Leon opens his eyes to an unfamiliar room. No pictures on the walls, no windows, no furniture except for the cot he lays on-- a foreign, almost haunted space. He stumbles onto the floor in his weary confusion. A voice speaks up through the grate in the floor beneath him.
“I freaked out too, when I woke up,” Nate says from the neighboring room. Knowing his brother is safe relieves Leon somewhat. He settles back down on the cot. Silence ensues for a few moments. “I think you owe me an explanation.”
“It was quick thinking,” Leon says.
“It was stupid,” his brother spits. “We got Amiran out, but now they have both of us. Do you understand what this means for us? For our careers?”
“I could give a shit about my career, Nate!” Leon yells, slamming his elbow against the wall. “If this is the end of my fighting, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t! I haven’t made a decision for myself in almost seven years!” Leon doesn’t care if someone overhears his yelling. Twenty-two years his father’s son, and this is the first time he’s said any of this aloud. “It’s always what Dad wants, what Dad thinks will make me a better fighter, Dad knows best-- and when I disagree, it turns into a sob story. And the worst part is, sometimes I even feel bad for him!” Leon takes a breath. Nate can hear him holding back his tears. “I think I’d trade my entire tournament fighting career in exchange for a life. One where I call the shots. And if that is the one decision I make by myself, for myself, then so be it. Dad never wanted a family. He wanted a legacy-- someone to be survived by, someone he had authority around.”
Nate sighs. “He poured his burdens onto us because he didn’t know what to do with them.”
“I don’t want to hear you talk about carrying his burdens. You left, remember?”
“His burdens are the entire reason I left! They’re the entire reason I ended up where I did!” Nate inhales deeply and softens his voice. He’s been sitting on this confession for a long time. “I got involved with some terrible people. Do you remember those political guys we’d always see around town?”
Leon nods. “Brotherhood Nova.”
“They were pro-everything. Pro-weapons, pro-police, pro-laws on bionics. Always saying that putting metal in men wasn’t ‘God’s way’. When the ACA first proposed the idea that agents replace cops, they terrorized senators, representatives-- they wanted purity. That, and a million other things.”
“Yeah, but they were just guys spewing their crazy rhetoric, They’re just--”
“Fascists, Leon. They’re fascists. That didn’t used to mean me.” Leon searches for a reply, but can’t find the words. “Like you said, I was a pushover for most of my life. And I lived my first eighteen years in limbo. Floating between homes, never feeling like I belonged anywhere. That’s how they got me. I had everything they needed to pull me in. Dad taught me that violence could be an expression of love, so I already spoke the Brotherhood’s language; all they needed was to make me feel like I belonged. Like I had a purpose and a place in the world. That sense of belonging is addictive and it’s what keeps you coming back for more.”
Nate is used to telling this story, but he finds himself tripping over his words with Leon. He leans his head against the wall behind him. “Hateful people make you believe you have nothing without their hate. They dangle family, happiness, and purpose an inch from your face, just to remind you that they’re in control of it. That if you leave, you go back to having nothing. That’s how I ended up in LA; I’d rather have nothing than have hate.”
Leon takes a moment to process the situation. “Who else knows?”
“Everyone. I couldn’t live with myself if I wasn’t honest. It’s not a sob story, it’s the truth. I will always be a product of these circumstances. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a way to tell you sooner.”
Even with their differences, Leon finds himself quick to defend Nate. “Dad raised you to believe that force was the only way to do things. Plus, the Brotherhood manipulated you. They enabled it. It’s not your fault.”
“I was ignorant enough for them to get in my head in the first place. That’s fault enough. I don’t want you shifting the blame for me. I don’t care who ‘started’ it-- I am responsible for myself, past, present, and future. And I’m responsible for getting us out of this mess.”
“Maybe you’re not,” a detached voice says. Zion appears from around the corner, holding a window breaker in his hand. With one small prick, the one-way glass between him and Nate falls to pieces. Nate’s never been so relieved, yet so panicked to see one of his colleagues.
“Zion! Why the hell didn’t you go back to Goddard?” He asks.
“And tell Adya and Colby we lost you guys? They’d kill me. Colby kicks my ass every time we train, so I can’t imagine what she’d do to me if she was actually mad. We camped out at a motel for the night. Amiran insisted he stay and fight, and I was too tired to talk him out of it. When have we ever given up on you, Nate?” He clears the sharp debris enough that it’s safe to climb through. Nate practically jumps out of the room and wraps his arms around Zion. He chuckles. “Good to see you, too.”
As the team makes their way through the complex, they take in their surroundings as much as possible. Nothing looks especially peculiar. Merely a building with weaving corridors, cubicles, and offices with one-way windows, Leon feels like that its unremarkableness only makes it more strange.
Nate ducks past the doorway of an occupied office. He beckons Leon and Zion forward, but the lapse in his judgment almost gets them caught. They press themselves against the wall as the door creaks open.
“I held up my end of the deal. I chased him across the country and back for you,” a female voice says. It’s the same one from their fight in the parking structure.
“We’re not finished yet. You brought me an extra man. The tournament fighter has something I’ve been interested in for many months; the other one is only a liability.” There’s a specific answer Quenlin is looking for from her, and knowing how well trained his operatives are, it won’t take long for her to get there.
“He’s the fighter’s older brother. I know some people who’d pay good money to see an agent in a match. He’s made a name for himself, trust me. Not anybody can keep a fight going for as long as he did last night. It won’t be a thirty-second KO like a lot of these fights are.”
“He doesn’t look like much of a tournament fighter.”
The woman’s voice grows a bit fearful, but she stands her ground. “He is. I promise. I’ll get in the ring with him myself.”
“You better.” Quenlin pauses and his voice softens. He takes on a fatherly, comforting tone. “Sweetheart, you know I trust you, right? You’re my only asset that I send out into the real world. You’re equipped with the best bionics I have.”
“I know that, I just—“
“You just what?”
“Nothing. I appreciate the hard work you’ve done on me.”
“For you. You’re dismissed, Bronwen. Don’t be late tomorrow.”
Leon’s face drains of color. He can’t help himself from peering around the corner, but before he gets a good look, Nate pulls him back. As the three make their exit, Leon watches Bronwen walk back into the maze of corridors.
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