Thomas is trapped. He can't move on his own. There's bodies swaying him back and forth. If he stops they will just trample him into a bloody pulp.
If he could just roll into the smallest ball and wait for it to be over, he would. But this isn't like a bad dream. This isn't like a child that fears the monster in the closet. Because even if he closes his eyes, he can smell the flames and the smoke and he hears the shots and the yelling.
This is everything he was ever afraid of. This is everything his cowardly rabbit heart always tried to avoid.
There's some sort of firework send flying above his head and it hits a car.
Another shattering sound when a brick accompanies it.
He works his way to the side, stepping left whenever the smallest gap between hooded heads and elbows pops up.
What exactly has he hoped? He'd walk up to the scorching mess and find..? What? This is not some drama. He's not going to slow motion through this mess.
He finds it hard not to panic. The people are one being. An angry, snapping being. Claws extended, teeth pointy and ready to rip things apart.
He doesn't see any face he knows. But how would he with the chaos and the fog? Farley could be standing next to him and he wouldn't recognize her. He doesn't even recognize himself in the mayhem.
And then there's the howling of a siren again, closer this time. He can see something is going on on the other side.
He's not sure he wants to find out. He thinks of the video the day after they stormed that gathering in the dirty warehouse.
The blood and the screams. He knows this will be worse. Because people are fighting back. And they are much more than in that little room. It's not herding sheep anymore. This people reek of aggression. Even if they panic they will not just run.
Another firework send flying, red flaring, and it burns in his eyes because the sparks are too close.
When he finally has reached the end of the crowd, he sees he chose the wrong side. Towers are to the right, separated through the bodies and the fights.
Next he knows someone has pushed him. When he looks in the direction of the attack he sees people stumble.
It's a flurry. The crowd gets chopped in tiny pieces to weaken them.
It's the old tactic, overthrowing them, wearing them out. And people can only loose.
Someone hits his head and he goes down. Then he stays down while some uniforms and boots appear in his field. Next to him someone struggles and his hooded head hits the asphalt so hard there's blood.
Thomas lies down and tries to keep it together until he's cuffed and pulled up.
The cell is supposed to hold less people. It's clear by the way they are stuffed in, like they are still in the crowd. Worse. Because people here are bruised and battered and they are looking like chicken behind this bars.
Police is less than gentle. After he's stripped off any possession and they made sure to have his name, Thomas is lined up to be a fellow chicken. They just shove them in one after another.
It's a long night.
He sits on the ground.
This place smells of everything foul human bodies contain. Piss and blood and vomit and sweat. Stinging in his nose.
It reminds him of the night when his parents had to pick him up after he smashed the window. There was uncertainty. Asking himself if that was the right choice. But he was also angry and pretended not to give a fuck. This is indefinitely worse.
He's less shameful and more tired now. And he's sure he'll rot in here with all the others. At least no one he knows is rotting in the hellhole.
Which means one of three things.
They are in another cell.
They are fine and hiding somewhere.
They are dead.
He doesn't sleep. Even if he wants to, he can't. Too many shuffling, hissing and shoving and in the end , simply too much disgust. Once or twice he can't keep his eyes open and dozes off.
He doesn't expect someone to get him out. He doesn't know who would or could. It's early morning and the fireworks are haunting him. He is curled together tightly . Oh , this time no one will take it lightly. It doesn't matter he didn't throw a stone. He was there. He's got the right colour of blood to fit in the mix. Which makes it all the more stranger when someone calls his name and he gets out of the shithole.
"Got friends," the cop only huffs, not even looking at his face.
"Thanks, I guess?" Thomas snorts but doesn't dare to tempt fate any further.
When he looks at his phone, with a new scratch and a network of cracks running along the screen he is surprised to find it working. Although the battery is almost dead there is a bunch of messages and a few missed calls. Most of them are from his family. One though...
"I don't know where you are." There's a cracking sound and steps as Maven talks." I am sorry I wasn't honest. You were good to me, and you don't deserve to be treated like this." There's something so desperate and quiet in the way the words flow through the speaker Thomas stops dead in his tracks. "I was angry when you left me. I was never good at coping with things. And then things started to change and I met Mare. And..I really couldn't understand why I was even remotely interested in her. Maybe it was because my brother- he always got everything- And I was still not over-" A controlled breath and Thomas can exactly imagine the evading eyes and the frown. " I told my mother things I shouldn't have. And it lead to... What am I doing?" Thomas swallows hard. "I need you. I need your help."
There's no response when Thomas tries to call.
Then his battery dies and he stares at the black screen, seeing his hurt face and the dark circles under his eyes. The city is not calm, not more than Thomas is. There's nervous twitching and tired sighing under the skin, an uneasy feeling left in the streets.
When he comes home, he finds an empty void. The flat is abandoned. Everything looks the same as the moment before he left. There's the bowl abandoned on the sink, dried up and dirty. The space all for himself, without other bodies piling up, and all the silence is weird.
He goes into his sisters room. It smells like her. He misses a friendly face. He needs to apologize. For now he just lies down on her bed . Turns the TV on. There's only images of destruction, similar to what Thomas has seen himself all along. Burning cars and fires, and then there's images of the destroyed towers. Black glass and chrome shattered, burned down and scorching.
"According to anonymous sources the riot apparently started inside the building," a voice says over the images of the mayhem. " quickly spreading outside and leading to large fights , several burning buildings and cars, escalating until police and special forces removed the protestors."
Yeah, removed, that's what that was. Thomas sees people beaten, on the ground, a stick hitting a head. He remembers struggling feet, mouths open in screams. Stones and smoke.
"The tower was badly damaged . Rebuilding and damage control will cost-"
Because fuck people, Thomas thinks irritated and shocked. Spend a lot of money on rebuilding glass and steel and ignore the destruction of human life. He switches through the channels.
"We have a confirmation now," a man in a suit says, holding his ear, in the back an image flickers by and Thomas recognizes the streets he was stuck in yesterday before they show the scorching symbol of wealth again, proving that the system is falling apart. "There were shots inside the building before the explosions. Ambulance was called but could only determine immediate death-"
Thomas presses the button again and sees a red flag with a sun. "Calling themselves the Scarlet Guard-"
His hand pushes the button so hard it presses it deep into the remote.
"Heinous crimes and acts of terrorism we cannot tolerate by forming any agreement!"
He turns of the TV and listens to the voicemail again and again, until he falls into a very uneasy sleep.
He's slept for less than five hours when someone knocks on his door.
For a slight second hopes blossoms in his chest.
He feels guilty when he looks at a patched up Cameron instead and is slightly disappointed. The feeling fades quickly.
"You ok?" he asks, letting her in. "How's your brother?"
"Hospital was packed but I crashed with him." She throws her bag aiming at the kitchen table. With a shattering noise it almost rolls over. He flinches at the noise.
"I'm glad you got to stay. Street was a mess." Thomas shivers through the sticky air in the apartment and hugs himself.
There's gruff sympathy in her eyes.
"You look fucked up."
He doesn't want to talk about it.
"You can sleep in my bed." He offers instead. "Eat, or chill, whatever. Need some rest."
He hides in his sisters room again, curling under the covers and blocking the world out. Not for long though until his guest decides to come after him.
"Move your skinny ass." She says, poking a crooked finger in his side.
She's staying silent. Even when he starts to cry.
She doesn't wander to his bed but sprawls her long limbs over the cover.
They fall asleep somehow. At least Thomas does. When he wakes up Cameron is still there safe and sound.
Her elbow pierces right into his chest, aiming at the soft spots with deadly precision.
Her legs are kicking him whenever she turns. He lies awake , listening to her heavy breath and wishes he could find the comfort he needs. It's not her fault. She's giving her best to be nice.
He gets up slowly, grabbing his phone and tiptoeing into the kitchen. Not that he'd need to be stealthy. Cameron would probably sleep through anything. She probably wasn't safe for a while. He remembers street days good enough to know how much a roof is valued.
The humming of the fridge is the only sound in the silence.
No one picks up.
"Hey, me again." He whispers. "Hope out are okay. I just...I miss you. And I worry. I'm fucking scared. Please call me back."
Cameron does her best, but every hour is creeping by and it's hard not to worry. Not to care too much. The last time he was so fixed on Maven he decided to leave. This isn't going well. But it's not like he would call. Once there's a picture with his father, and Cal and Maven are lurking in the background. Thomas stares at the article, at the words, but he can't read it. He just stares at the image. The cracks in the screen feel like a part of his soul.
Two days later, in the dead of night, through loud breathing and piercing elbows, his phone rings.
"Yeah?" Thomas voice mumbles. For a second he thinks it is Maven. He still hasn't called back. Every word of the voicemail is embedded in his soul by now. "I was pretty worried, y'know."
"You need to get the car for me."
It's Farley. She sounds like shit.
"What?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.
"Listen, Thomas, I don't have time to explain. My car is at a parking lot uptown. Keys are in. Get the car and come pick us up. We are in Summerton."
Farley, he thinks. The fuck?
"What are you doing in Summerton?" He asks, putting his shoes on without socks . That's how sleepy he is.
"Jail." She sounds begrudging.
Thomas groans, low.
"Look, we got bailed out for now. But we need a lift. Can I count on you?"
That's cheap. As if he can say no. Especially now.
"Yeah, yeah." He just whispers.
He still agrees and lets her give him a proper description .
Farley stands in a cone of light, battered and bruised. She looks as shit as she sounded, but she's not broken. Even now she has more strength and spine than Thomas ever will. He looks at the small group of people huddled together behind her like she's a guardian. Kilorn Warren stares into nothingness, arms crossed. There's something smeared on his jacket. When Thomas looks closer, he sees it's blood.
"Where's Shade?" Thomas asks, looking around. He was sure he'd see him with the others. Tristan and Walsh are missing too. Farley doesn't say a word.
They get in the car.
It's deadly quiet. Thomas drives. He's the only car in the normally busy street. It's like the city has fallen into deep sleep.
"Diana," he says over the brimming engine of the van.
She sits next to him but doesn't answer.
He looks in the mirror and sees the beaten faces. All are so silent it's like they cut their tongues out.
When they stop at a traffic light, her voice is a breath on his skin. "Tristan is dead."
Thomas grips the wheel hard. "Shit." He mutters.
"They still got Walsh."
"You didn't get her out?"
"You don't think I tried?" she sneers. Her body is shaking, if it's anger or sorrow, he doesn't know. Maybe both. She looks so tired.
"Sorry, Farley. Just..I didn't expect this."
"It wasn't meant to be like this. It went all according to plan. He let us in and-"
I made a mistake.
I need your help.
" Please tell me you don't mean who I think you mean." The words leave a very sour taste in his throat.
"I do mean your precious prince." She clenches her teeth.
"Yeah well I warned you," he whispers and his heart cramps in his chest." I always warned you , don't say I didn't. About it all."
"Does that change a thing?" she asks matter of fact. And she's right. There'd still be death and blood and a shit unfair world if he didn't.
He concentrates on the streets. She can be glad he came. She should be thankful she's alive.
He can't talk and won't listen anyway. It's like someone has run him over with a bulldozer.
"Just so you know, I can't, " Thomas tries to sound not as off from reality as he feels. "I can't take care of any of this. I was never a part of your merry men, Diana Farley."
" No, you weren't." She says. "I warned you to step down."
He thinks of all the times she patched him up, gave him shelter or just listened. "Well, glad we can agree on that."
Shade loiters in front of the building, he just waits and watches them get out of the van.
Thomas remains for a second, leaning his head on the wheel and breathing.
When he finally gets up, he's shaking . He feels less alive and more tired than he ever did these past months.
"Take care." He says to Shade, who's watching Farley closely. He's got a million more things to say but doesn't. "I've got somewhere to go."
The hills haven't changed much. They are still the clean and rich neighbourhood he remembers.
Now there's cops and security , but Thomas remembers all the little alleys and though there's a memory behind every bush, at every corner and lurking in the shadows with claws slashing through his skin, he presses on.
He flinched before the cameras. Now he doesn't even look as he climbs the gate and walks up the long driveway.
No one is stopping him.
There is no car and no light. The house is dead.
It's abandoned and empty, like everything in his life.