“We need more hands at the medical station!”

“Over here, leave the crates for the appraisal team to handle!”

People bustled around with a polished composure. They resembled white ants in a highly organized and well executed nest, all working towards a common goal.

Kyrian felt himself swept away in the ordered chaos, and found himself being ordered around like one of the nurses until someone caught him by the arm.

“You!” The woman said accusingly, her fingers digging into his arm. “Why aren’t you at your station?”

He rolled his shoulder in an attempt to free his arm from her grip, but she held on tighter, gold eyes glaring up at him angrily.

“What station do you mean?” He asked, glancing at the sealed box in his hands. It needed to be transferred to the cleansers, those in charge of stripping all of the equipment and items from the rift-team for deep decontamination.

“Get to your station Guide!They’re going to need immediate attention at the Sanctum when the Espers enter!”

Her hand finally released him, and he glanced back as he walked away to see her watching him with a suspicious frown. For him being important enough to have a designated station in this building, he found it amusing that not even the higher ranking nurses could be gracious enough to explain what the Sanctum was.

Disregarding this rumored station he was meant to be at, he still dutifully brought the box to the cleansers.

No one noticed nor cared when he gently set the box on top of a growing stack, they were too focused on setting up and fine-tuning their equipment.

“Excuse me,” he started, “where exactly is the Sanctum?”

His question fell on deaf ears, but a loud commotion at the other end of the prep-zone captured everyone’s attention, tearing them away from whatever they were doing.

Kyrian turned, the hair on his arms and neck prickling. Intense psychic and elemental energy engulfed the room, but no one seemed to experience it as intensely as he did.

He took a halting step forward, trying to steady himself under the weight that pressed down on him.

Thump. Thump.

His heart pounded loudly.

“Rift-Team Fang has returned, prepare the cleaners for equipment handling and restraints!”

A doctor turned and searched the crowd, “where the hell is that Guide?”

Realizing he was being called to attention, Kyrian quietly approached the doctor. His gaze was drawn to the three individuals who were being swarmed at the main gate, even as he saluted and stood to attention.

They were being cuffed and stripped so they could undergo decontamination, nurses hovering with syringes of sedatives to ensure compliance and calm patients during the proceedings.

Bleached blonde hair caught his eye, and his stomach dropped.

They’d sent him out again. 

Kyrian’s eyes scanned the military personnel also undergoing cleansing, though they were being handled much more professionally. It was a small team, perhaps no more than 20 people plus the 3 Espers.

His gaze hardened. Either the rift had not been very difficult, or a certain S-Class Esper had carried the brunt of the operation.

For fuck’s sake, he’s in terrible condition so why?

“Mr. Averin, please go to the Sanctum and prepare to Guide.” The doctor who had called him out turned to him with an irritated expression. 

Kyrian tore his gaze from the Espers, and stared down at the middle aged man standing beside him. From his height, he could see a balding spot on the man’s crown that he was desperately trying to hide with a combover.

“The pods?” The doctor encouraged when Kyrian hadn’t moved yet. “Soft sync only.”

Ah.

Realization dawned on him, and his mouth opened to speak, but promptly closed again. There was no point in dragging the conversation on, and the doctor was already on his way to do something else more important than watch over Kyrian.

Once more his gaze drifted towards the Espers. Specifically, though he would refuse to admit, towards Eiden.

Nurses in white gowns, rubber gloves, and masks were vigorously scrubbing his pale body clean with sponges and cloths.

The friction of their scrubbing left bright red marks across his pale skin, but he didn’t seem bothered by the pain. His head was tilted back, gaze empty and indifferent as he was handled with a clinical roughness.

Kyrian clenched his hands, and a frown pinched his brows. He glanced at the pod he was standing beside, this apparently being the Sanctum, and stared at the wires and machines that were to be attached to bodies. This was normal, but somehow everything normal that was done at Cerberus was made almost an inhumane act on every count.

The prickling sensation, which had ebbed, returned in full force, and Kyrian watched one of the Espers pinned to the cold floor for having a sudden outburst.

Voices shouted as she was subdued, a military operative holding her head to the ground with his knee as others held her thrashing arms and legs.

Kyrian turned his eyes from the scene and saw Eiden watching him. The intensity of his grey green eyes felt like they would bore holes through Kyrian, but time seemed to stop for a moment.

The nurses were done scrubbing him down, and were drying him just as harshly as they had cleaned him, but his attention was on Kyrian like he knew who he was. 

After a moment Eiden’s eyes carelessly swung back to the Esper who had now fallen silent, breaking eye contact with Kyrian, but the Guide found he could not bring himself to do the same. He continued to quietly watch, almost hoping to catch his gaze one more time.

He truly did seem more docile to Kyrian, but it was obviously out of indifference and not real obedience. His thin frame jostled at the hands of Cerberus employees, invading his personal space in a way that he seemed frustratingly used to.

This would, one would think, be the time to resist and fight back, but this was when he chose indifference. He was resigned to it.

“Esper Unit A-6 is ready for Guiding,” a masked guard barked at Kyrian, who broke free of his trance and snapped around towards the voice.

The third Esper, already dried and dressed in a thin hospital gown, had been connected to the monitors and IV drip. He laid motionless in the bed, having suffered a noticeable injury to his head while in the rift.

Kyrian hesitantly entered the sizable pod, and sat on a stool at the Esper’s bedside. He inhaled slowly, working to calm his nerves, and reached his hand towards the Esper’s still one.

The fingers were cold, but he ignored the claminess and closed his eyes to initiate Guiding.