Theo sat slumped on a stool beside Masato's bed, the sterile, sharp scent of the medical wing hanging heavy between them. Masato looked rough; he'd taken a hell of a beating, and the machines humming around him were the only things keeping the rhythm of the room.
"You overdid it, man," Theo said quietly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched his co-worker, who was currently propped up against a stack of stiff pillows.
Masato just let out a dry, raspy laugh, the sound catching in his bruised chest. "Same old me, pal. You know I don't know how to do 'halfway.'"
Despite the bandages and the IV, his spirit hadn't dimmed an inch. He could see the tension in Theo's shoulders—the kind of quiet worry that only comes after watching a partner almost get erased.
"Seriously, though," Theo added, his voice dropping the lecture for a moment. He tried to offer a small, teasing smirk to lighten the air. "Glad you made it back in one piece. It'd be a real pain in the ass to replace one of our best Vanguards just because he got tangled up in a little bit of silver."
He was back to his usual ribbing, but the way he stayed rooted to that stool told a different story. He wasn't leaving until he was sure Masato was actually okay.
"So... what really happened out there?" Theo asked, his voice dropping as he leaned in. "Between you and Damon?"
The shift was instant. The lightheartedness drained from Masato's face, replaced by a jagged, heavy seriousness. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, his fingers picking at the edge of the stiff hospital blanket.
"Man, he told me some things," Masato said, his voice low and gravelly. "In a way... I actually get where he's coming from. It's messed up, but I do. Still..."
The plastic stool creaked as Theo shifted his weight. "Still what? The guy tried to level a whole district."
"He was talking about the old days. About the facility," Masato continued, finally meeting his partner's eyes. He looked exhausted, and not just from the physical beating. "He thinks we're all just playing house while the people who started this mess are still pulling the strings. He brought up Medea. Talked like she's some kind of martyr."
Theo let out a sharp, dismissive breath. "Medea is a researcher. She's literally in the same building as us, doing her job. She isn't a martyr; she's a resource. Everyone knows she's the only one with the brains to actually stabilize the sectors."
"That's exactly his point, though," Masato countered, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "He sees her being here—walking around, breathing the same air, and getting a paycheck—as the ultimate betrayal. He thinks we're just keeping her around as a 'fail-safe' or some kind of secret weapon. And after what I saw last night? That sky cracking open? I'm starting to wonder if the guy's right to be paranoid."
Theo's jaw tightened. He glanced toward the heavy, reinforced door of the medical room, checking for eavesdroppers. "She's here because she's the only one who truly understands the mechanics of Project Zero. If we kick her out or lock her up, we lose the only map we have for the masked world. It's practical, not personal."
"I know it's practical," Masato sighed, sinking deeper into the pillow. "But Damon made it sound like we aren't just employing a scientist. He thinks we're protecting the person who's gonna finish what she started. Every time I close my eyes, man, I just see that girl of hers... and then I see the fire."
"But still..." Masato let out a long, heavy exhale, his gaze drifting toward the window where the afternoon light was beginning to pale. "I get the feeling Medea is still sitting on a few secrets. Things she isn't putting in her reports. It just makes me wonder... why keep a lid on it now?"
Theo followed his gaze, watching the shadows stretch across the sterile floor. "She probably is," he admitted quietly. "But we can't exactly go in there with a hammer and force it out of her. Look, she's done more for our squads than you can imagine. She knows she messed up, and she's trying to make it right under a shorter leash. Her life changed just as much as ours did. Honestly? We're lucky she's one of the smartest people on the planet and she's on our side of the fence."
He stood up, the chair scraping softly against the tiles. "You need to shut your eyes, man. We'll pick this up tomorrow. Or better yet, wait until you're back on your feet and running your classes again."
Masato gave a tired nod and held out a weak fist. Theo bumped it gently before turning toward the door. He was halfway across the frame when Masato's voice pulled him back.
"Yo. Before you go."
Theo paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"Give Takumi a break, alright?" Masato said, his voice dropping the "tough guy" act for a second. "Kid saved my life. I owe him a big one when I'm out of this bed. Don't let the higher-ups bury him in red tape."
Theo offered a sharp, respectful salute, a silent promise that he understood the weight of the request. "See you, Masato. Get some sleep."
The door clicked shut with a muffled thud. Masato finally let his eyes drift closed, a faint, lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
"That kid," he whispered to the empty room. "He really is something else."
Medea pulled a soft silk robe from her closet, setting it aside as she placed her glasses on the bedside table. She moved through her quiet apartment with a tired, practiced grace, eventually stepping into the washroom and turning the lock with a hollow click.
Facing the wall, she loosened her belt and let her clothes slide from her shoulders, hanging them neatly as she prepared to wash away the grit of the day. She stepped into the steaming, foam-filled tub—toes first, testing the heat—before finally sinking down. She leaned her head back against the porcelain rim, her arms draped lazily over the sides.
As the sauna function began to warm the tiles, filling the room with a thick, comforting mist, she tried to let her muscles unknot. But the silence only made her thoughts louder.
"The CPA... they never change," she muttered, her voice echoing slightly against the damp stone. She knew their playbook better than anyone; she'd written parts of it years ago, and the memory left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her eyes narrowed with a flicker of old irritation. "It's always the same blunt instrument. Just blow the whole area to hell and call it 'containment.' I should've known better than to think they'd evolved."
She lifted a hand from the water, watching the droplets trail down her arm and pool at the tips of her long, pink nails. The steam swirled around her, but her mind was miles away, locked in a different time.
"I'll get her back," she whispered, her voice hardening into something sharp and absolute. "Whatever it takes. I'll bring my daughter home."
To be continued...