The air in the tunnels was thick and damp, clinging to their lungs with every breath. Maisie, Leo, and Gene moved slowly, their footsteps careful, flashlights cutting through the dark in shaky beams.
The cracked stone walls loomed close, shadows stretching and twitching with each nervous step. Up ahead, a sound, just a faint breath, maybe a groan, broke the silence, and the group froze.
Tension rippled between them, sharp and immediate. Maisie's heart hammered violently against her ribs, each beat a mix of pounding fear and desperate hope that refused to be extinguished.
The tunnel was dense with dust and stale cold, wrapping around everything. But Maisie hardly noticed. Her focus was fixed on the figure ahead, shaking, weak, as if he might fall apart the moment she looked away.
The weight of it all settled on her chest: the desperate night spent searching, the fears she couldn't say out loud, an expectancy that Igor was still in there somewhere, buried beneath whatever the Angels had broken.
Her fingers closed tightly around the frayed ribbon tucked deep in her pocket, the rough fabric worn soft from her touch. That simple, faded ribbon was more than a keepsake; it was a lifeline, a silent message of belonging and trust she had left with him long ago.
When everything felt like it was falling apart, the ribbon was the only thing that kept her from breaking. Now he was clutching it like a lifeline, like some part of him still remembered. Her stomach twisted. It hurt more than she wanted to admit. Because if that thread could still reach him, even through all the damage, then she couldn't let go either.
Ahead, a shadowed figure staggered into view, emerging hesitantly from the darkness like a ghost pulled from a restless grave. His steps were uneven, faltering as if each movement cost him unbearable effort. The weak beams of their flashlights barely pierced the gloom, casting flickering light across his sweat-slicked skin, which gleamed unnaturally pale in the tunnel's stale air.
His eyes were unfocused, frantic, like a cornered animal. One second glassy and gone, the next flashing with desperate clarity that vanished just as fast, swallowed by confusion and pain. His breaths came in short, ragged bursts, each one hitching through clenched teeth, his body jerking with tremors he couldn't control.
In his shaking fist, he clutched something small and easy to miss, but she saw it. The ribbon. The one she'd left for him. Faded, fraying at the edges, but still there. Still his. It caught the light just enough to stand out against the dark, like it refused to disappear, like he did.
The ribbon twitched between his fingers, its edges worn thin, barely hanging on. A frayed thread in the middle of all that wreckage, stubborn enough to still matter. Igor's breathing came in harsh, uneven gasps, every inhale a fight, every exhale a shudder that rattled down to his bones.
His chest rose and fell erratically, sometimes catching in sudden, trembling spasms that sent ripples through his taut muscles. Small, involuntary twitches jittered along his arms and legs, as if his body were fighting against unseen chains, struggling to break free from a relentless torment.
Inside his head, chaos tore through him like a storm. Broken memories snapped like shards of glass, dark rooms closing in, cold metal pressing down, distant voices barking orders he couldn't piece together.
Beneath the haze clouding his mind, implanted directives pulsed like a glitching program, corrupted code locked deep in his brain, still firing off commands he couldn't name, let alone resist. They pushed him toward actions he didn't recognize, let alone understand.
The line between who he was and what had been forced upon him blurred until it seemed impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Maisie swallowed around the lump in her throat, sudden doubt rising like a wave she wasn't ready for. Her legs felt like lead, every step forward weighted with the fear of rejection, or worse, the possibility that Igor no longer recognized her.
She moved cautiously, each step slow and deliberate, trying not to startle him. Her voice, barely above a breath, wavered with trembling emotion yet held an unyielding steadiness. "Igor…" she whispered, her words carrying a quiet plea, a lifeline cast across the chasm of his broken mind. "It's me. I'm here."
Her eyes locked onto his wild, flickering gaze, searching for any flicker of recognition in the storm.
Maisie's breath caught sharply in her throat, a sudden hitch that threatened to choke her. Every muscle tensed, but she forced herself forward, one cautious step at a time, as if closing the distance might destroy the delicate thread holding Igor's mind together. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs, fear clawing at her nerves, but beneath it, an unyielding desperation.
Her voice wavered under the weight of everything unknown, what they'd done to him, what he might still remember, and the man she wished remained beneath the shattered shell. But beneath the fear was something stronger, a thread of resolve that made her words more than a whisper: a lifeline.
Slowly, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the worn ribbon she'd left long ago, softened by time but still holding a silent promise. Holding it out with trembling fingers, she met his feverish eyes and spoke softly, almost reverently. "Igor… do you remember this? The ribbon I left for you… It means you're not alone. You're still you."
For a brief, flickering moment, Igor's gaze, so often lost in chaos and torment, locked onto the ribbon with a sudden clarity that wrecked the fog surrounding him. In that instant, the storm inside him softened, just enough to reveal a tiny glimmer, a spark of something unmistakably familiar.
His trembling fingers, slick with sweat and worn thin by exhaustion, clenched the fragile ribbon like a lifeline. It was more than cloth; it was a tether to a part of himself he thought lost. For a brief moment, the broken pieces of his mind reached toward that small, stubborn hope.
But the storm inside him crashed back with brutal force. His breath caught, sharp and strangled, eyes rolling into that haunted stare, the desperate look of a battle raging beneath the surface.
Inside his mind, twisted memories, buried commands, and emotions collided like a violent storm. That fleeting anchor that hope was ripped away, leaving him lost in a sea of pain and confusion.
Overwhelmed, his body tensed, and with a guttural snarl from deep within, he swung out blindly, strength driven by torment and instinct, not reason.
Igor's strike exploded with brutal, desperate fury, his fist cutting through space like a wrecking force.
Leo lunged forward without hesitation, throwing up his arms to shield Maisie. The blow crashed into his shoulder, rattling his bones and knocking the air out of him.
Staggering back, shock flashed in his eyes, not just at the strength, but at Igor's tortured gaze. Maisie gasped, her heart pounding.
Gene stepped forward carefully, hands raised in calming gestures. Her voice was steady, cutting through the chaos. "Easy, Igor. We're here for you. We're not your enemy."
Around them, tension snapped tight, every face etched with fear and urgent caution, silently begging for control.
They knew too well how unstable Igor was; his rage wasn't just physical but a reflection of the war tearing through his mind.
The silence that followed crackled with unease as the group braced together, hearts pounding in sync, waiting to see if any flicker of recognition would survive, or if the storm inside Igor would break loose again.
Gene's eyes darted between Igor's thrashing form and the pale, anxious faces around him. Something pressed on her chest, an unease she couldn't shake.
Every hectic swing was a razor's edge; one mistake could mean broken bones or worse. The fear twisting in her gut tightened with each second.
Her mind scrambled for any way that words might reach the man before them.
But the truth was clear and brutal: Igor was beyond reason. The chaos in his eyes and the power behind his blows made it obvious, talking wouldn't stop this.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realized what she must do. The decision came hard and fast, stony and crucial. She had to act, and fast, before someone got hurt.
With a slow, deliberate breath, Gene forced herself to steady the trembling in her hands. Her fingers brushed the worn fabric of her pack before slipping inside, seeking the cold, unyielding shape she had hidden there, the compact animal tranquilizer gun, a relic from a risky raid weeks ago.
The metal was super cold against her skin and carried a weight far beyond its size. It was a last resort, a desperate gamble, but the only choice left to protect them all.
She pulled the weapon free with quiet resolve, the faint click of its mechanism echoing sharply in the tense silence.
Her eyes locked onto Igor, who thrashed erratically nearby, muscles bunching and releasing in sharp, uncontrolled bursts, like someone trapped and desperate to escape.
"Step back," Gene's voice sliced through the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Give him space. I don't want to hurt him more than he already is." Her gaze never wavered, never leaving the storm of pain and confusion embodied in Igor's frantic movements.
Gene dropped to one knee, grounding herself amid the chaos. Her hands steadied as she lifted the tranquilizer gun, the cold metal cool against her palms.
The dim, flickering light of the tunnel caught on the barrel, casting brief reflections that danced like shadows over her focused expression.
She carefully aimed for Igor's exposed shoulder, intentionally choosing a spot less likely to cause serious injury but close enough to deliver the sedative quickly into his bloodstream.
Her finger tightened slowly around the trigger, heart pounding in tandem with the soft thunk that echoed sharply in the confined tunnel.
The dart sailed through the stale air and embedded itself in Igor's pale flesh with a muted sting.
Briefly, to Gene's horror, nothing changed. Igor's frantic thrashing seemed to intensify, his breath growing rapid and ragged, as if his body sensed the surrender creeping closer.
But then, almost imperceptibly, the frenzy began to ebb.
His limbs, once rigid and tense, started to loosen, muscles unwinding from their coiled, desperate state. The storm behind his eyes dulled, the chaotic edge softening as the sedative took hold.
Igor became sedated, then unconscious, his knees hitting the ground first, then his torso, and then his neck planting into the hard tunnel floor, causing a very loud echo resounding throughout the whole tunnel system.