Chapter Text
It had all happened so fast. So suddenly. One minute they were hunkered down in the kitchen of their host -- a cheerful woman who had lost her husband to the Empire’s “recruitment,” more than happy to house the motley batch of rebel orphans for a few hours while a lab or something was raided. He wasn’t actually sure what was going down, Rufioh kept that information from them, but it didn’t really matter. Rufioh was due back soon, and then they’d gather what few things they had and load into a car to be shuttled off to their next destination, to meet up with the rest of the team. He didn’t know where that was either. Rufioh said it was safer if they didn’t know. But for now, maybe, it was okay to accept the huge, delicious ham dinner that this woman had offered them. And really, how could you turn down a meal that a total stranger had just whipped up in the middle of the night? They didn’t eat this good back at home, and the rows of ragged card tables and splintery picnic tables didn’t feel anything like this cookie-scented kitchen with its little round table and dishware that clinked and the little chicken-shaped timer by the stove that crowed to announce that the cookies were done.
They mistook the car pulling in for Rufioh. Didn’t question the second or third car. The front door slammed open -- Rufioh always knocked, he was always so polite -- and just as their lovely, beautiful hostess turned to either greet or admonish, her hands wrapped in a dish towel decorated with ducks, a shot rang out.
There was yelling, more gunfire, Kanaya was shoving at him, Sollux’s cry was piercing, but it all seemed so distant, like it was happening in some other house. Their lovely hostess -- he’d never gotten her name, they never exchanged names, Rufioh said it made them safe -- was crumpling to the ground in slow motion. She looked so surprised. There was a red spot between her eyes, leaking bright red down her face, and-- oh. She’d been shot. Who would shoot her? She didn’t do anything. She was just making cookies for some dumb kids. She didn’t deserve to be shot.
There was a sharp pain in the back of his head, and the last thing he saw was the dead eyes of their hostess.
~
“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone?’ Gone where?”
Rufioh didn’t yell much, so it stood to reason that his shouting made people look. Some of the nearby Raid Orphans scattered, cowered, started crying, and the rebels that were gently herding them through the hallway shot him a glare as they tried to calm the children.
Rufioh looked embarrassed, pulling on his mohawk before ushering Dirk and Dave out of the hallway and into a side room.
“Did they--”
“Aileen was dead.” Dirk adjusted his shades and leaned against a wall, causal as can be. “There was more blood, but no other bodies. She’s the only one that died there. Kanaya’s pistol was there as well, but it looks like she only got one shot off.”
“They didn’t stand a chance, why didn’t they just stay here!” Dave cut in, frustrated and angry, as he paced the room.
Dirk glanced at his twin, then away. His voice was lower. “It wasn’t safe to leave them here either. If something had gone wrong--”
“Something did go wrong, and now they’re gone.” Dave ran a hand through his hair.
“Dave.” Rufioh shuffled over, placed a hand on the young adult’s shoulder, squeezed. “We couldn’t have known.” He turned to Dirk and asked, “Do we know how they were found?”
“We’re looking into it but…” Dirk hesitated, “But we think it was a recruitment.”
Rufioh swore. Dave ground his teeth.
“Is it better or worse if the Empire finds out who they are?” the older man ran his hand through his mohawk, looking so much older than his sixty-something years. “Gather up whoever you can find. Get all the information you can. We’re going to get them back… somehow.”
The door was held open, and Dave and Dirk filed out into the emptying hallway.
~
Karkat woke to screaming. He stared at the blurry ceiling, listening to the long, drawn-out wailing and too numb to react to it.
It took him awhile to really process his surroundings, bit by bit; the metal door to his right, the low bench to his left, and the cold of a cement floor in a cement room seeping into his bones and cooling the throbbing in the back of his head and shoulder. And someone was still crying, screaming, somewhere outside of his… room. No, cell; the Empire had grabbed them, so it stood to reason that he’d be in a dungeon somewhere.
Slow, conscious of the aches and pains that set in all over his body, he sat up, touching the back of his head. His fingers came away red, and as he stared at them, a vision of a dead woman lying in a pool of her own blood flashed before his eyes. He doubled over, puking up the entirety of his dinner on the floor.
Gasping, eyes watering, he shakily moved from the floor to curl up on the low bench, as far from his regurgitated meal as he could get.
With a clearer head, it was easier to piece together what had happened. Something had gone wrong, the Empire had found them, and now he was in a dungeon. He could only assume -- hope -- that Kanaya, Nepeta, and Sollux were still alive somewhere. Maybe they escaped. He’d been so utterly fucking useless when they were attacked, god, if he somehow survived this he could never face them again. Kanaya and Nepeta probably fought back. Sollux is only ten, and so so tiny, but he probably fought too. Karkat had just stood there-- God! Such an idiot!
And now here he sits, in some Empire-run dungeon who-the-hell-knows where for who-the-hell-knows how long before he may-or-may-not get a trial that would most likely be rigged against him. He wondered if they’d put him in front of a firing squad or let him rot in jail.
And to top off this utterly fantastic shitstorm of a day, he had to piss. A glance around revealed a pipe in the corner that looked like it had once been attached to a toilet, and he groaned, burying his face in his knees.