In comparison to Circhester's relative serenity, Saffron strikes Cillian as loud. Busy. But its criminal element had been bustling, and so survival instinct has driven him here.

Driven him to Rocket.

The name was a whisper under so many breaths, a region in fear of their growing power. Power. It draws him in where others are repulsed, and he enters the room with more confidence than any should have in his position. He stares openly at the recruiter, a man not much older than himself.

"Gavin."

The name feels wrong on his lips, but it matches his new identification.

[attr="class","beck"]"gavin what?"

the stare is met with something akin to detachment. theo reaches a hand into his breast pocket, pulls out a pack that's already flicked open, and extends it over. the lighter rests on the table between them.

"tell me why you want in."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

"Merlino."

It reminds him, bizarrely, of the interrogation he'd had in the dean's office — the catalyst that had led, ultimately, to this. Do you know why you're here, Quinn? Bitterness rises as bile in his throat. He didn't need them.

A pack of cigarettes is extended; he takes it as an offer, even if it's not. He's never been much of a smoker. He's tried it, socially, but it's never stuck. Yet in the arrogance of youth, of not wanting to appear like the disgruntled rich kid he was, he takes a cigarette between long fingers not calloused by hard work. It burns in his lungs.

"Guy who approached me said your lot don't care about ethical bull." Though he has given enough forethought to force the Galarian out of his accent, speech patterns remain. "Says I can get paid to experiment in peace, long as I do what you want."

[attr="class","beck"]perception has always been one of theo's best skills — to be able to walk into a familiar room and immediately tell when something's been moved. it's what lets him see the smoothness of gavin's hands and hear the foreign speech patterns that wrap his words. the accent is decent, he'll give him that.

"sure, as long as you know all your experiments are owned by us." he pauses, inhaling smoke. "any other skills i should know about?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Though an affluent Galarian upbringing has taught him how to school his expression and lie through his teeth, Cillian's arrogance disregards such lessons. His eyes narrow at the words. All of his experiments?

"I do the work, I want the recognition." He'd been on track to become one of Galar's greatest. If not for that stupid bitch who'd ratted him out to the dean— "Especially if it's on my own time."

He suppresses a cough against a closed fist, lungs not used to so much smoke.

"Not half bad at battling. Academy trained." He shrugs. "Know how to cover my tracks online."

The latter was thanks entirely to his little sister, Saoirse (Lulu Flint). A stab of regret at the thought of her goes ignored.

"Mostly it's up here, though." He taps his temple.

[attr="class","beck"]everything else fades into background in favor of the sudden tension that rises. he meets narrowed eyes with trained coldness, takes another drag, then leans forward.

"yes, but we own you. your time is our time. your work is our work. when we tell you to do something, you do it obediently.

will that be a problem?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

He should be frightened; somewhere, in the back of his mind, survival instinct lingers. But in that moment, this man reminds him of his father. It picks at the still-healing wound of abandonment and fills him with a spark of anger.

He is not scared, but neither will he turn from his lust for power.

"Depends on what you tell me to do, mate." He huffs a dry, almost-laugh. "Otherwise it's just one boss to another, doesn't matter to me."

He could at least hope this one wouldn't squander his potential on petty morals.

[attr="class","beck"]in the end, they're all the same.

theo extinguishes the cigarette against the leg of the table, then stands. he steps past gavin and heads towards the door, beckoning only with his hand.

"come on."

the room opens up into a small hallway. the lights above look like they once worked, but over time have corroded and cracked into nothing more than shards of glass. they approach another room at the end, and after a quick push of the door, theo enters.

it's dark at first, difficult to see much else except the ends of a chair. but after a flick of a switch, a dim light flickers on above to reveal a man, no older than gavin, tied up in a chair. his arms and legs and mouth are bound by rope. he comes to consciousness.

"merlino, define loyalty for me."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Cillian remains seated even as the other stands, gaze following as he heads toward the door. It's not until he's beckoned that Cillian gets up, following with more curiosity than the dread he ought to be feeling as he's led down a dingy, dim-lit hall.

They really needed to invest in a nicer HQ.

A door opens, and Cillian blinks as the light comes on and his eyes adjust. He registers a man bound to a chair, and for the first time remembers that Rocket were hardened criminals who wouldn't hesitate to eat their own.

He doesn't take his eyes off the kid; they could've been classmates.

"Look out for your own, don't be a snitch." He shrugs, asks, "What'd he do?"

[attr="class","beck"]"leaked information on an attack we had planned. said he had to, that he was worried too many civilians would get hurt."

theo approaches the man, stands beside him, and pulls down the gag around his mouth. the man takes a deep breath, coughing a few times, before peering up at gavin through teary-eyes.

"i...i just wanted my brother to be safe...he would've been there when we attacked...so i had to."

"orders are orders. you follow them obediently. blindly. even if it kills you."

nothing escapes the man except soft sobs, muffled by guilt and regret. theo almost feels pity. almost.

"so, merlino, you still want in?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Cillian stares back with a calm he does not feel. It's the tears that let him shut off what part of him feels pity. He hears his father's voice echo in his mind: Tears are a sign of weakness, Cillian. You're not weak, are you?

No, Cillian answers for himself.

But when Beckett questions him, Cillian finds he's not so sure. There's a stirring of humanity in the hollow of his chest.

He plays it off with a laugh, still unable to look away from the traitor. "Don't know about being blind. Am a scientist, it's my job to ask questions. But I have no family."

It's for their own good, he thinks, but there's still guilt with his sister in his thoughts.

[attr="class","beck"]"you look like a smart man. you'll learn when to ask questions and when not to, i'm sure."

theo takes a step, circling behind the chair. the kick he gives is quick, forceful, and it sends the man slamming against the ground. the chair doesn't break and all the man can do is lie there with his cheek against the ground, sobbing.

"to be able to work and experiment as you wish comes at a price. loyalty is one of them. blood is another."

theo peers down, long detached to feel anything but necessity. something unsaid hangs in the air but he makes it clear for gavin:

"kill him."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

There's a chilling note to the words that Cillian is too uninitiated to catch. He lingers on the implied compliment, instead, preens himself while the danger passes overhead.

He flinches as the sound of the kick activates some primal instinct.

Then comes the catch.

Cillian's stare blanks for several seconds before the command registers and his calm shatters. "Wh — fuck no." He steps back as if to put physical distance between himself and the deed. "I'm a scientist, mate, not a bloody hitman!"

His Galarian bleeds through in his outrage, but he doesn't care.