Crow’s feet press into the cold linoleum, vision blurred by black feathers that drift around the small cell. The noise rings faintly in the back of his mind, but he ignores it as he wipes the blue blood from his mask.

  “I hate the messy ones.” Falcon mutters from his own cell, flicking his arms free of the chunks of gore that stick to his coat.

  Sparrow shakes, Condor rolls his eyes, and Vulture uses the anomalies' blood to paint a rendition of himself on the glass.

  “You aren’t that muscular.” Condor notes, getting a faint chuckle from Sparrow.

  “The anomaly wasn’t that large either.” Falcon adds.

  Starling brings a finger to the corner of her mask where her lips would be, miming thinking. “It’s not the size that matters.”

  Crow suppresses a chuckle, and in doing so accidently gets some of the anomalies blood in his mouth. It tastes like vinegar, and almost makes him gag.

  Pulling his mask back, he spits onto the ground and scrapes his tongue against his teeth.

  “You know it's impolite to waste your food.” Starling continues.

  Vulture cackles. “Why don’t you have a bite then?”

  “Of course.” Starling takes off her mask, grabs a handful of the gore from her collar and brings it to her opening mouth.

  Falcon bangs on the glass, “No no! Lets not!”

  Starling lingers with the pieces a fraction of an inch from her face. Sparrow looks ready to pass out as he goes flush, Condor raises an eyebrow to see if she will do it.

  Vulture stomps on the ground, rattling the chamber to try and force her hand into her mouth, but Starling remains too stable, and instead lets it drop.

  Vulture yawns, Sparrow sucks in a deep breath, Falcon runs his hands through his hair and Condor’s eyebrows drop. “How did it taste?” he says, looking across the way to meet Crows eyes.

  “Like shit.” He confirms, spitting again at the reminder.

  “I’ve never had shit tasting like vinegar before.” Vulture coo’s.

  Falcon snorts. “You’ve tasted shit?”

  Sparrow presses a hand to his mask to stifle the snort, but it doesn’t work and comes out as a half reverberated half garbled something that has Condor recoiling.

  “Sparrow what the fuck—”

  The blast doors to the teleportation chamber opens with a heavy thud that vibrates the room. Crow secures his mask to his face, snaps to attention, and watches as the other members of vanguard do the same just as quickly.

  Light pours in from the airlock behind Doctor Yiva and James, the two in the middle of a conversation Crow only picks up the last of before their attention turns to the team. Some complaint about asset misuse from another site. Crow isn’t shocked that the trappings of bureaucracy exist even at this level, though the implications of asset misuse when Vanguard teams are the assets leads to a little concern.

  “Excellent job today gentlemen and lady.” James begins from his place in the center of the room, scanning the gore lingering on the team. His eyes settle on the smear of what was once Vulture's little art pieces—he must have wiped it away before the door finished opening.

  “Thank you.” Vanguard echoes in near perfect unison.

  “James, permission to ask a question?” Condor speaks up.

  “Granted, what’s the issue?”

  “Who did we piss off to be sent on that mission? I thought we were beyond fodder.”

  Falcon chuckles, and Crow can’t help but smile under his mask.

  “Piss off? This was a reward! What, next you’re going to tell me that you don’t enjoy the joint-site training next?”

  The room remains quiet, and James’s eyebrows raise. He spins to Doctor Yiva. “They don’t like the joint training? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

  “She’s lying.” Starling retorts in her usual monotone. “I informed her of Sparrows complaints in counseling approximately 513 hours ago.”

  “Hey, hold on!” Sparrow presses his hands to the glass. “Why would you do that?!”

  Vulture rolls his head back and forth. “I think it’s fun.”

  “You enjoy tormenting them, that hardly counts.” Falcon offers.

  “Alright alright, lets relax.” James sighs. “So you don’t like the joint training?”

  “Sparrow doesn’t, the rest of us are fine with it.” Crow responds, desperate to get things back on track at least a little. The longer they take the more the blood dries, which will make it a pain to wash out.

  James looks around to the others, and confirms Crows words while Sparrow slinks to the back wall muttering something under his breath.

  “And you didn’t enjoy the easy mission?”

  “It was too easy. Like taking out the garbage or washing dishes. It was a chore.” Condor confirms.

  “Noted. Doctor Yiva can we reassess their performance numbers? When was the last check?”

  “Last month.” She confirms, showing him some numbers on her tablet.

  James whistles, nods his head, and adds a few notes of his own. “Time flies…Alright, now for the fun part. Let's start with Vulture today.” James takes a deep breath, and meets Vulture's eyes.

  “Thanks Killing 2.” Vulture replies.

  A collective groan echoes through the teleportation chamber, making Vultures beady black eyes sparkle more than usual.

  Doctor Yiva sighs, and James just smiles as he notes it down. “Condor?”

  “McAllen 18.”

  “Can we do 12?”

  “McAllen 25”

  “18 it is.” James notes it down while shaking his head. “Traitor. Starling, you’re up.”

  “Condors McAllen 18.”

  Condor’s eyes burn through the glass to reach Starling, but she doesn’t react at all, only watches as Vulture points and laughs.

  “I’m joking.”

  “Of course.” James nods, deleting his note. “So what do you really want.”

  Vulture raises his hand, “I’ll take it if you don’t want it.”

  “Vulture can have it.”

  Crow slaps his mask. “Star, come on…”

  “Too late, I’ll take Thanks Killing 3.”

  Another collective groan echoes through the room, this time making even Doctor Yiva’s mouth turn up in the hint of a smile.

  “Falcon?”

  “The next on the list, please.”

  “Understood. Sparrow?”

  “Can I take away Vultures Thanks Killing 3? Please?”

  Vulture narrows his eyes, though unlike Condor's attack on Starling, Vulture's gaze does damage to Sparrow, forcing him to slink away from the glass, though he doesn’t retract his request.

  “Done and done.”

  Vulture presses a hand to his cell. “I’ll gut you…”

  “You can try.” Falcon shrugs. “Not sure how far you will get.”

  Crow imagines Vulture is likely trying to push out his fear aura, but it doesn’t work inside the cells.

  “Crow?” James turns to him.

  “The next on the list.” Crow confirms, a faint trickle of excitement making its way through him in anticipation.

  “Easy enough, and great work today.”

  “Thank you!” Vanguard echo in near perfect unison once more, and in that moment the glass opens up, allowing each member to exit.

  They follow James and Doctor Yiva into the airlock, before it opens up again into the commons.

  James and Doctor Yiva pick up their conversation as they head towards the exit, meanwhile Crow and the others eagerly rush towards the showers to peel themselves out of the blood soaked uniforms.

  Washed, dried, and in his cashmere sweats, Crow follows the scent of Falcons cooking until he comes to sit on the couch, sighing as he sinks into the plush cushion.

  He has to move several books off the coffee table in order to bring his feet up, and in doing so grab an older one to skim in hopes he can ignore Vulture's happy humming while sorting through his rack of shitty horror flicks.

  “If you put something on now, I will snap you in two.” Condor mutters, pulling a glass of whisky from its shelf and pouring himself a glass on the rocks.

  “You’re allowed to drink now, but I'm not allowed to use my reward?”

  “Dinner will be up shortly, you won't have time to watch the whole thing.” Falcon counters, pointing his spatula at Vulture.

  “Your reward is too noisy.” Crow notes, skimming the next chapter.

  Vulture’s hand comes down over the book, but Crow catches his wrist before Vulture can pull it away.

  He tries too, Crow feels Vulture's muscles tense as he uses a fair amount of strength to make some display, but Crow counters, leverages his wrist until it’s locked in a temporary stalemate.

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  Crow narrows his eyes, meeting Vulture beady gaze as that all too familiar hatched wound grin cuts a path across his narrow features.

  “We have time for a rematch, if you feel like losing again.” Vulture coos softly, his talons extending out, grazing Crow's wrist.

  “Dinner will be ready soon, we don’t have time.” Starlings monotone echoes from behind Crow. Vulture's eye flick to her, and he releases Crow's hand with a smile.

  “I am pretty hungry.” Vulture admits, giving Crow a wink.

  Crow watches Starling make her way around to the front of the couch, her eyes locked on the title of Crow's book.

  “That one was boring.”

  Crow raises his hands in defeat, and closes it. “Glad you thought so.” he half chuckles.

  He knows Don Quixote isn’t for everyone but he wouldn’t call it boring per say. While it's not as though he is in love with the piece, it’s considered pretty important and it’s not like he’s going to have the chance to read classic literature during their instruction time.

  “What would you recommend?” Crow counters, placing Don Quixote back atop his pile.

  “Not those.”

  “Incredibly helpful.”

  “I know.”

  Crow slaps his face, and tries his best to ignore the stifled snort of amusement from Condor at the dinner table.

  “I actually liked ‘Let The Right One In’,” Sparrow speaks up as he finishes chopping vegetables. “It's by uh, it's by John Lindqvist, a Swedish Author. It might not be for everyone but I thought it was very unique.”

  “Never heard of it.” Condor sets his glass down with a satisfied sigh.

  Vulture Snorts. “I'm shocked you’re literate.”

  Condor ignores him. “I’d recommend Meditations.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type to buy into shit like Buddhism either.”

  “It’s Stoicism, Marcus Aurelius.” Falcon counters, which gets a nod from Condor.

  “I will add those both to the list.” Crow notes, filling the titles away for his next mission reward.

  Falcon sets the first finished plate of food down at the dinner table. “No recommendation from you, Star?”

  “All that talk about not liking any of these,” Crow nods down to the pile. “You gotta have something.”

  “The Twilight franchise” She responds coolly.

  Sparrow spits his drink, Condor lets out something close to half of a laugh, and Crow turns to hide his face as he sputters out a snort.

  Vulture mocks a gag. “Is it because the main character has as much personality as you?”

  “She was the inspiration behind who I am today.”

  “You’re too funny to be her.” Crow counters, chuckling and standing to join the others in heading towards the table.

  “You read it?” Falcon teases, slapping crow on the back as he takes his seat.

  Crow shrugs. “I went through a phase.”

  “You’re still in the phase.” Condor notes.

  “Ding ding.” Falcon interrupts. “Come on, lets eat.”

  Its yet another damn near perfect dish. He doesn’t know how or why Falcon knows how to cook like this, but he isn’t complaining, and neither is anyone else. In fact the conversation fizzles out as everyone desperately savors Falcon's mission reward as they do damn near every time.

  A few bites of food later, and the table keys into more casual conversations, mostly regarding their studies or training or upcoming mission briefings. The topic doesn’t matter, not really. Even if it's something they have talked about a dozen times before, it's about passing the time, and Crow can’t complain about that.

  Anything to break the monotony of mission, training, and schooling is welcome as far as he is concerned. The rewards help, but with how fast Crow reads, the books don’t last very long before he’s memorized them front to back. Maybe he can convince Falcon to stop spending his rewards on meals for the team. Crow is more than willing to return to protein slop for a few weeks if he means they can get some meaningful entertainment in this place. The new seasons of Breaking Bad for example. Crow loves that series, or rather the person he used to be, loved it. Still—he’s been here long enough now that surely there are plenty of episodes to watch, and a box set of TV will be more entertainment hours per reward than Vulture's terrible slasher flicks.

  Better yet, maybe he can convince Starling to give him her reward instead of Vulture, that way he can enjoy Falcon’s cooking and something other than Thanks Killing 2.

  After dinner finishes, Vanguard falls into its regular routine—training first, which will then be followed by showers and sleep. The time doesn’t pass in the blur though, not like it used to. As Crow pushes his body to its limits against the machines he is painfully aware of every passing millisecond of time.

  The lactic burn in his muscles is a small percentage of why, mostly on account of it being impossible to ignore. He still intends to be the best of Vanguard which means he has quite a distance to cover before he can reach Vulture or Condor's level of physical strength. No, the most significant percentage of his awareness comes from fighting back the noise that chips and bites away at his psyche.

  Crow grinds his teeth as he pushes himself harder, the strain in his arms, chest and back only barely enough to pull his focus away from the echo of the conditioning.

  It comes in waves, a persistent ebb and flow of thoughts and ideas that all conflict with one another in equal measure. As he brings the several thousand pound bar off of his chest he lets out a rush of air from his lungs—with it, he tries to ignore the tapping on his chest, tries to carve away that part of his soul that keeps glancing to the courtyard beyond the gym windows. As he lurches forward, desperate to suck down the air he just let escape, he presses a fist to his head to force down the noise as it rises to meet the part of him that refuses to let go.

  Something cold contacts Crow's neck and nearly sends him out of his skin. His hand reaches up to rip at whatever touched him, only to stop millimeters away from Sparrow.

  “Sorry.” he chuckles, and pulls the water bottle away from Crow's neck. “I didn’t think you were scared of water though.” he tries to tease, but it comes out half unsure.

  Before Sparrow fumbles his way through an explanation or apology, Crow smiles and takes the water, downing the contents in a single gulp. “Terrified of it, have you ever seen what's at the bottom of the ocean? Scary shit. I wouldn’t go down there even with all my powers.”

  “Well, last time I checked there weren’t sea monsters in the water bottles so I think we are safe.”

  “Thanks,” Crow tosses the empty bottle into the trash a few yards away.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  “I guess it depends on what it is, but I’m sure it’s alright.”

  Sparrow takes a passing glance towards Vulture as he spars with Falcon some distance away. They move at subsonics, so the concussive blasts don’t disrupt everyone else's training, but collateral is still noticeable.

  Starling sidesteps a piece of debris, Condor takes a chunk of dirt to the back of the head but ignores it, and Crow has to speak up over the sound of the two bodies smacking together.

  “Sparrow?”

  “Right, yeah, I uh, I was just wondering, if maybe, you know you could…I don’t know, maybe.”

  Crow places a hand on Sparrow's shoulder, and forces his focus away from the fight. Sparrow gets the hint, his body loses some of the tension he takes a deep breath before trying again.

  “Vulture has been... giving me a weird look since I used my reward to take away the reward he stole from Starling? And Falcon’s tried to talk to him about it but he keeps…” Sparrows eyes flick back to the fight for just long enough to watch Falcon crater into the ground, while Vulture sucks in the sweet air of victory.

  “I can talk to him.” Crow smiles, hoping Sparrow can’t tell that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Thanks…”

  “Of course.” Crow pats Sparrow on the shoulder, and watches as Falcon pulls himself from the small hole in the ground, a bruise already making itself visible around his eye.

  “We have a mission soon!” Condor bellows, wiping dirt from his hair. “Save the showboating for when we can afford a broken member.”

  “I'm not broken.” Falcon coughs, shakes himself out, and dashes forward.

  The sonic boom rattles the equipment, and almost tears all traces of dust and dirt from his clothing.

  Condor shrugs, though he lingers for a moment on Crow, as he begins to make his approach.

  “You alright?” Crow asks, giving Falcon a scan.

  “Oh I’m great,” Falcon chuckles while rolling his eyes.

  “Good.”

  “Crow, don’t bother, it’s fine.”

  Crow pauses on his next step. “Sparrow seemed worried, I just wanted to double check.”

  “You sure?”

  “I am, Vultures just looking for an excuse to cause more trouble. Trying to get under our skin through Sparrow. Just let it be.”

  Crow wants to puff his chest and say something strong sounding, but he can’t find the words quick enough and Falcon knows it. Instead he opens and closes his mouth in silence like an idiot, realizes he looks stupid and gives up.

  “You’re right.” Crow admits, running his hands through his hair.

  Falcon lets a smile cross his face, extends a hand, and Crow takes it, embracing him in a quick hug.

  It's not until Falcon heads off to the showers, that Crow realizes Condor's eyes are still on him. For a moment he considered that prolonged eye contact with the much bigger teen will make him realize he is staring—Condor doesn’t care, and Crow breaks his gaze first.

  “Dammit…” he mutters under his breath, silently wishing he could take that back and try and hold his gaze longer, just to prove a point.

  As he enters the shower after training, the fantasy of what he could have done better pricks away at him. All the power in the world, all the skill, all this time and a fragment he still can’t manage to shake is feeling like this.

  He takes a deep breath, and on the exhale tries to crush that fragment, but his mind won't let him. The more things change the more they stay the same he supposes, and being aware of his own weaknesses still does very little when it comes to solving them.

  After his shower, Crow changes, and makes his way back towards the commons in silence, watching as the moonlight reflects off the grass of the courtyard. He can hear the sounds of the team settling in for the night. He can hear Condors heartbeat like a war drum echoing off the walls of his room. He can hear Starling as she settles into her bed, only to turn perfectly still, like a corpse—or maybe an android powering down. Sparrow tosses and turns, and wipes a few stray tears from his cheeks, while Falcon whispers a goodnight through the walls, which helps Sparrow calm.

  Crow listens to the sound of his own heartbeat, his blood pumping through his veins, to the tap tap tapping that echoes off the walls just beyond the compound—and the way those taps reflect in his chest.

  He tries to ignore them, eyes turned to his feet to watch as each careful step bends the blades of grass under him.

  An old, familiar feeling crawls up his spine to claw at his skin—eyes, locked on his position, following his every step.

  “So how did it feel? I don’t think I ever got to ask.”

  Crow turns his head up, meeting Vulture's gaze. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “You know, believe it or not I have asked myself that. Introspection is important.”

  “Only if you find answers, otherwise it's just navel gazing.”

  “Ironic, but I'm sure that's not lost on you.” Vulture cracks that hatchet wound grin of his. “So what was it like?”

  “Probably no different than when you nearly killed Falcon in the medical ward, or whatever else you did back in the prison.” Crow takes a few steps, but Vulture doesn’t give any sign of letting this go.

  “Nah, it’s gotta be different! 08 was your friend after all. Killing a friend is different than slitting someone's throat for survival.”

  “Executing the doctors wasn’t for survival…”

  “Well, maybe not, but they also weren’t my friends.” Vulture lets his head drop slightly, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Come on, just tell me, I want to know.”

  “No.”

  “Fragments are that bad for you? Would be a shame if I told Doctor Yiva in the next session that—”

  “What the fuck are you even playing at?” Crow opens his arms wide, and gestures around the courtyard. “What's the point, Vulture?”

  Crow can hear as Vulture chews on his tongue, as he hesitates, and for a brief moment there is a flicker of something almost human behind his dark beady eyes—but only a moment.

  “Curiosity, that's it.” He admits with a shrug.

  Crow takes a few steps closer, watching as Vulture doesn’t even bother to shift positions. For a brief second, Crow tests his stretch, tenses his muscles in a way he knows Vulture will recognize as an impending attack. The noise raises, burns his neurons as Crow considers lunging.

  Vulture doesn’t move, not even a fraction of an inch.

  “Well…” Crow eases the tension in his body, forcing the noise down as best he can, but it isn’t enough. His feet sink into the ground that once soaked up his friend's blood, he can hear the tapping on the walls, on his skin, against his bones. For a brief moment, he swears he can smell the scent of him lingering here, like some piece was buried on the earth. “Then let me be the one to tell you that he died as Chris, not as 08.”

  Vulture's eyes narrow slightly, and Crow clicks his tongue. He shouldn’t have said that.

  “He died a traitor to site-51. Our numbers were what we earned from our conditioning. He was never conditioned fully. He didn’t deserve the number.” Crow spits out, and each syllable burns his throat.

  “Hmm.” Vulture considers the answer, shrugs, and finally raises his head back up. “Careful of those fragments, Crow…they can be dangerous for someone like you.” He smiles. “Would hate to see you wrap up the others in it, you know? Best to make sure you let them go.”

  Crow listens to the sound of Vulture's heartbeat, trying to pick apart his response through the micro expressions on his face. Does Vulture know something Crow doesn’t? Has Crow slipped? Crow’s been trying to let those fragments go for weeks now, but they stick to him against his will so why?

  “If you ever want some help cutting them out of you, just let me know. I can give you a hand I'm sure.”

  “Thanks for the offer…”

  “No problem! Any time.” Vulture gives Crow a pat on the arm, before making his way off back towards the commons, leaving Crow standing in the grass as he tries to ignore the tapping on the walls.