Strolling over to his favorite nook, a little hidden corner with a couch nearly invisible to others, Nic settled in and logged onto his desk, fingers tapping idly along the display. Wick... there hadn't been any matches in the system, obviously, as it was just a nickname. But he'd been scanning the lists of new recruits, trying to match her description to a name. Black hair, blue eyes... there were a few names listed, and he sighed with frustration.

The room was huge, and filled with rows and rows of bookshelves. Real books as well as discs took up the space here. Impressive, she thought with a smirk, and very, very flammable.

Earlier today he'd tried to drag her out of the Game Arena "for a drink", and she'd punished him for it. She'd instructed him (quite clearly, she thought) never to touch her again, but he obviously didn't take her seriously. The next time it happened, he was going to regret it.

Wick. It had to be her.

"You hurt me this morning, match." She kissed his ear, her breath rushing in between her whispers. "You left me bleeding. You haven't done that in months...did it feel good to get it out?" She moved her mouth against his ear as she moved her body around the side of the couch, crawled into his lap and coiled, her free hand now lazily beginning to drag the zipper of his uniform down from under his chin.

"I'm not angry, Wick, believe me, okay?" Jor pushed her away gently until she looked up at him, and his jade eyes softened at her worry. He had been angry, had been confused and hurt and terrified and enraged and all manners of things before. But like always, no matter how badly they fought or what happened, he couldn't help but forgive her.

The way her little hands were clenching and unclenching made him study her more closely, and his own thoughts were muted as he saw how tense she was, even for her. Her wide malicious grin seemed more like a grimace, and her green-gold eyes were dangerously narrow. She seemed fidgety, turning her head this way and that too often to look entirely natural, like she was trying to keep an eye on everything at once.

She hadn't been kidding about the walks.

For her to get this bad, they must have kept her shut away for a long, long time. The low-ceilinged hallways and rooms they kept them in had been depressing to him, but not scarring.

But she'd been there a lot longer than he had.

They finally reached a secluded corner, a couch hidden in dim light, and her features hardened as she glanced inside, flicking her gaze across the room, scanning for anything she might deem dangerous. But Mode seemed relaxed, and Kat knew him well enough to know he didn't feel threatened. Why was she?

She climbed onto the couch, curling in the corner after checking behind the sofa and all around the little nook. With a guarded smirk toward Mode, Kat dug her nails into the armrest discreetly and tried to calm herself.

He darted his hand out and tapped her back, just below her ribs. She practically levitated, her entire body turning, red-gold curls flying as she spun and bared her teeth at him. She even let out a tiny hiss of surprise.

"I told you already, sweetheart. Since I was eight..." Her tone shifted, becoming bitter and hard as Kat looked away, not wanting Mode to read the expression in her eyes. He'd only been at the Institute two years... two long years, he thought. Kat shook her head quietly to herself, a glint of anger in her gaze. Two years. Mode had no idea.

He studied her impassively, forcing himself to be calm, detached. She was his Cellmate for the next few years at least. There were a few things he needed to know. If she'd killed someone in BattleSchool, they would have iced her for real...so it must have been something not quite as bad, but almost.

There were rumors of her killing a boy after she'd arrived...but those didn't concern him nearly so much. With the clientele in the Institute, it was an accepted necessity that you had to defend yourself by any force necessary. It was what she'd done before that that he wanted to know.

He considered being artful about it, and then shrugged and asked directly.

"You can't play all coy with me, Mode..." Kat purred huskily, her eyes watching him sharply as she sauntered toward him slowly and climbed back onto the couch beside him, smirking wider as he tensed instinctively. "Sandre at the Institute told you, I overheard him... ahh yes, you think I miss all those conversations you had? Have to keep on your toes when you're a little girl like me, Mode, or else trouble finds you first."

And Kat had overheard their conversation?? He knew she was a quiet mover...but that was phenomenal. Sandre practically had second sight.

Of course, Mode knew nothing of that. Neither did the IF Marines who came to drag her away once again, who locked her up in that hellhole for eight Godforsaken years. Kat was sure that she might have remained there forever if someone had discovered what she'd done. But the question remained now: tell Mode or not? She wasn't entirely sure she could trust him, yet she did, as much as she was capable of. Kat's lips quirked to the side as she thought.

Wick. His grin turned meaner, his eyes hardening into diamond. He remembered the look of numb disbelief on her face as Jor dragged her away. Her face would look a lot worse when he was done.

Dom had always been more adept at sifting through computer systems. Their abilities, like everything else about them, were almost exactly equal across the board, but Dom enjoyed moving through the drifts of data much more than he did, and that made the difference. He knew the stacks better than Don did, anyway.

Her personal profile was relatively unremarkable, but it was her disciplinary record that caught his interest. Anjélice Iddantel, six-month commander of Fox Army. Promoted from Toon A Leader in Panther Army following an altercation with fellow toon leader Jordan Windhaven, who was later transferred to Fox. An unconfirmed report of a "personal relationship" with... "Uh, Don? I think you need to see this. Check your mail."

Nathan Terrence, iced for attacking his commander, Anjelice Iddantel, and her Toon Leader, Ariadne Ivemey. Only they hadn't iced him, they'd sent him to the Charybdis Institute...and he'd been reinstated, arriving at Command School three days ago. Since then, he'd been arrested once on suspicion of assault, but quickly released when the testimony of the assaulted was revoked.

Three days. Don would have given a lot just then to know what Dante's eyes had looked like before Nathan had re-appeared.

When he attacked her and Ariadne without provocation. The medical report was pretty gruesome, and Dom managed to draw up Ivemey's report too, reading them both over with a slight frown on his face. Her broken ribs had punctured her chest, the rest of her body beaten bloody. Ivemey suffered internal bleeding, both of them having to undergo surgery. No wonder she just stared at him with that glacier shield surrounding her, eyes cold and quicksilver. He almost didn't want to know, and she'd been right.

"Girls love to be saved."

They'd learned that early on. Don had rescued a girl from an overzealous soldier attempting to force what she gave to him in thanks later that evening. Dom's turn had gone just as easily; if they'd wanted to experiment with "long-term" relationship, the girl would have been amenable. As it was, if they were low on targets, she was almost always understanding.

Struck with sudden inspiration, he began to type frantically, quickly digging into the quad records. Dante was in Phoenix... with Nicolai. Ugh. No matter; the boy was insignificant at this point. What Dom wanted was a tie, some sort of link between their favorite girl and their new target. He found it three minutes later, by process of elimination.

Griffin Quad, Cell A. Roxinna Natano, bunking with.... Ariadne Ivemey. Dante's friend. Dom knew that Rox and Nicolai were friends... had been more, or so he'd heard. But their crowds definitely intermingled, meaning that Rox must know Dante. Perfect.

The Library was impressive at first sight, but held very little of his interest that he hadn't already read. Tactical accounts were mostly locked down; the ones he'd managed to prize out of the secured databases were always the most interesting, and he could get those most easily on his own desk.

He locked his desk closed and stood up. Dom would be a while with Roxy. He grinned to himself; Rox could (and had, on occasion) wear them both out. Dom would probably be pretty useless when he came back anyway. And he could always check his email later.

She glanced up at Castor. Everythings going to be fine...Cas is here. Nothings going to happen...everything is going to be fine...

And so she found herself retreating there once more, stalking past the few soldiers in the library, and crawled onto her sofa. Settling against the cushions, she reached up to grab a random book from the shelf, flipping idly through the pages. Her eyes were unfocused, soft silver, and the words on the page became blurred as she stared absentmindedly, breathing softly as she thought.

Wick needed to die. Nathan... he did, but she didn't want him to. She wouldn't kill him... but found herself knowing that if the opportunity came, she might not even have the strength to stop them. Passivity, and he would be gone, not by her hand. What a weak way to achieve revenge. Dante sighed, playing with her curls as she tried to refocus and found she couldn't.

He hadn't been in the barracks either. He was about to leave, to check the mess hall, when he spotted Dante sitting on a couch near the very back, tugging at one of her curls absently as she sat, her eyes blank, expression icy. He felt a surge of anger at her, followed by one of uncertainty. He was angry with her for threatening his equilibrium, for making him feel as if he couldn't talk to his brother, a close a man to himself as there ever would be.

But he had approached her, not vice-versa. She had warned him to leave her alone. He hadn't, and this was the price. Maybe she could answer his questions, if he could figure out what to ask. Either way, he couldn't talk about this to Dominic, not yet.

He came to a stop in front her couch before either of them realized he was walking towards her, and her quicksilver eyes looked up at him in cold surprise. "Dante..." he started, and then shrugged at sat down next to her, his indigo eyes holding hers.

She glanced up as he paused before her, unable to hide the flash of surprise as his midnight eyes locked with hers and he slid into the seat beside her. Her silver eyes held a hint of uncertainty, even more surprise evident at his words. She shifted slightly on the couch to face him, paling instead of flushing as comprehension began to dawn.

You're welcome. It took a long moment for his words to register, another moment for her to understand what he was referring to. She'd thanked him for coming to her assistance, back when they were seated together in the observatory, and she'd fled before he could respond. And yet, here he was, seated next to her with those indigo eyes watching her intently.

Feminine fingertips, delicate with short, well-kept nails trailed over the edge of the railing. Her whole hand was likely between the bars, but from where he sat on top of the two story bookcase in the recessed space under the balcony, he could see only the tips of her fingers. A light, girlish voice hummed, faintly singing something in a language he couldn't understand, Chinese or Japanese. He heard no pages turning, no typing. The girl wasn't here to work. She was here for the same reason he was.

To think.

It had taken him only a few minutes to scale the bookcase and hide himself. No one had seen him come in, no one had seen him secret himself into this dark, dusty crawlspace, and that made him feel safe. His mind was still confused, but he felt clearer up here. He felt cleaner, more in control and less like he was about to commit some nameless atrocity.

He hadn't expected company.

She stayed that way for a moment, trying to regain her calm, until curiosity got the better of her. She crawled again back toward the railing, trying to peer down to see who it might be, but couldn't find any trace of the person. Confused, she coughed and spoke tentatively, feeling ridiculous. What if she had imagined that?

Everything he touched broke.

His eyes were hardening rapidly to slate as he moved to a crouch, preparing to turn and grab the railing to vault onto the balcony and restrain her when her voice came again, hesitant, wondering and a little afraid. "Um, hello?"

He relaxed back to sitting again, a little uncertain as his eyes flickered. It almost wouldn't be...polite...to scare her now, and he didn't really want to. Not most of him, anyway. He would hear her if she tried to leave, and he could always catch her if she fled.