Mikey sees Tobi smile faintly at the memory, a soft, distant kind of smile, the kind you don't even know you're making. His hazel eyes flicker as he speaks, voice low but steady now that he's inside the memory.
"So, I was raised with Amelia. She's seventeen and I'm nineteen, so I've got two years on her. When her dad died… I was old enough to remember. Josiah Cosgrove—he was a great guy. An amazing father. She looks just like him…"
Mikey opens his mouth, a question on his tongue, but he closes it. He can tell Tobi rarely gets the chance to talk about the man who raised him. Something in the way Tobi's voice trembles but keeps going feels sacred, so Mikey just listens. Tobi's hands tighten in his lap as he continues.
"I-I was six when it happened. She was four. I can r-remember it, she can't. I know how it happened but she doesn't. She thinks it was a disease. Most people were t-told that. Which… is true. He was sick. But it didn't kill him." He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath. "All I know is… for s-some reason, I woke up and saw him leaving in the middle of the night. I spoke to him, asked him where he was going. He said he h-had somewhere to go, someone to get back…"
Mikey watches him closely, taking in the way his expression hardens and softens in turns, like a wound reopening. Tobi's voice is almost a whisper now, but Mikey can feel the weight behind every word.
"What happened?" Mikey asks quietly.
Tobi's eyes stay on the floor. "H-His body was found in the dunes. Ironically, it w-was Portal 23. He'd bled out. Signs of radiation p-poisoning. His eyes were stained red. He went to the b-bloody mist, then crawled back. T-There are rumors in the Silo, theories about what's out there. P-People say a cult. And sure enough… he had a k-knife stuck in his back. A religious symbol carved into the handle."
Mikey's eyes widen before he can stop himself. In his mind, the Predecessor's visions slam forward—the first one he saw, the red mist rolling like a living thing, the swirling structure hidden deep within it, hooded figures drifting inside its halls. On the wall, the same coiling mark engraved beside the Council's sigil—a dark eel wrapped in beams of light.
'Could… could that be the cult shit I saw?'
He swallows hard and takes a deep breath, trying to slow his racing thoughts. "What did the symbol look like?"
Tobi furrows his brow, thinking, his fingers absently tracing a pattern on his knee. "It's foggy… but I think it looked like a snake or something, with beams of light around it. The sigil of The Blood Church of Mako. We just call them the Bloodchurch. But it's not even known if they're real."
Mikey gulps, his throat dry.
'Shit… could what I saw actually be real?'
His fingers dig into the edge of the cot, his chest tight.
'No. I've got other things to focus on. It's gotta be a coincidence. Has to be.'
Mikey sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, curiosity tugging at him. He decided to pry, voice low. "What else did you see…?"
Tobi's throat bobbed as he swallowed, fists tightening in his lap. His hazel eyes flickered toward the floor. "I… I sn-snuck out one night. Being a stupid kid. I was trying to f-find him, my father. I went through the only portal I knew—Portal 23. I had this… obsession with it, like it was the key to everything. I knew every inch of it, every guard shift, every crack in the wall. So I went. And that's where…" His voice faltered, trembling with memory. "That's where I found him. Dead."
The words hung heavy in the stale air. Mikey felt his chest tighten as Tobi kept going, voice quieter now.
"And over him was a man. Tall. Too tall. His skin was pale, like no blood was in him. And his face—" Tobi's lips trembled, like he hated even describing it. "He had stitches across it. All over. Like a scarecrow sewn together. His body was lanky, robe hanging off him. I couldn't tell the color. His eyes… they were dull. Dead but alive. And on his cheek, left side… a tattoo. Same symbol as the knife."
Mikey's breath caught. He searched his mind, combing through every vision the Predecessor had shown him. The red mist. The Bloodchurch's temple. The symbol carved deep. But no stitched man. No face like that. It unsettled him more than if he had recognized it.
He looked at Tobi. The boy's expression had softened, reverent and broken at once, as if he was speaking confession more than memory.
"You m-might be wondering," Tobi said, his voice shaking but determined, "why someone like me fights in this war. Why someone timid, stuttering, weak… a coward… would fight at all." He looked up, meeting Mikey's eyes. "It's because I have one goal. To find that man. To end him. But…" He looked away, shame pressing down on him. "I get scared. I c-cower. You probably heard about Ryosuke being sent to Jöten. He had to come back for me. Because I hid. Because I couldn't face it."
Mikey leaned forward, every word pulling him in. He'd never seen this side of Tobi, never heard this rawness in his voice.
Tobi's eyes lifted again, steady now despite the stutter. "But then I look at you, Mikey. And I see everything I want to be. You don't back down. You fight even when you're bleeding. You learn quick, like it's second nature. You're a prodigy. And I—" his voice cracked, "I just get so scared. But when I see you, it makes me want to be strong too. So… please."
He pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room until he stood in front of Mikey. His hand trembled as he reached out, but his voice steadied with the weight of his plea.
"Don't die. Pass the tests. Stay alive. Because if you can… maybe I can too. I'm sorry for being an ass yesterday."
Mikey stared up at him for a long moment before reaching out. Their hands clasped, firm and certain. Mikey rose from the cot, eye to eye with him now. A faint grin tugged at his lips.
"I'll be fine. And Tobi—" his voice hardened, honest, "you're not weak. You damn near beat the shit outta me yesterday. Hell, you did. You'll be just fine. And remember, you're technically my superior. You're on the ace hit squad for a reason. "
Tobi blinked, stunned, before a shaky laugh broke out of him. Their hands lingered in the handshake, not just an apology but a bond forming in real time. The waiting room's flickering light hummed above them, shadows stretching across the damp concrete walls.
Mikey felt something solid anchor him—a fragile, growing trust. The start of something that would late become brotherhood.