Kael sat like a king or maybe like a god who'd grown bored of mortals.
He had chosen a large metal crate at the center of the old platform and turned it into a throne, his legs lazily crossed, his hands draped over the sides as if even gravity itself bowed to him. Lyara sat beside him, silent as always, her pale eyes scanning the group as they worked. Around them, the other Timer Agents moved in grim silence, cleaning up what was left of the massacre, stacking supplies, sorting through the boxes and rucksacks of those who'd lived here before.
Ashfall worked with the old man, the one who spoke only through nods and gestures. Together they dragged bodies toward the tracks where Kael had ordered them to be placed. Kael's exact words had been:
"Lay them down. They'll be picked up soon enough."
Picked up. By who?
Ashfall didn't ask. He'd learned after that short amount of time that asking questions around Kael was a bad idea.
The bodies were heavier than they looked. The stench of blood and gunpowder hung thick in the air, burning his nostrils. Every time he bent down to grab another corpse, his stomach turned. Some still had their blank and glassy eyes open.
He tried to focus on the motion. Lift. Drag. Drop. Anything to stop his mind from wandering too far into what had happened here.
When they'd finished the first row, Ashfall crouched down beside the old man.
"Did you… know any of them?" he asked quietly. The old man shook his head.
"Has this happend before?"
A slow nod.
Ashfall exhaled. "You know what 'picked up' means?"
The old man hesitated, his expression tightening. Then, another shake of the head. "Yeah," Ashfall muttered. "Didn't think so."
They worked in silence again, their shadows stretching long across the dim light of the tunnel. It was then, while rolling one of the corpses over, that something caught his eye: a flash of white fabric inside a torn satchel. He reached for it and froze.
Another mask. A full-head cloth mask, like a thick bandage wrapped tight, seamless and sterile.
He glanced around. One of the other survivors, sorting boxes nearby, had an identical mask partially tucked into his bag. Hidden, but there.
Ashfall slipped the mask he'd found into his own pocket before anyone noticed. He'd look at it later. When everyone was asleep. When Kael wasn't watching.
He dragged another body aside and stopped cold. Beneath the woman he was moving was a smaller shape. A child.
His mind blanked.
For a moment, his body refused to move. The child's hand was small, limp, still clutching the suppressed timer pistol like a broken toy. Both the woman and the child were wearing standard Timer Agent gear. So even they weren't spared.
The old man froze too. His lips trembled, and though he said nothing, the horror in his eyes said enough. Together, silently, they lifted the bodies—Ashfall by the legs, the old man by the arms—and carried them to the line of the dead. When they were done, neither spoke again.
Later, as the group ate, Kael made a show of himself.
He sat back on his "throne," one boot resting on a crate, a piece of bread from this crate in one hand like it was a royal delicacy. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. The tattooed clock in his left eye, the mark that made him powerful, glimmered faintly. The others sat below him, literally below, on the floor, their plates half-empty.
Lyara sat near his feet, eating quietly. Every so often, Kael would glance down at her with a soft, almost tender smile. Then he'd turn to the rest of them and his smile would turn into something sharp and cruel.
"So," Kael said, breaking the silence. "Our little family's growing. A new face, new roles… new purpose."
He spread his arms like a preacher addressing a congregation. "You see, most of you spent your time out there crawling like rats, begging the world to show you mercy. But here, under my command, you'll find something better than mercy. You'll find… direction."
No one spoke. Ashfall watched him, expression blank, pretending to eat.
Kael continued, his tone dripping with false warmth. "Direction, guidance, survival... call it what you want. I call it leadership. And I don't give it out for free."
He let his words hang in the air, eyes darting toward the girl he'd beaten earlier. She sat in the corner now, half-conscious, wrapped in bloodied bandages while one of the others tried to clean her wounds.
Kael chuckled under his breath. "Take her, for example. Our little princess, but she's from Sector Four... how ironic. Thought she could sweet-talk her way into favor. Thought she was special because of her name."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But down here, the world doesn't care who your daddy is, does it?"
The others looked away. No one dared respond. Kael tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Do you know what I like about this place? It strips away the lies. No rich, no poor. No rules. Just the ones I make."
Ashfall said nothing, but inside, his blood boiled. Every word that came out of Kael's mouth made him want to put a bullet through that smug grin. But he couldn't. Not yet.
He'd seen what Lyara could do, the way she whispered, the way his body had moved on its own back in the tunnel. Whatever her power was, it was tied to him. And that made Kael untouchable. For now.
Kael suddenly laughed, loud and sharp, like the madness got him. "Look at you all, sitting there quiet like obedient pets. It's almost cute." He took a bite of bread, then spoke through it. "You think I enjoy this? You think I like playing the villain?"
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "No, no. I just am what's needed. And sometimes… what's needed isn't pretty."
Ashfall forced himself to look away. He focused on the cracked tiles beneath his boots, on the faint drip of water from the ceiling. Anything to keep his anger contained. Because if he let it out now, Kael would kill him or worse.
Hours later, when the others began to settle down, Ashfall took one last look at Kael. The man was still awake, talking softly to Lyara, his voice a low, poisonous hum. She just nodded, whispering something back that Ashfall couldn't hear.
He turned away and sat beside the old man again, pretending to check his pistol before sliding his hand into his pocket. The fabric of the white mask brushed against his fingers. Cold, soft, and almost damp.
He stared at the others. One of them had a mask hidden in his pack. The others looked broken and obedient.
"Picked up soon," Kael had said.By who? By what?
Ashfall didn't know, but one thing was certain: this place wasn't a refuge. It was a graveyard waiting for its next batch of bodies.
He leaned back against the wall, staring into the dim light of the platform. The smell of blood hadn't gone away. And as Kael's laughter echoed faintly in the background, Ashfall closed his eyes, his thoughts heavy and dark.
You think you're in control, he thought, gripping the mask in his hand.
"But one day, you'll slip. And when you do… I'll be the one smiling."