together with nothing but duty and tape.
Then to the blood on Mikey's fists, the tear streaks on Amelia's cheeks.
"Luciana is grieving. So is Bobby."
He paused.
"So are you."
He looked back and forth between them, the anger still there behind his eyes—but now buried beneath something deeper.
"So stop. Now."
Silence.
Mikey and Amelia looked at each other. The fire between them still crackling, but held back.They both scoffed. Looked away. Sat down across from one another like children caught fighting in church.
Neither said another word.
Mikey stared at the floor. His shoulders shook. His fists clenched tight, trembling at his sides.
His jaw was locked, teeth grinding. Eyes wet.
I had him.
I had Payne.
I had my shot.
The sub hummed softly as it cruised through the deep. Moonlight bled through the dark water, shimmering across the tempered glass windows like ghosts passing by.
The five sat in heavy silence—bruised, broken, and hollowed out.
Bobo slumped in his seat, his metal arm gone, the stump of it bandaged roughly. His face was bruised and swollen, one eye nearly shut, the other dull and glassy. Luce rested against him, finally asleep, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her leg had stiffened, wrapped in whatever makeshift brace the rescue crew had left them. The weight of it all had finally dragged her down into an exhausted sleep.
Bobo didn't sleep.
He just stared at the ceiling, his signature smile long gone, replaced by a deep scowl—etched lines of quiet fury carved into his face.
Ryosuke sat across from them, arms folded, head bowed. Half his cybernetic arm was missing—torn wires and melted plating hidden beneath a ragged wrap. A vein on his temple pulsed erratically, warning of the concussion he refused to acknowledge.
Amelia lay flat across one of the benches, her arms limp at her sides. Her broken nose was crooked and swollen, the blood long dried. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling as if waiting for it to cave in and put her out of her misery.
And Mikey—
Mikey couldn't sit anymore.
He stood slowly, ribs screaming, and limped toward the wide viewing pane at the front of the sub. He rested one arm against the cold frame, the other clutching his side. Every breath was a quiet war. The water beyond swirled with shafts of silver-blue light, silent and unknowable.
Behind him, quiet footsteps approached. A slow, uneven rhythm.
Ryosuke.
"Sorry I had to raise my voice earlier," he said gently. His Japanese accent was light but distinct—softer than usual.
Mikey didn't turn. Just kept his gaze fixed on the glowing current outside.
"It's fine. I get it."
Silence stretched between them, padded only by the low mechanical groan of the sub moving through the deep.
"How're you feeling?" Ryosuke finally asked.
Mikey let out a tight breath.
"I've seen better days. Ribs are toast."
He gave a half-hearted chuckle that turned into a grimace, his hand instinctively going to his side.
Ryosuke's lips twitched. Not quite a smile. Maybe the ghost of one.
"If you decide to stay with us… to fight with us… you will have to get used to it. The pain."
Mikey's eyes stayed locked on the glass.
"I know," he muttered. "I'll be fine. They're just ribs."
Ryosuke's voice dropped an octave.
"I wasn't talking about your ribs."
Mikey finally looked at him. Their eyes met for a beat. He nodded.
"I figured."
They both stared out the window for a while. The ocean stretched on endlessly.
"You know," Mikey said, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful, "I never got to see the ocean before tonight. The Council always said it was toxic. Off-limits. Too dangerous. I used to think… my first time seeing it would feel magical."
He laughed, but it came out hollow.
"I thought this whole thing would be different."
Ryosuke turned slightly.
"Different how?"
"I thought…" Mikey exhaled sharply, frustrated at the memory. "I thought joining Luce and Bobo, fighting for my dad's cause… I thought it would be cool. Like—yeah, I'd get to kick some Council ass, save you, and Nad—"
He caught himself.
"Amelia," he corrected, clearing his throat. "I thought I could handle it. And somewhere along the way, I let myself believe I was handling it."
He tightened his grip on the frame of the glass.
"I couldn't have been more wrong."
Ryosuke watched Mikey for a moment, his gaze steady and full of quiet understanding.
"Maybe," he said softly. "Maybe so. But you were a help. There is no denying that."
He tilted his head, searching for the word.
"We could not have defeated that... what is the word?"
Mikey offered a weak smile.
"Mech?"
Ryosuke snapped his fingers gently.
"Yes. The mech. We could not have done that without you."
He let out a deep breath through his nose, the kind that came from somewhere buried.
"You will try. You will fall. Then you will try again, and fall again. The cycle goes on all the same," Ryosuke said, his voice low and steady, as if repeating a lesson life had beaten into him.
"That is life. That is our life. Fighting a war we were born into, one we're probably not meant to win. A war we fight because we have all been wounded. In different ways."
He looked past Mikey, past the sub, into something distant.
"But if we do not give in to the demonic darkness in our hearts…" he said, tapping his chest lightly, "…then there's still a chance. A sliver of light, a hope that we can turn the tide."
He took a beat.
"That's why we are still here. Why we still fight. And if you can make it down that tunnel—force your whole being into that place with a reverent, fearless heart—you might find yourself on the other side."
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
"Still alive. Still breathing. And maybe… just maybe… alight."
Mikey blinked, silent. Letting it sink in. The words hung in the air like smoke, too fragile to touch.
Ryosuke glanced toward Amelia, still lying flat across the bench, eyes closed but not asleep.
"I do not know how you and she know each other," Ryosuke said. "I do not know what is between you. Your bias. Your anger. Your history."
He nodded subtly toward her.
"But I do know hers."
His tone deepened—something protective now.
"She's had. And she's lost. More than most. She never had her own family… so she built one. Us. Elliot... Desmond."
He paused, jaw tightening just slightly.
"Losing them? That is not just losing teammates. For her, that is like losing a father. An uncle. A brother."
He looked back to Mikey, his red-rimmed eyes unwavering.
"So be patient with her. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. You owe her that much."
Mikey looked at him, eyes heavy, but listening.
Taking it in.
He didn't say anything—just nodded, slow and thoughtful.
And the hum of the sub continued, carrying their broken bodies and heavy hearts through the deep.
Mikey leaned against the cool steel wall of the sub, his breath fogging slightly against the glass. The ocean outside was dark, illuminated in flashes by the pale moonlight that pierced through the surface above, rippling and twisting like ghosts in the deep.
He exhaled slowly.
"I don't know," he said. "I just don't know what's real anymore. The more I learn… the more it all slips through my fingers."
He shook his head. "That thing we saw on the dock…"
Ryosuke turned his head slightly.
"Mako?" he said flatly.
Mikey nodded. "So that's his name… The Director."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "How the hell do we beat those things?"
Ryosuke didn't answer right away. He turned toward the water, his reflection fractured in the curved glass.
"We fight," he said quietly. "That's all we have ever done."
He crossed his arms, gaze hollow.
"We have tried. The ones before us tried. And the ones before them. For nearly three hundred years, the world has tried. And bled. And failed."
His voice was neither hopeless nor hopeful—just tired.
Mikey shook his head, jaw clenched.
"Something has to change."
Ryosuke turned toward him, eyes sharp.
"Then tell me what," he said. "Tell me what no one has thought of. What no one has dared to try."
Mikey looked away. The weight of truth silenced him.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "I dunno."
The sub rattled slightly as it dove deeper. A beat of silence passed between them.
Then Mikey spoke again.
"Bobo told me…" he said carefully, "that no one hates a Director like you do."
He glanced sideways. "Kael."
Ryosuke went still. His crimson eyes widened just barely—then narrowed. A quiet storm flickered behind them.
Mikey didn't push.
"What happened between you two?"
Ryosuke looked down at his feet.
And there it was.
The glint of a yellow bead anklet, loosely fastened. Too delicate for a fighter like him. It shimmered faintly in the moonlight, the only color on him that wasn't red or bruised.
His gaze lingered on it.
A breath.
Then another.
"…That is not something I'm ready to share with you," he said, voice low. Hoarse.
He turned, starting back to his seat—but halfway there, he stopped. Turned his shoulder. Glanced back at Mikey.
"But know this."
His voice cracked—just slightly.
"I have lost a great deal too."
He said no more. Just walked away and sat back down, the silence swallowing him whole.
Mikey stayed at the glass, watching the light refract in endless waves. His reflection stared back—young, wounded, unsure. His ribs throbbed, but the ache inside was worse.
Anger.
Sadness.
Confusion.
Too much to name.
The sub carried them through the depths, broken pieces of something once whole.
And somewhere far above, the ocean swallowed Jöten's docks like a secret never meant to be spoken.