Prompto groaned as he felt movement. Eyes still closed, he mentally assessed the damage. Sharp stings that spoke of cuts and scrapes. Pain when breathing that indicated cracked ribs, likely from landing after falling from the train. Throbbing head and nausea meant a concussion and bad enough that if he opened his eyes, he had a feeling he would see double.

  A hand gripping his wrist, pulling, feet dragging on the ground.

  His eyes flicked open and he yanked on his arm. The sudden movement pulled the person off balance, and Prompto fell onto his back. His arm was still held though, so he rose his feet and kicked out, the combat boots that matched Noct’s landing with a satisfying thud and forcing the person holding his arm to let go. It also meant that Prompto fell completely back to the earth and his vision swam with the sudden movement. He didn’t let it stop him, though, as he rolled his feet under him and staggered away. He tried to summon his gun, but it wouldn’t come. Then he remembered: Noct had struck it from his hand and he hadn’t seen where it fell before he lost his balance. Obviously, it had not been returned to the armiger.

  Frantically, he balled his fists, ready to fight (well pretending he was ready) and looked around. Three soldiers, all wearing familiar magitek armour. The good news was Prompto knew that armour inside and out, knew what it protected well and what it didn’t and, if he had his gun, he would have been able to shoot right into its weak points. The bad news was Prompto didn’t have his gun, he had always sucked at close combat, and he was dizzy, struggling to stand up without the world spinning.

  One of the three charged him. They were armed but not using their weapons. They must have been ordered not to harm him. Good. He couldn’t punch while they were in armour—he really didn’t want to add broken knuckles to his list of injuries—so he caught the arm of the first one to punch him and swung him around into another. They moved as a unit, the second expecting the move and jumping back as the first stumbled. The third slammed a fist into the back of Prompto’s head and he fell forward. On his hands and knees, he grabbed the nearest foot and pulled. One fell crashing to the ground and Prompto reached up to yank his helmet off with one hand and slam a fist into the nose with his other. A hard kick into his ribs threw Prompto off and he cried out as his ribs screamed at him, curling around them. By then, it was too late. His vision narrowed into a black tunnel as metal booted feet continued to kick him until he stopped moving altogether.

  -l-l-l-

  “Damnit,” Noctis groaned as he came to.

  As the memories flooded back, he wished he hadn’t woken, wished he could turn back time and undo all he had done wrong. Prompto… what had he done? Pulling out his phone, he tried calling him, but he must have been out of service. Noct had service, he must be close to a phone tower, but, if Prompto’s phone was still working, he was out of range. They had to go back. They couldn’t turn a whole train around, but they could stop it! He called Ignis.

  “What’s wrong?” Ignis answered; they had set up individual ringtones for Ignis, so he knew who was calling him. For Noct to call, he knew something had to be up.

  “Ignis, you’ve gotta stop this thing!” Noct cried. “Prompto fell off the train. I pushed him - I mean, Ardyn made me.” Even to Noct’s ears, that sounded childish, despite the fact that it was the truth of the matter. “I don’t know where he is, but we can’t leave him!”

  “Stay calm, Noct,” Ignis said, though his own voice sounded anything but calm. “I’m as concerned for Prompto as you are, but stopping the train would endanger everyone on board. We’d be sitting ducks for the daemons.”

  “What do we do?” Noct demanded. What he wanted to say was fuck the passengers and fuck the demons, they had to get Prompto! But he knew he couldn’t do that, wouldn’t, as much as he longed to.

  “First, we drop the passengers off at Tenebrae. We’ll be arriving shortly.”

  “What about Prompto?!”

  “Given the chancellor’s involvement, it’s probable he’s no longer where we left him. In any case, he may try to contact us. Let us wait and hope for now and we will continue to try to call him,” Ignis said. Noct hated it, hated the very idea of drawing ever away from Prompto, especially if it was what Ardyn wanted, but Ignis was right. “Can you make your way here? Gladio is with me.”

  “Are the two of you okay at least?” Noct asked, guiltily realising he hadn’t even thought to ask about them.

  “Yes.”

  Noct felt relief rush over him at that. “Okay,” he said. “On my way.” As they entered a tunnel, he saw the walls practically crawling with demons. Goblins mostly. “I’ll be there as soon as I take care of these stowaways.”

  -l-l-l-

  The next time Prompto woke, it was to darkness and the familiar hum of a dropship. His head was pounding, and he made to raise a hand to it, only to find he couldn’t. There wasn’t room. Instantly the panic set in when he realised where he was: a storage container on a dropship, no doubt heading for the Empire, for decommissioning. His breath came in panicky gasps.

  Listen. Remember to listen. He could almost hear his own voice telling Ignis as much, talking him through one of his panic attacks when he had gotten turned about and disoriented. Listen.

  There wasn’t a lot to hear. Either the Nif soldiers who had captured him weren’t within hearing range or they were too well trained to be discussing anything. There was the hum of the dropship engine, but Prompto didn’t know enough about the dropships to identify anything about it. And other than his own fast breathing, he couldn’t hear anything else.

  Someone had performed basic first aid on him. His ribs had some kind of bracing around them that took some of the pain away and he could smell antiseptic cream, feel the stickiness of it on his hands and elbows and knees where his pants had torn. His head still swam and pounded, but it wasn’t like they would give him a potion for his comfort. Magitek soldiers did not need comfort, they needed efficiency, and that’s all the first aid provided: to ensure he remained efficient. Though for what purpose he couldn’t guess at; he had no idea what was involved in being decommissioned.

  Prompto tried to summon his gun again, but it was in vain. His hand could reach his pocket though and he pulled out his phone. With one hand he unlocked it and tried to call Gladio, but it was no use, there was no service. Just that same unable to connect message in that painfully cheery voice that made his teeth grit.

  He locked the phone again, plunging the container back into darkness, wanting to save battery. He had to keep it charged, had to warn them. Ignis and Gladio had no way to know what had happened to Prompto, what he had seen: Noct and Ardyn, working together, allies. He ran his thumb back and forth over the embossed chocobo on the protective case.

  The phone and its case had weathered up surprisingly well, considering what it had gone through. It was scuffed on the corners and his screen had a few cracks in it, but it still worked. Noct had really bought him a good one. And on the heels of that thought was the reminder that it was all fake, that he hadn’t really cared at all, that he was just biding his time till he could team up with Ardyn.

  ‘But why?’ his mind kept asking. What did Noct have to gain from teaming up with the chancellor of Niflheim? It didn’t make any sense!

  Unless Ardyn had offered to get Noct into the capital.

  But why would he do that? What would he get out of it?

  Prompto had no idea. Ardyn had been ‘helping’ them since he joined them and, outside of pushing Prompto’s limits, he hadn’t seemed to get anything out of it. He had the crystal, Niflheim had won the war. True, Noct was powerful and could still draw from the crystal no matter whose hands it was in, he would make a powerful ally, but why would he need it?

  Prompto sighed. It was pointless. His thoughts were going around and around and getting nowhere, but it was working to distract him from his own situation. He checked his phone again. Still no service. Damn. His thumb continued to trace the chocobo over and over.

  -l-l-l-

  There were many things Ignis missed seeing since he had lost his sight. He wished he could see the battlefields so he could help his friends. He wished he could see Gladio’s goofy grin when he laughed at something. He wished he could see Noct posing ‘like a dork’ at Prompto’s insistence for a photo. He wished he could see sunrises and sunsets and all the times in between.

  At this particular point in time, though, he really wished he could have seen the Hydraean forced to submit to Noct’s summoning, to brush the daemons from the train and help them. It was petty and vindictive, and he wanted it more than anything. Gladio had tried to describe it for him but, bless the man, he wasn’t very good with adjectives, using words like ‘big’ and ‘huge’ and ‘wet’.

  “That’s what she said,” Ignis muttered in annoyance.

  There was a moment of silence before Gladio gawfed at Ignis’s comment and slapped him hard on the back, only to be forced to grab his arm when the unexpected contact caused him to stumble.

  Regardless of how he personally felt about the Goddess, it had ensured the train could arrive safely to Tenebrae, even if that didn’t turn out to be the safe haven they had hoped. For this, at least, Ignis was glad he didn’t have his sight; he could imagine quite clearly the city burning just from the smell of smoke that permeated the air. He made no comment on it; it had been many years since it had been his home—he felt more of a connection to Lucis than he did to Tenebrae now—though he had hoped to explore his former home while they were here.

  It was only once they disembarked that Noctis was able to tell them the full story of what had happened between him and Prompto, beyond the panicked demands to stop the train.

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  “How can he ever forgive me?”

  Ignis’s fists closed tightly around the head of the cane as Noctis told him what he had done. How he had pushed Prompto from the train, mistaking him for Ardyn. Ignis had immediately made the connection between the Ardyn that Noctis had attacked and Prompto, telling the king of their phone conversation where Prompto had told them how he had been attacked.

  He was furious with their boy-king. Noctis had once again allowed his anger and hatred to blind him towards what was painfully obvious to the blind man! He wanted to drop his cane and shake some sense into him. He wanted to smack him into next week.

  Instead, what he did was reach out and find his arm, following it so he could rest his hand on Noctis’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze. “He’ll understand when you explain what it is you saw. If anyone knows the depths of depravity the chancellor can sink to, it is Prompto,” he said.

  “Well, look who’s here.”

  Ignis tilted his head towards the familiar voice, but it was Noct who replied.

  “Aranea. Guess we’ve got you to thank for this mess,” he said, his tone bitter.

  “More to it than meets the eye,” Aranea said.

  “Isn’t there always?” Gladio said from Ignis’s right. He had been filled in on what had happened at the grove, amid much teasing from Noctis and Prompto and spluttering from Ignis about the advisor’s flirtations. He didn’t much feel like flirting now, however.

  “Definitely,” Aranea replied. “You wanna know who to thank? Come with me.”

  “Can’t wait to hear this,” Noct said.

  Ignis followed the sound of them walking. Such a thing had been beyond him when he had first lost his sight; the sound of the footsteps were lost in the multitude of other sounds, of others walking nearby, talking, laughing, shouting, any number of miscellaneous sounds one could hear when that was all one had to rely on. Now, though, he was becoming quite practiced at focusing on a particular sound and following it. Nonetheless, before Prompto had always been beside him. Following Prompto had been easy; his gait was distinctive, light, as though he were always walking on the toes of his feet, sometimes hopping and skipping along. Gladio was the next easiest to distinguish; the man was so large it didn’t matter how quiet he tried being, his step was heavy. He may be light on his feet during battle, but it was another matter when he was just walking. Noct was the hardest. Ignis’s constant nagging during the prince’s life had led to him having good posture and a sure stride, as befit a Caelum. But while that was appropriate of his standing and position, it meant he was surprisingly hard to pick out. When it was quiet, he could hear a slight unevenness in his gait, but that was it. If he had been wearing dress shoes, Ignis was sure he would have no hope of picking his step. Not yet, at least. He was glad for once that Noctis insisted on wearing combat boots.

  It was the clomp of those combat boots that Ignis followed, his cane warning him of any stairs and with Gladio walking behind him, a light touch serving to guide him around any obstacles his cane may have missed.

  Aranea noticed. “Huh? What did you do to your eyes?”

  The question and, more, the tone surprised Ignis. “Oh, uh… just a flesh wound,” he said, playing it down. He heard Gladio snort behind him. Ignis not-so-accidentally stuck his elbow out to catch the bigger man in the gut as he walked into it.

  “Can you see?” Aranea asked.

  Her bluntness surprised Ignis, in a good way; most people seemed to tiptoe around it, being almost painfully courteous, helping him do things that he really didn’t need help with. It was refreshing. Nonetheless, admitting the truth was still hard. “I’m… afraid not,” he said.

  “Wow. That sucks. It’s a cruel world,” she said.

  Ignis smirked. “That it is,” he murmured, though he doubt she heard him.

  They walked a few more steps in silence before Noct stopped in front of him, causing Ignis to stop suddenly, Gladio’s hand once more going to his elbow to steady him as Aranea spoke again. “Hey, wasn’t there one more of you guys? Other than the big guy, of course.”

  “Yeah… there was,” Noct said, his voice dejected.

  “We… lost track of him,” Gladio said. Ignis didn’t need to see to be able to hear the sorrow in his friend’s voice.

  “Is he dead?” There was that bluntness again. He doubted Noctis appreciated it as much as Ignis did, however.

  “I… I don’t know,” the king said.

  “Then quit moping, keep hoping. And in the meantime, handle what’s at hand,” she said. Ignis couldn’t help but smile at the pragmatic advice; he had tried telling Noct much the same, of course, though in a gentler tone. Gladio had offered to punch the lesson into him. But he liked the way Aranea phrased it.

  “R-right,” Noct said. “Keep hoping,” he muttered under his breath.

  -l-l-l-

  A change of pressure was the first hint to Prompto that they were arriving at their destination and with it a wave of nausea that had him gritting his teeth to stop throwing up. He hadn’t been able to hear any conversation or any hint of where they were going, but he knew. Deep down, he knew. Gralea. Home. Though it had been some time since he had considered it so. His only consolation was knowing that this had been the Lucians’ destination. Of course, whether it still would be now that Noct had betrayed them and their easy in with Prompto was removed, he had no way to know. But he hoped. He had to hope.

  The crate he was in rocked as something latched onto it, and Prompto pushed with his arms as best he could to steady himself. He tried to listen. Normally in the Keep there was always noise, the hum of machinery always running, the exhaust fans blowing, people talking, laughing, the sounds of fighting and training, sometimes even the occasional scream. But what Prompto could hear now was different. The machinery and fan noises remained, but instead of human noises, there was scraping and chittering, the sounds of metal on metal. Was he even in Zegnautus? Had he been transported somewhere else entirely?

  His crate rocked and swayed and then was still. A hiss was the first hint that something was wrong. The air didn't smell any different, but it began to feel different. His eyes felt it first; they began to sting and water uncontrollably, like that time Ignis had asked him to help with dinner by dicing the onions. Then his nose itched and his throat burned and the next thing he knew he was coughing, his breath wheezing. It hurt his ribs, every movement hurt and vertigo swept over him, the world would have spun had he been able to see it. His legs gave out and he slumped against the wall of the crate, only held upright by the fact the box was so small. His vision dimmed.

  Sudden light.

  Falling.

  Hard metal.

  Hands gripping, dragging.

  A face, auburn hair, wolf eyes, predatory.

  A bed, hard, unyielding.

  Cold, so cold.

  “Welcome home, C1094.”

  Darkness.

  When Prompto next opened his eyes, it was to find himself lying on a bed in a painfully familiar room. Slowly, he sat himself up, sitting back on his feet, and cast his eyes around. Yes. The same bed with a mattress, but no blanket or pillow. The same room that would only take two steps to cross if the furniture wasn't there. The same toilet in the corner. The same hole in the wall where wires came from. Suddenly fretting, Prompto rose a hand to his head but breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his normal hair there, dirty and blood-matted, but nonetheless there. When he was last here, he had been shaved bald.

  Slowly, holding on to the wall for balance, he got off the bed and moved to the door. These doors had no latch, they were opened by either a keycard or barcode scan at the panel outside, but Prompto had never thought to try to open it before. He tried pushing. He tried sliding it. There was no handle to hold on to, so he couldn't try pulling it, but he did give it a kick for good measure. It made no difference. Not that Prompto expected it to, but he had to try.

  Looking around the room, searching for something, anything, his eyes fell on the wire hole. About two inches in diameter, it had previously held a thick cord that split into a number of tiny wires, each either attached under or on top of the skin of his head. Now it was empty. Cautiously, Prompto approached it. Maybe he could see what was on the other side. He had never seen where the wires led before. Hands against the wall to either side of it, he leaned in to peer through.

  A golden eye stared back at him.

  “Peek-a-boo.” Ardyn’s voice echoed around the room, followed by laughter as Prompto fell back with a startled cry, falling off the edge of the bed into a tangled heap on the floor. Frantically, he righted himself and scuttled backwards, pulling himself into a corner. The same corner he had first cowered in, he realised, as he curled in on himself, skinned knees pulled to his chest.

  Another time, another place, C1094 stood confidently in the centre of the room that had been his world for two weeks at least. He didn't know and it didn't matter. The wires were still attached to his head, but he was used to them now and barely noticed their presence.

  Two scientists and a guard stood before him. One had a clipboard and the other was watching a portable monitor. The guard was standing in front of the door, blocking the way.

  Clipboard spoke. “What is your name?”

  A formality; they knew his name. He answered anyway. “C1094. Sniper unit NH-01987.”

  Monitor gave a single nod and clipboard made a mark on his namesake. “In the field, what is your directive?” clipboard asked.

  “To obey all orders from my superiors. Should the line of command be broken through death or loss of communication, I am to obey the last known order to my death or recall or until it is achieved.”

  “And if it is achieved and the line of command still broken?”

  “Return to the nearest Imperial outpost and report.”

  Another nod, another mark.

  “When civilians are present, what is your default directive?”

  “Avoid contact. Do not speak to civilians. Do not make eye contact with civilians.”

  “Should a civilian approach you directly and speak to you, how do you react?”

  “Direct them to my superior officer. Beyond this, do not speak to civilians. Do not make eye contact with civilians.”

  “Should a civilian attack you, how do you react?”

  “Disable them and refer to a superior officer for further instructions.”

  “Should an enemy soldier attack you, how do you react?”

  “Use deadly force.”

  “Explain.”

  “Shoot to kill.”

  “Should you not have a gun?”

  “This unit is defective without a gun. Should this unit succeed in taking down the enemy force without a gun, report to the nearest Imperial outpost.”

  Another nod, another mark.

  “Place your right hand here, barcode up.” Monitor spoke this time, indicating a shelf or bench next to the monitor. C1094 did so. The shelf moved, withdrawing into the main machinery part of the monitor and he felt a sharp burning pain on the back of his wrist. He made no reaction. While this occurred, clipboard removed the electrodes attached to his head.

  The shelf slid out again and C1094 returned his hand to his side, ignoring the thin line of blood that dripped off his fingertips.

  “Return to your dorm. You will be assigned patrol duties shortly,” clipboard said.

  C1094 clapped a fist to his chest in salute and left the room. Only once there was no one around did he allow a small smile to cross his face. Finally, he was allowed out into the city! He could explore the capital that had been his home for eighteen years!

  Prompto held none of that confidence now as he sat curled in the corner. He had been so excited then! Or at least as excited as he was allowed to feel. He had hoped to be able to see where Arvid had lived as a young child. He wanted to see the tourist sights and, despite how he had answered the questions, to be able to talk to non-militants.

  He had been a fool.

  Trying to distract himself from that and from the certainty that he was being watched, Prompto reached into his back pocket and pulled out the thin tourist-y camera he had been using. It was broken now, of course, the lens shattered, casing cracked—there was no way it had the quality of his phone—but it still turned on. He cradled it in his lap and flicked through the photos on it. He went too fast for anyone unfamiliar with them to really see them, but each photo brought a memory with it, an emotion, fleeting though they were. Pressing the right button again once he got to the end, looped it back to the beginning. He longed to check his phone for reception but didn’t dare, didn’t want Ardyn to see. He contented himself with his photos, with happier times.

  Prompto dozed after a while. He was left alone long enough that he began to suspect he had imagined Ardyn watching him. It allowed him to sleep, though he slept in his corner, refusing to touch the bed.

  When he woke suddenly as the door slid open, he didn’t hesitate, tossing the camera out of sight under the bed, not wanting it to be taken as he was taken.