CAUTION TO THE WIND

Cifer refused to speak to him the whole way down, and Matt didn't push him. 'Master Bogdanov' didn't know the definition of holding back. And now that he's done playing a robot, Matt didn't want to kill himself in a literal blaze of glory. 

Lidded, distant eyes had merely watched the world go by—partially out of necessity to remember the route they'd taken and partially out of curiosity. The man had spent nearly all his years fighting the war in Siberia. Only briefly passing through Moscow, but having memorized the aftermath of how it looked once the war ended, he wanted to see how much progress they were making in their reclamation and rebuilding process.

A large swathe of the once proud city remained nothing short of destroyed buildings. Ruined houses and shops, piles of rubble and discarded super suits cluttered the space. Yet untouched because of being contaminated with some kind of substance or rigged to blow on contact. Authorities fenced off the most depressing, harrowing places and riddled them with warning signs. Matt could still see a few skeletal scraps of the men who'd died defending the capital still scattered about.

Meanwhile, the closer they got to the rebuilt sections of the city, the more human activity he saw. Men and women in suits not meant for heroes were working about in the reclamation efforts. Those with flying abilities were scoping out the area, or getting into harder to reach places. Multiple others with strength, or unique abilities that allowed them to move debris with ease were hard at work. People like these weren't heroes. They worked in the civil sector, but that was just as well. 

Not everyone needed to be a private corpo hero. Shit, there were enough people out there who hated the current world order that they'd formed their own lawless underground. Villain organizations thrived in the abandoned, decimated parts of the city long neglected.

As the toppled buildings cleared and they entered the city proper, Matt grew weary. Hungry, too. But they had a long way to go. By the time they'd passed the long, cleared sections of charred land and uprooted dirt, he couldn't help himself. 

Cifer was so silent, and he was still on whatever drugs he'd taken to reduce his pain before coming out here. He'd just… close his eyes…

… for five minutes… 

… § … 

He made another mistake. When he woke, he was already in what looked to be a hotel room. From what little he could see, at any rate. Night had fallen, and only darkness crept in through the sunroof above. Much to his surprise, the musty scent of damp wood and a horrid, finger-eating chill had made itself comfortable inside Matt's core. The bed he was lying on, spacious as it was, felt uncomfortable as hell. 

There was a breeze from somewhere, the sound of rushing wind and an ugly creak that helped wake Cifer up. What? Hadn't they been in a private jet before, and didn't they take a luxury limo here? This felt radically different from the two moments of respite he'd had before, but he wasn't exactly complaining.

Security was probably shit. Slight pain throbbed in his arms and his knee, but other than that, he sat himself up in bed without issues and attempted to peer around in the dark. He was on an old, wood bed with a mattress that he didn't want to look at with the lights turned on. 

The sheets didn't seem pitch black; however, and even as he shifted feel for his surroundings, he felt the distinct, viscous wetness that came with his infection having permeated through his pores and into his bed. With a hissed curse to himself, Matt stood , cringing when the ground squealed under his weight. Still as stone, when no one spoke or arrived to investigate the sound, the alpha released the breath he'd been holding before he got up and wandered toward the faint sliver of light bleeding from what looked to be under a door. 

His hands felt awkward in front of him as he reached the door and touched the handle. Shocked as he felt it turn without resistance, the alpha opened it as silently as he could and used the dim light from the hall to check the room. 

There was a bed in here. That was it. Minus the old wall lights and the sunroof. He was also right about not wanting to see what that mattress looked like in the light; face screwing up as he glimpsed what he could only call a biohazard horror scene; Mattias silently made his way out of his room again. Still wearing his tank and pants, his jacket was nowhere to be found as he briefly looked himself over in the hall.

It's cramped, old, dusty, and practically falling apart in here. Gaudy patterned, filthy rugs ran along the hallway floor. With a shake of his head, dark eyes found the source of the light soon enough. There were stairs at the end of a hall, one with many doors, that led down to the floor below. 

He wasn't sure if other people were in these rooms or not, but the light was filtering in from the bottom of the steps, so down he went. Hypervigilant because nobody had checked on him yet—not even a single guard at his door—Matt crept down the stairs into what looked like an exceedingly more pleasant space. 

Wherever they were, it was an inn, not a hotel. Down here, at what looked to be the first floor, it was far more cozy. It looked recently renovated. The space he landed at was what appeared to be the mess hall where guests gathered to eat. Two long tables with benches adorned the space, alongside a few old Russian paintings. And a fireplace that was steadily burning a sweet, woody scent into the air.

Narrowed eyes scanned every tiny detail as he headed for that exit. Crossing the threshold into the next room—it looked to be an empty check-in lobby—Matt saw a pair of double doors he assumed were the main entrance. The man rushed with very little care, but as soon as he arrived and gripped the handle, familiar disappointment filled his soul. 

Locked. Not just locked, but so fucking impossibly solid that Matt suspected some kind of foul play. Either it's enhanced with a supe ability or it's packed to the brim with anti-supe defensive tech. Despite its futility, Matt spent a good few, solid minutes attempting to find a way out from this space. Nothing.

So he moved on to another cozy-looking space, but this appeared to be a common area. Old couches, some love seats and what appeared to be a closed bar made the medium-sized space feel fairly homey. More bookshelves lined the walls, as did art and even relics from the war. 

But that wasn't as interesting as the staircase going up to the second floor was. Making his way over to them, Mattias slowed as he heard multiple voices. Intoxicated, laughing, distinctly familiar sounding voices. The men who'd taken him.

Probably best if he left to check on the sunroof and see if that was a viable escape option. The pads of his feet were mid pivot when something unsolicited popped into his head. 

"Meet me in my hotel room later. I think I need to remind you which one of us is in charge."

… Fuck. 

It was a risk. A massive one. Stupid, too. Beyond dumb. And yet, here he was, contemplating sneaking up those stupid steps and creeping past his drunken jailers to see if he could find Cifer with that guy. What was his name? Oh, yeah. Lev. Hell, with how long he'd been out, was Cifer still in the man's room, or what? It was hard to say. Honestly, the decision should have been obvious.

But the longer he stood there debating, the less sure he became. A cringe fluttered across his face whilst digits clawed themselves down his cheek. Yeah, no. No matter how much he wanted to pretend he was prioritizing himself in this situation, everything that happened today was just too much for him to ignore. He needed answers. 

And Mattias Kohler had grown up admiring the worst role model on the planet. So here he was, ignoring all the warning signs in his belly as he retracted his turn and began slowly creeping up the stairs.

Compromised emotionally, logic became a fleeting after thought in Cifer Calaway's wake.