Outpost #1 Apartments
Part 1
Part of the Blood Gulch City series
By Nan00k

In a world where super humans exist, so do those claiming to be heroes. Church just wants to escape the hellish environment he endured growing up, so while running straight into the depths of Blood Gulch City wasn't the smartest move, it was likely his only choice. Too bad the ghosts he's dodging are far more persistent than he had feared as he settles into the Outpost #1 Apartments. [part of an overarching series. Superhero!AU. Read Author's notes.]

Basically, with this AU, you just need to know that super humans exist and several members of the canon cast possess powers, but a lot don't. Church is the Director's son and Project Freelancer is a government funded (but not maintained) super hero league with shady intentions. Some awful things happened and this is the aftermath.

This had been supposed to be a one-shot, BUT HEY, I don't seem to know when to stop writing about angsty Church. Whoops. I don't know how often I will update this series (I'm more devoted to my Rehabilitation arc right now), but part 2 of this installment should be here relatively soon.

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Warnings: past mentions of child verbal and physical abuse, past references to torture, foul language, alternative universe
Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue © Rooster Teeth Productions. I only write this mess.

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Somewhere in the Western Part of the United States

In the cradle of two mountain ranges in the middle of the country, Blood Gulch stood out like a sore, ugly, metal thumb. Skyscrapers, a sprawling suburban spread that led up to a cluster of intercity neighborhoods—it was a gray and somewhat dingy looking mess from the distance. It wasn't a metropolis, but thanks to the booming tech industry just a few hundred miles to the west in the nineties, it had managed to grow up into something. It was big, and big enough to disappear in, to become any other face in the crowd.

Church had chosen it for that reason—and the other simpler reason that it was close and he couldn't afford to go all the way out to New York. He only could scavenge enough for a train fare to reach Blood Gulch and he decided just a week prior that it couldn't have been any worse than anywhere else he could have aimed to go. He couldn't wait any longer. The window of opportunity had nearly closed. He took the risk, the plunge, and went for it.

The fact that it was Blood Gulch was only a matter of convenience.

Settling against the cushioned arm of his chair, Church kept his eyes on the window. He wasn't looking at the landscape that remained blurs of color for the last hour and a half. He was instead keeping an eye on reflections in the glass. He had chosen a seat by the doors that led to the next compartment—and he had chosen one of the middle compartments—and made sure that there weren't people around him. There was one guy facing the other way just diagonal from him, but he had been sleeping when Church got on back at Sidewinder stop.

If anyone else came into view, Church followed them in the reflection until they moved out of sight again so he could sneak a real look at them when it could have been clear to get a glimpse of their face. So far, it had only been the conductor, twice.

That was a good sign. It wasn't really enough to make him feel comfortable enough to sleep. He was exhausted, having been up since four AM that morning, but he refused to let himself relax. He could rest at Tucker's. For now, he had to be alert.

That was why when the guy by the doors snorted loudly and jerked awake, Church had flinched and immediately looked over at him. The older man grunted and rolled over the other way, going back to sleep. Church sighed, uncoiling slightly on the inside from that flight-or-fight tension.

Keep it together, he thought, settling back into his seat. Only one more hour and he'd be there.

He wished Tucker could have met him at the station, but Church had urged his friend not to, for various reasons. The first was that it was an inconvenience to Tucker, who had an early morning class, and the second was that Church had no idea how dangerous it would be to walk out into the open at that point.

He didn't even have a phone. He had enough change left over for a payphone, if he was desperate, but he hoped he could just ask for directions to Tucker's apartment right there at the station and walk straight there. Tucker told him it was a pretty basic path to follow and Church had kept the address tucked in his jacket pocket.

It was one of the few things he had taken with him. The rest only amounted to the clothes on his back, a baseball cap he had stolen from some random locker at the training grounds a week ago, and a bottle of water that was now half-empty. He hadn't even eaten breakfast that morning. It had been too terrifying to try to sneak food. He had spent the last week dreading getting caught just planning this; anything extra he could have done seemed like too big a risk for earning unwanted attention.

He didn't mind hunger. He had experienced it before, though in different ways. Once he was at Tucker's, he could get a meal and rest.

Until then, he kept his vigilance up and did everything he could to blend into the background on that quiet train.

His eyes trailed to the map on the wall across from him. He wished he had a live update of where they were. He guessed less than an hour now. He tried to picture what the layout of the station would be, but it was all so alien to him. Once, in a movie his brother had swindled in from one of his handlers, Church had seen a train station in New York. He wondered if it would be similar—

A flash of blue made him flinch again. Turning his head to the window, he saw the shape of someone standing in the walkway just feet from him. The hairs on his arms stood up and Church, against his better judgment, turned his head to look when he realized the figure wasn't moving away.

It was a huge dude.

Like fucking massive.

Church blinked several times as he took in the blue-clad giant just a scarce few feet from him. The guy had a bright head of blond hair, which was just a messy mop on his skull, and looked swamped in a blue hoodie. The jacket probably would have been a blanket on a scrawny dude like Church, even though Church was probably of average height comparatively. This stranger was standing just in front of the door, his attention not on Church at all.

He watched the giant boy—because, despite being six foot something, the dude was clearly younger than Church—fidget at the door. He kept glancing out the window for the conductor, or so it seemed.

Church frowned.

"You lost, kid?" he asked.

He hadn't meant for his voice to be that loud, but the carriage was dead quiet before, so even a whisper was jarring. The giant boy flinched and turned around quickly to look at Church. His eyes were wide, blue, and startled.

No, definitely not one of Dad's, Church thought wryly.

"Huh?" the boy asked. He suddenly jolted upright, his back ramrod straight and his tone forcefully loud. "Oh! No, not at all! I'm not lost! Being lost would be really, ah, silly."

Church arched an eyebrow.

"Right," he said, disinterested. He turned back to face the window. "Whatever."

If it wasn't someone he had to be worried about, he wasn't going to worry. He wasn't unused to strangers, since so many faces he met at the compound were gone the next day. He had little reason to try to talk to anyone nonchalantly on the way to Blood Gulch. He had even fewer reasons to bring attention to himself in any way.

Sighing, Church looked at the glass again. The blurs outside had turned brown again. They were still passing through the desert, it seemed.

Creak.

Church froze at the sound of someone sitting down gently on the seat across from him. The seat had groaned in protest, since the train was far from the newest or best-built contraption. Church turned his head, wary now, and saw that the giant kid had taken a seat in the opposing set of seats.

The kid sat there, knees tucked up hilariously close to his chest as the guy did his best to fit into the seat. He was staring at Church.

"Can I help you?" Church finally asked, annoyed now.

"I'm Caboose," the boy said, without prompt or need. He was peering at Church was increased curiosity. "What's your name?"

Was that how normal kids acted? Church tried to get a read on the kid. He seemed normal—as in non-super-normal, not necessarily mentally-normal—and innocent enough. He didn't seem to be gunning for a fight or confrontation.

He could have been a spy. It was always a possibility. The Director was good at choosing people who seemed normal but were total psychos on the inside.

Deciding to trust his instinct, Church kept his gaze on the kid. "…Church," he offered.

The reaction he got was not what he expected.

Caboose's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Church? You are named after a church?"

Church blinked. "What? No. It's my last name—wait, why am I telling you anything?" he asked, mostly to himself. He scowled and waved his hand at the kid. "Go away."

He didn't do well with kids. The guy was built like a linebacker and was probably out of high school, too, but Church didn't have patience for idiots either. He settled back into his seat and glared out the window. He waited.

A full minute passed and he knew that Caboose was still sitting there. He seemed to be waiting for something, but didn't ask Church anything. It was annoying. Eyes narrowing further, Church did his best to keep quiet, too. If he ignored the stranger and acted like the asshole he was, it was sure to turn the other guy away.

Another full minute passed. And then another. Caboose didn't move. Church's eye was twitching as he did his best to hold back the next angry retort building up in his throat—

"I'm sorry, Church," Caboose said suddenly.

That…was enough to jolt Church out of his anger and turn to stare at the other young man, who was looking like a guilty puppy.

Church stared blankly at him, now baffled. "For what?"

"I lied," Caboose said. He bit at his lip, looking extremely concerned that Church would be upset with him. "I am lost."

What the fuck? Church thought, his irritation now tinged with faint bemusement. Was this kid for real?

"Wow, lucky guess," he drawled. He settled back further into his seat, crossing his arms against his chest. "Go talk to one of the conductors."

Caboose fidgeted again. "Ummm." He made a strange sound, like he was clearing his throat. "Lost isn't really…"

Church glanced back at him, frowning. "Hmm?"

"I am getting lost on purpose," Caboose said, speaking quietly and in an oddly deliberate manner, like he as sharing an important secret. "Being lost makes it hard for me to find where I am, but it also makes it hard for other people to find out where I am. So, I am sort of glad I am lost."

Whatever sarcastic comment Church had built up in his head—a defense mechanism derived from years of an absence of exterior control of his own well being, Delta might say—faded quickly as he translated what Caboose had just said.

It took him a moment, staring blankly up at the kid, but Church broke, laughing a hollow puff of air out.

"…lost on purpose," he repeated. He looked out the window, chin tucked into his hand as he leaned on the ledge. "Huh."

It was a hell of a lot better sounding than running away or escaping or being a weak little bitch who couldn't put up with the crap life threw at him anymore.

He could relate to getting lost on purpose.

"Church?" Caboose asked, still oddly concerned, like he actually worried this stranger he had just met would think less of him. "I'm sorry I lied. I just didn't—"

It was almost hilarious. Church didn't laugh, however.

"I'm getting lost on purpose, too," he said, interrupting the kid as he looked back at him. He shrugged at Caboose's uncomprehending stare. "I have a friend in Blood Gulch. He's letting me stay at his place 'til I can get a job and my own place."

Caboose seemed surprised by that. "O-oh. That's…good?"

"Were you planning on going to Blood Gulch City?" Church asked, a little curious. "It's the next stop."

"Oh, no, I…I didn't plan on it…um." Caboose hesitated. "Is it nice there?"

Church snorted. "No. What, did you, like, just hand the ticket lady money and ask her to send you as far as you could go?" he asked. At Caboose's blank stare, he snorted again. "Jesus. You're the real deal, aren't you?"

"The real…what?" Caboose asked, utterly confused. It was too perfect to be faked or a trick.

"Jeez…" Church murmured, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand.

He didn't need to talk to anyone before getting to Blood Gulch. Church didn't make friends, for a variety of reasons. The only reason Tucker was still in his life was probably due to the fact the other man had been his lifeline for four years, even if they had never met in person. Chatting with strangers on the train was a bad idea. For a lot of reasons.

Still, Church couldn't not respond. Not when Caboose was looking at him like he actually gave a crap about what Church was saying. No one had ever looked at him like that before. He had never met someone that dumb either, however, and Church had met a lot of dumb people.

Crazy coincidences, he thought.

"What are you trying to get lost from?" Church asked, drawing one leg up to pull against his chest. The A/C on that train was too damn cold. "Parents?"

Caboose faltered again. "…yeah," he said, obviously uncomfortable. "Sort of."

Church's eyes went to the window again. "I get that."

Caboose kept fidgeting. "Are you…getting lost from your parents?" he asked, sounding more coherent than before.

Parents.

Cold green eyes, calculating and impassive, a removed but suffocating grip, invalidating words that jabbed and cut.

That was a parent.

Church gripped his leg tighter, feeling and fighting off that wave of panic that fluttered in his chest.

"My father," he said, trying to make it as disconnected from himself as possible.

Caboose seemed to get that. "Oh. Mine isn't very nice either," he admitted.

Church closed his eyes for the first time since waking up that morning. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Caboose agreed. "It does."

They fell silent after that. The train car rocked ever so often as they went around curves on the track. Church closed his eyes again briefly and felt the whole world move around him in the darkness.

"Hey, Caboose?" he asked, opening his eyes.

The boy perked up when Church looked over at him. "Yeah?" he asked, still sitting there, all bright eyed and expectant.

"Want to get lost together?" Church asked.

Because… why the fuck not?

It took Caboose a full second to understand. A bright sheen of excitement and happiness that was too honest to be lies lit up Caboose's eyes. "Sure!" he said, as if that were the best news he had ever heard.

It was so stupid.

It was so stupid that Church couldn't help but smile back.

0000

Super heroes had existed for approximately fourteen months before the Meta Incident had burst that bubble.

There had always been vigilantes, but the idea of a cohesive super human team that fought crime together was an urban legend. "Super heroes" was a word that belonged in pop culture, not the front page of the New York Times. But things changed.

The Director had been so damn proud of his project. Church had watched it from its infancy, since, well, he was as involved as any other in it. Only, Church wasn't going out onto the field. His siblings were and so were their handlers.

Government sanctioned and armed with the best powers and the best fighters, Project Freelancer was the sort of hyped up PR-stunt people wanted to see. They had their fancy costumes—practically armor, complete overkill in Church's point of view—and their badass reputations. They had a fucking team, for God's sake. It was almost hilarious, if it weren't for the fact that they actually did work so well.

The public ate it up. The so-called-Freelancers were fucking solving crimes and saving lives and proving that supers were awesome as military and civilian assets. It was great for everyone, except maybe the people who were prejudiced against super humans.

Their time to be happy came when the Meta showed up and decided to obliterate half of the fucking National Mall, taking Agent Carolina (and Iota and Eta) and Agent Maine (and Sigma) with it.

People weren't too happy about that.

Church had seen the downfall from multiple angles.

The Director's rage.

Theta's grief over the loss of their brothers and sisters.

Agent York's devastation over losing Carolina.

And then, the Break In happened.

That's when Delta and Theta had vanished.

That's when the whole Project was thrown into chaos.

That's when Agent Washington became the unlucky test subject of an unstable Director and Church had been forced to help make it worse.

That's when Church had gone to his computer in the days following his meltdown—after he saw them cart Washington off screaming and probably dead inside—after he had finally reached his breaking point—

And he called Tucker.

"What's wrong?" his friend had asked, taking in Church's entirety with wide eyes.

"I need to leave," Church had said, words punctuated by grief, pain, and what felt like the brink of madness.

And so, he did.

0000

Blood Gulch City Station

The station at Blood Gulch was even bigger than the one back at Sidewinder Central. Church had stopped at the bottom of the steps of the train car, his eyes huge and mouth suddenly dry as he stared out at the massive underground platform. There were hundreds of people. Loud, smelly, crowded.

His skin broke out in a cold sweat. He could hear himself drawing in shallow breaths as he continued to remain unable to move.

He tried to focus. He tried to spot the exit.

He couldn't move.

You knew there would be this many people.

But there were so many.

Snap out of it, you fucking pansy. Go. Just go.

He couldn't.

A hand closed over his shoulder.

"Wow, it's so big!" Caboose exclaimed, his voice thunderous compared to the murmuring crowds and distant radio playing overhead.

Church flinched, but that was barely enough to move his leadened body. Caboose didn't seem to notice his sick expression or prior paralysis. The kid was gazing around with open wonder at the station and its occupants.

"Come on, Church!" he said, still painfully loud. He pointed over at one of the kiosks by the far corner, where there were food vendors. "We should get a pretzel!"

"I don't have money," Church said. He managed to lift one hand and pulled at the neck of his hoody, which did nothing to alleviate the knot of panic that had reached a stagnant omnipresence in his chest. "I…I need to get upstairs. Outside."

"Oh," Caboose said, sounding disappointed. He moved and suddenly the blue of his jacket was right in Church's line of vision. When he looked up, Church saw Caboose was staring at him with concern. "Oh, Church, you look…bad."

He felt worse.

"I…" Church tried to swallow. His throat was so dry. "Anxiety. I can't…do crowds."

Caboose stared at him. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't understand what that word meant. "Oh."

A conductor was asking them to move. Church stepped away from the train and tried to breathe more steadily. His head felt lighter than it should have felt. He blinked twice, slowly.

Then, Caboose grabbed him by the inside of his elbow. Church couldn't react well enough to pull away. That only enabled Caboose to drag him like a child would a gangly doll. He had seen Theta do that enough times with his toys, before the Director had them taken away.

"Come on!" Caboose said, cheerful again. He marched onwards down the platform as if he knew exactly where to go. "I think I see stairs!"

Church didn't have the strength to drag his feet or resist. "Caboose…" he tried.

"Make way! Church is sick!" Caboose said, as people leapt out of their way. Caboose was sort of huge and speed-walking at that point. "Coming through!"

Church's brow were pinched. "Caboose…" he said, suddenly feeling confused.

Why was he doing this? Caboose was a moron. He probably didn't even know what anxiety was.

It was clear that he had picked up that Church was sick, however. The blue-clad moron had seemed just that: a moron. Delta probably would have gotten a rash from being so close to someone so unintelligent.

He reminded Church of Theta, almost. On their good days, at any rate. He would have expected that to make him want to shy away from Caboose, but instead… it was hard to hate someone who seemed to honestly want to help him. It flew in the face of everything Sigma had taught him about strangers and ordinary people.

Altruism doesn't exist, little brother. People only do things because they want things in return. You should remember that.

Seems like you never met Caboose, then, bro, Church thought to his brother, almost hysterical as he tried to balance the cold panic with the irrational giddiness.

Caboose's sense of direction hadn't proved terrible. They got to the top of a set of stairs that smell absolutely terrible—maybe Sigma had been right about some things concerning the outside world—and Church had to fight the urge to cry when cold November air slapped him in the face. He gulped down the fresh air greedily. It didn't do much to loosen the knot in his chest, but it did wonders for his focus.

Standing to the side of the subway entrance, Church took several moments to get his shit together. Caboose waited, observant and still concerned, the whole time. Church leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and counted to ten like Theta's too-nice handler (the big blond with the big nose who's kindness didn't extend further than their immediate group) had once told him to do.

"Thank you," he said, finally. He didn't say that to many people often. He decided Caboose deserved it.

"You're welcome!" Caboose said, smiling brightly when Church opened his eyes to look up at him. He tilted his head a little to the side. "Are you feeling better now?"

Rubbing at his chest as he gazed around the sidewalk slowly, Church gathered his bearings. "I will in a few minutes. Sorry for the hold up."

"It's not your fault if you are sick," Caboose said, frowning. "You can't help it if you don't feel good."

Church couldn't stop a sharp laugh from escaping him. He shook his head and lowered his arm. "Yeah. I guess not."

The Director would have said otherwise.

You aren't well enough to handle the outside, Alpha. Don't make yourself weaker by pushing things you simply cannot do.

Like walking outside into a public space. Church felt the ball of tension in his gut prickle with something more akin to bitter anger.

Fuck you, too, dad, he thought.

Caboose waited patiently for him to say something else. Church could barely believe he had just found someone like that on the train. Caboose probably would have wandered the city aimlessly had Church not invited him along. A doofus like him wouldn't have lasted long.

In a way, Church felt a little relieved that, despite the reasons they came there in the first place, he and Caboose were inevitably helping each other out.

Maybe asking the kid to tag along was a good idea after all—

"Come on," he said, adjusting his backpack over his shoulder as he set his sights on a coffee shop on the corner. "Let's go find a map or at least ask for directions to Tucker's."

Caboose lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Treasure map? !" he gushed. "Awesome! Are we gonna find treasure now? !"

"What? N-no, what are you—," Church asked, but he nearly strangled himself as he cut the question off at the sight of Caboose hurling himself down the sidewalk with unrestrained "Caboose, don't run off! Jesus—!"

—or maybe not.

0000

Blood Gulch Outpost #1 Apartments were about as shitty as Church had envisioned them to be.

It was two streets down from what looked like an industrial office building and a series of weird shops that didn't really seem to sell anything of value at all. Tucker had sworn to Church that the neighborhood was quiet and safe, but it certainly didn't look anything like Church's mental image of a center city apartment complex.

The apartments were nothing more than a long, stout rectangle with dozens of windows that was dwarfed considerably by the two buildings it was sandwiched between. The one-way street it sat in front of didn't seem really busy either. The quiet was deafening after walking along that main avenue for so long.

"Is this where your friend lives?" Caboose asked, peering at the unimpressive building with a little less cheer than before. It was clearly bad if Caboose wasn't impressed by it.

"Yeah. I hope," Church murmured, glancing at the piece of paper he had brought with him. "He's in apartment number 314. I'm assuming third floor."

"I like cake better than pie, though," Caboose said.

Church turned and gave him a bewildered look. "What?"

No answers were forthcoming and Church had no patience to linger, considering he had just had to run after Caboose for nearly a block to keep the idiot from running into construction scaffolding on the sidewalk. They had thankfully been able to get directions from a waiter at the café and it only took them twenty minutes to reach Outpost #1 from the subway.

Sighing, Church led them to the unassuming entrance. It opened into a glass alcove that had another door that led into a carpeted hallway. There had been a buzzer on the main door, it seemed like, but the door wasn't locked. Busted then, Church thought. How encouraging.

He stopped dead three feet inside the main hallway when he noticed there was a tiny office window facing the door. There was a man sitting inside the office, thumbing through what looked like a National Geographic magazine. The moment the door shut behind Caboose, the man looked up and seemed immediately happy to see them.

"Howdy, boys!" the doorman said. He had long brown hair that was caught up in a neat ponytail and round-rimmed glasses pushing strands back on the top of his head. He beamed at them. "You kids don't look like some of ours. Can I help you?"

Why hadn't Tucker mentioned there was a doorman? Did they need to ring upstairs for him to give the OK for them to go up?

"Hi, yeah, we're just, um, meeting a friend here," Church said, feeling oddly exposed. "We're good."

"Are you sure? What's your friend's name?" the doorman asked, sounding honestly interested in helping them.

Church wasn't exactly keen on giving out where he was going to some random person. He couldn't trust anyone yet. "I already got the apartment number," he said quickly. He spotted the open binder sticking out from the office window ledge and hesitated. "Do—do you need me to sign something or…?"

The doorman chuckled. "Oh, go on ahead," he said, waving with both hands. He seemed like a nice guy. "The elevator's down for maintenance again, but the stairs are just down the hall. If you get lost, just come back and I'll help you kids find your way. Don't be shy now."

Nodding stiffly, Church wasn't sure how to respond to the friendliness. "Right…thanks," he said. He turned and motioned at Caboose. "Come on, let's go."

"Alrighty!"

They took an immediately right turn down the next hallway, since it looked like the left only led to a utility closet. Church reluctantly passed by the single gray elevator and pressed onwards down the purple-carpeted corridor. It seemed innocent enough. At least it was clean looking. At the end of the hallway, he could see a lit up sign that said "Emergency Exit/Stairs."

Church was disappointed when he realized that the apartments were not as quiet inside as they seemed to be on the outside.

There were a pack of what looked like college kids dressed in red and black sports memorabilia screaming loudly from their open door about mid-way down the hall. One was waving a giant red flag out the door, like the cheerleaders at a sports game Church had once watched on TV with York and Delta. At least that chick had been able to wave it in a seemingly precise manner. Church had to duck the crazy red guy with the flag as they passed by, nearly getting whacked in the head by it.

Down the hall, a pack of blue-clad college kids suddenly began to return the loud insults and jeers.

"All hail the glory of the Flag!" the crazy kid with the pointy death flag was yelling. "All hail!"

Church had never been more glad to reach the stairs. He had been worried Caboose wouldn't follow, since he had been watching the stupid kids yell at each other, but the moment the fire door shut behind them and cut off the yelling, Church let out a sigh of relief.

"What the fuck is wrong with this place? !" he demanded, having to use the railing to haul himself up.

"They all seem nice!" Caboose said, horrendously positive as usual when they reached the second floor landing and Church slammed the door open.

"Ugh. Sure," he said, rolling his eyes. "Where the hell is 314?"

He had asked that sarcastically. He had actually just wanted to look down the hallway of the second floor, to get a feel for what that floor would offer in terms of escape routes or potential hazards, before moving upwards to the third. Caboose missed the sarcasm, which wasn't really all that surprising.

"Uhhhh…" The giant kid pointed at a random door just opposite of the stairwell. "That one?"

"That's 202," Church said, irritation returning.

Caboose pointed to one further down the hall. "How about that one?"

"That's 205. Stop trying."

"…that one?"

"Caboose! We're on the wrong floor!"

Church almost screamed when he heard someone open the door diagonal from them and someone stuck their head out.

It took him a full second to realize it was just some random resident and not someone from Freelancer. The nerdy glasses and lanky build of this new red head would never have made it into the ranks.

"If you're looking for the three-hundreds, you guys are looking for Blue level, next one up," the ginger guy said, gesturing upwards. He apparently had heard them talking through the door.

Church hesitated. "Blue level?"

"Yeah. This is Red level. Or second floor. Don't ask," the red head said. He sighed. "Sarge color coded the floors when he bought the place, apparently. Don't ask about the first floor, though. That's Collegeville."

"You mean Zealot territory," another man said, leaning out next to the red head. His guy was shorter, fatter and had long black hair tied in a ponytail. He was shockingly brown next to the pale skin of the red head. "The land of way too many extreme college football fans if you catch them on a game night."

Church tried to digest all of that information. "I don't get it. There are only three floors. Why bother color-coding them? And why only two?" he asked, bewildered. This place made no sense.

"Yeah, and Sarge is kinda nuts," the fat guy said, scratching at his bare arm. "Army dude or something. Probably saw some shit in 'Nam."

"Or maybe he just likes things organized," the red head said, snappish. He shook his head and looked back over at Church and Caboose. "Anyway, yeah, it's a small place, but it helps knowing where things are. You're probably going to be just around the corner upstairs."

"Yeah, isn't that Tucker's place?" Grif asked, turning to Simmons, before looking back at Caboose and Church. "I guess you're the ones he was talking about moving in with him to cover Jo-en-es moving out?"

They were assuming he was moving in, then. Church decided that was fair enough, though the whole building was beginning to weird him out. How much had Tucker told his neighbors?

"Yeah, I am," Church said, not exactly needing wanting to share too much information. He started to turn around. "Caboose, come on."

Caboose made a tsking sound of disapproval. "We didn't introduce ourselves! Mom always said to—"

"I don't care," Church said, impatient. He growled at Caboose's immediate look of disappointment. Turning he waved at the two strangers. "Hi, I'm Church. This idiot is—"

"Michael J. Caboose!" Caboose blurted out, which was good for Church, since he had never bothered to ask for his full name. "Hi! I like meeting new people."

"Dick Simmons," the red head said. He pointed at the guy next to him. "This fatass is Dexter Grif."

"Are you roommates?" Caboose asked, way too interested for Church's patience to last much longer.

"Yeah," Simmons said. He pointed next to them, at 205. "If you run into the guy next door, he's Donut. He'll probably go up to give you guys a housewarming gift or something later. He likes doing that for new residents."

"Donut?" Church repeated. What the hell kind of name was that?

"Er, Franklin Donut," Simmons said, making an odd face. "He's a nice guy, if only a little…colorful."

Church resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "This whole place seems 'colorful' if you ask me."

"It was nice meeting you!" Caboose said, waving as Church opened the stairway door again.

"Yeah, sure," Grif said, yawning. "Just watch out for Sarge on trash day. He likes to make it a hassle for you Blues."

"Why?" Church asked, pausing immediately. He didn't want trouble. He hoped Tucker would know how to avoid it.

"Who knows?" Grif said, shrugging. "I think ever since he hired Flowers, he really got into the idea of having two 'teams' here. And by teams, I mean floors two and three."

Church's eyes narrowed. "Who is Flowers?"

"Butch Flowers. He's a nice guy. He acts as the superintendent whenever Sarge isn't around," Simmons said. "He does check-in and handles the rent collection."

"Since Sarge is practically senile," Grif added.

"Oh. Great," Church said, scowling. So that had been the weird hippie guy at the door then. Donuts and Flowers. What a fucking place.

"Flowers is also mainly in charge of Blue floor problems, so you're lucky," Grif continued. "At least he gets stuff done and doesn't try to build a freaking robot to fix the problem instead of doing it himself in five minutes."

Simmons sent him a dirty look. Church considered what he had told them and decided he'd ask Tucker for more information later. He didn't want to waste more time out there in the open.

"Yeah, I guess I am lucky," he said. He pushed the door open completely and held it open. "Come on, Caboose."

"Bye, new friends!" Caboose called out as they headed up the stairs. His voice echoed loudly in the stairwell. "This is really nice, Church."

"Sure," Church said, sighing quietly. "I guess it is."

It certainly could have been worse.

0000

When he was eighteen, he tried to use the I'm Eighteen card to get out of his house. Tucker had told him, over Skype, that it could have worked. It worked for tons of people. Church hadn't been entirely certain it would for him, but he tried it.

All it got him was a blank stare. The Director hadn't even laughed or told him how stupid he had been. He never had to say those words anyway. The stare was enough. It crept through Church like it was a tangible thing, burrowing under his skin, making him shudder faintly.

The study had fallen so quiet, Church swore he could have heard his blood pumping through his heart. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The Director just stared at him.

Church didn't have to hear him say anything. Without a word of his own, Church fled the room, went back to his room, and disconnected his computer for a week, as some sort of self-made punishment he also didn't need to hear the Director impart to him.

That trick could have worked on anyone else, Church realized. Tucker hadn't been wrong. Anyone over eighteen was free to be free, at least in their country.

But he wasn't just anyone.

If he had tried to go to the police, the Director could have told them about the myriad of mental problems he had. The anxiety and the panic attacks were debilitating. Of course Church had to stay inside. Of course the Director was his legal guardian. It was better he stay at home.

That's what they would have said, the conclusion they would have reached, because the Director had that sort of influence. He could have had Church locked away in some clinic or somewhere even worse, with just a few orders.

Of course the I'm Eighteen card didn't work.

It was laughable in hindsight.

0000

Apartment #314

"What. The. Fuck."

Church stood in the threshold of the apartment and stared, unimpressed, into the face of his one and only friend.

"Hi, Tucker, it's great finally meeting you in person, too," he deadpanned. "It's been a long time coming. I'm getting teared up here at this warm welcome."

"Dude," Lavernius Tucker said, eyes still pinned to Caboose, who stood just beyond Church's shoulder. "Who the fuck is that?"

Church blinked. Oh. Yeah. "Uhh, Caboose, this is Tucker," he said, awkwardly reaching around to gesture at both men, who were staring at each other with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. "Tucker, this is Caboose."

"What the fuck is a Caboose?" Tucker blurted out.

"That's me!" Caboose said, brightly.

Tucker stared at him.

And then turned to stare at Church, his eyes pinched.

"Dude," he said.

"Tucker, can we at least come in?" Church asked, impatient, tired, and emotionally drained. He gestured with his thumb at Caboose. "I promise, he's harmless."

Tucker did let them inside, which was a relief, since Church felt horrifically exposed just standing in the doorway and an otherwise quiet hallway. Caboose seemed interested in everything going on inside the living room; it was just as Church remembered from Tucker's different tours over the years via Skype. The couch was against the wall now, but that was about it.

"Don't break any of my shit," Tucker said, directly to Caboose before he rounded on Church.

He wasn't surprised when Tucker hauled him into the kitchen, where the one wall hid them from direct line of sight of Caboose.

"Man, you're half an hour late and you show up on my doorstep with a giant moose-man," Tucker snapped the moment they were in the kitchen. "What's the story?"

Church hadn't even thought about the time. Between his panic attack and getting waylaid by the weirdos downstairs, he wasn't surprised they were late. He felt a little guilty for Tucker's concern, since the other man probably had expected the worst.

"I…" Church began, glancing over at Caboose, who was intrigued by the posters Tucker had up on the walls in the living room. "I ran into him on the train. He was running away from home, too, apparently. I felt bad for the kid."

"Sooo, you what, invited him with you to my apartment?" Tucker asked, annoyed. "Where you're also a guest?"

"I'll be a roommate soon enough, man," Church said, feeling a little bitter at the implication. He hated the idea of being a freeloader. And Tucker had been the one to invite him, so fuck him if he was trying to guilt trip him now.

"And you brought some gigantor homeless kid with you?" Tucker asked, laughing bitterly. He shook his head, dreadlocks shaking from the gesture. "What is your damage, Church?"

Church glared. "Hey! I figured I could use the muscle, just in case."

That was the wrong thing to say. Tucker's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait, wait, wait," he began, wariness coming back like a flood. He glanced at Caboose quickly and then back at Church. He lowered his voice. "Is he a super? !"

"No," Church said, almost out of instinct. He paused. "I mean…maybe?" He blinked.

Holy shit. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"Hey, Caboose!" he called, turning back around.

Caboose was in mid-poke of the tallest music speaker in the corner of the room. "Yes?" he asked.

"Are you…" Church hesitated. "Do you have powers?"

"Powers?" Caboose repeated, sounding confused.

Tucker was less patient. "Are you a super?" he asked, over-enunciating each word.

You didn't just ask people that. It was rude in most circles. Church was used to supers pretty much being everywhere all the time, but they weren't entirely common out in the real world. Asking someone if they were super human was, well, risky, if asking proved to be something that ticked them off.

A glimmer of recognition thankfully entered Caboose's expression. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "No, no, I'm not. I really wanted to be one in fifth grade, though, so I pretended I did and I flew once."

Church felt like he was missing something. "…what?" he asked, beginning to not want to know.

"Oh, I jumped out of my window and I flew for a couple seconds. It was great."

Jesus Christ.

"And then you came crashing back down because your basic human ass can't actually fly," Tucker concluded. He grinned back over at Church. "I take it back, Church, he's probably completely harmless like you said. Mentally challenged, sure, but I'm pretty convinced he's not one of your dad's lackies."

Caboose perked up, curious. "Church's dad?"

Panic jolted through Church. "Tucker! Shut up," he hissed. He waved his hand back over at Caboose. "It's nothing, Caboose. It's nothing."

At least they didn't have to worry about Caboose suddenly lighting shit on fire or breaking down walls with inhuman strength.

…Although it didn't seem impossible for him to be able to punch holes through them with just his ordinary human fists. Church had to count their blessings as they were.

Tucker grabbed a cup from a door-less cupboard over the sink. He took out a jug of water and filled it to the brim before handing it to Church, who accepted it gratefully.

"You okay, man?" Tucker asked, peering at him as Church gulped down the water. "No problems getting here?"

Fuck, that was just what he needed. Church drained the whole glass before setting it back down on the counter. He nodded.

"Aside from meeting Caboose and enjoying the madness downstairs," he said, shrugging. "It was pretty calm, I guess."

Tucker hesitated. "You didn't, you know…freak?"

Church bit at the inside of his cheek. "No panic attacks on the train," he admitted. He didn't want to mention the one in the station. It had been a minor one, anyway.

"That's good," Tucker said, seemingly happy with that.

"Yeah." Church glanced around, out towards the living room where Caboose was rummaging through DVDs. "Nice place. It's nicer in person."

Tucker laughed and then took his glass back to refill it. "Yeah, well, make yourself comfy," he said, joking.

He handed the glass back and Church took it. He didn't drink it right away, however. He stared at the liquid and peered at the weak reflection.

"Tucker?" he asked as Tucker went about pouring himself a glass.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

If Caboose deserved thanks for unexpected kindness, Tucker deserved it a lot more for what he had been doing for years—a lot more.

Tucker just grinned.

"No problem, dude," he said. He lifted his own glass towards Church. "Welcome to Blood Gulch."

Church snorted and raised his. "Cheers," he said, clinking them together.

"Now," Tucker said, clapping his free hand onto Church's shoulder. "Let's show you the suite."

0000

When he met Tucker, he had been seventeen. It had been on some random chat website. Getting paired up to talk with strangers about nothing had been the dumbest and best idea Delta had ever given him. It was anonymous, so it was safe, and it was always at random, which granted him a little bit of surprise in an otherwise monotonous existence.

"Don't abuse this," Delta warned him, handing him a keycard to put in the desktop computer that Delta had also given him a year ago after what happened to Utah and everyone had had the actual decency to feel guilty around Church for once.

(The mere fact the Director had let him keep it showed that it really had been a bad accident that time.)

Church accepted the card and said nothing, his eyes showing the irritated No Fucking Shit he didn't have to say. His older brother merely arched an eyebrow and left his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He had spent five hours straight on the website, just surfing around. He hadn't known what to do at first with strangers. It took forever for the idea that "they can't see me" and "they have no idea who I am" to really sink in. He was skittish for a while, closing out multiple times from conversations with people who had just said "hi."

He had met Tucker halfway into the night. He was using some stupid username—ladiesman769—and tried to immediately figure out if Church was a woman that he could try to seduce. It had been hilarious to Church, since he couldn't fathom how you could seduce someone with text on a screen. He thought about dragging it out, by pretending to be a woman, but he didn't know how to do something like that. The only girls he knew were ones like South or Connie or Carolina, and they were not exactly normal girls. Even he knew that.

So, he was honest. Ladiesman769 had been decidedly disappointed with it and logged off, cycling through to get another user. Church just kept clicking onwards.

Two click-throughs later, Church met ladiesman769 again.

Both of them had been quite surprised and amused by this. For whatever reason, the freak coincidence gave them something to talk about. From there, it just… kept going.

They talked about absolutely nothing for fucking hours. Church had never laughed so hard in his life. He had never talked with anyone that long. Not even his siblings.

By the time he realized he had to log off to get some sleep, he had realized, with immediate terror, that he would not run into ladiesman769 for a third time. Thankfully, ladiesman769 appeared to understand the problem as well.

Ladiesman769: dude u got an email?

He didn't. He had no idea where to get one. He reluctantly admitted this and the other user had taken it as a joke.

Ladiesman769: R u srs? Wow

LC_01: sorry for being new at this

Ladiesman769: well save my address n make one later

He wound up doing just that, copying the email address into a separate file on the computer before reluctantly logging out. He had to go to Delta the next morning, sheepish and terrified his brother would rat him out to their father or even to his handler, York.

To his utter surprise, Delta didn't say anything to anyone. He helped Church set up an email address as well as an Instant Messaging service account, again with a strict warning of not to abuse it.

Church had no intention of abusing it.

For the first time, he had found something utterly unrelated to Project Freelancer and his family.

It was absolutely amazing.

Every other night, they wound up chatting about inane things. Church learned all about what public high school was like and what it was like to grow up in a big city like Blood Gulch. Church couldn't tell Tucker too much about his own life. Delta would never have allowed that much and Church knew he was keeping an eye on the conversations to make sure.

He kept it vague about where he was, who he was, and anything about his personal life. Tucker asked about family and Church only mentioned he had a really strict father and too many siblings. Tucker made jokes about him being in some crazy cult and Church had been forced to deny it. In reality, he had been tempted to just admit that Tucker wasn't too far off the mark.

He learned that ladiesman769 was actually named Lavernius Tucker who only went by his last name, who was a minor class super, and had dreams of being a secondary-language instructor.

He had a friend named Tucker.

Church had been happy with just emails and a handful of instant messaging every other day. It was a relief to go back to that after stressful days at the lab. It went on for well over three months before, inevitably, Tucker asked to chat with him over Skype.

Church had stared at his screen and the request for a solid minute, swamped in horror.

It wasn't a strange request. Tucker had been making jokes for weeks about how Church was probably some weird old guy who was only pretending to be some sickly recluse who lived with too many people and only had Tucker for company.

It wasn't unfair of him to ask that.

Church had only given him a maybe. He went to Delta the next evening, dreading and unhopeful.

"Can I have a webcam?" he asked, always feeling out of place whenever he visited Delta's personal lab. He poked at various wires sticking out from the piles of electrical appliances on the table.

"No," Delta said, his attention on the bright screen he was in front of. His hands never had to touch the keyboard or mouse, the show-off. "You have no need for one."

"It'd just be for chatting," Church tried to say.

Delta was unimpressed. "Why would you need a webcam for that? The Director will never allow it and you would risk too much of your already permitted freedoms by asking for it."

Church steeled himself.

"I made a friend," he said.

Delta froze in mid-motion, his one hand stretched out to grab a battery casing. Church fought the wave of panic rising up in him, trying not to think about the possibility of saying too much.

"A real one," he said, pressing onwards. "He has no idea who I am, but he's convinced I'm some forty-year old man from Ontario since I keep having to make excuses for him never hearing my voice or seeing my face."

Delta had unfrozen after a second or two and had retrieved the battery casing without a word. Church watched, still fighting that panic as the seconds turned into a full minute of uneasy silence.

"Delta…" he tried, gripping a fistful of wires.

"Don't touch the wires," Delta chided him. He paused, his head tilted to the one side. "I'll see what I can do."

Church chewed at the inside of his cheek. "…thanks."

"Hm."

Two days later, there wasn't a webcam on his desk when he stumbled into his bedroom, but there was a headset with a microphone. Church stared at it, surprised and a little wary, but there didn't seem to be metaphorical strings attached to the offering. It was a compromise and likely a test; if Church could handle a mic responsibly, Delta would see about pushing his own luck by getting him a camera.

Church took the mic. He didn't say "thank you" again, even when he ran into Delta later, and Delta never made a fuss about it. They didn't do things that way.

It took him nearly an hour to figure out how to get the computer to pick up his voice on the mic. He fumbled like an idiot while Tucker's voice—a real voice, higher than Church had expected and full of mocking expletives—filtered in through the headphones. Finally, he hit the right button (he refused to go get Delta to help him, since Delta was probably already observing from a distance and laughing at him) and he was suddenly talking to another boy he had never met in person.

"Yo, asshole, about time," Tucker said, loud and full of teasing humor. It sent a chill down Church's spine. "You'd think a neck-beard who lived at home would have a freaking mic already and know how to use it."

"Ha ha, dick," Church shot back, giddy and reckless. He grinned at the screen. "Nice to hear your voice, too."

They talked every day. Sometimes it was just the text, but more often it was voice chat. It was a distraction that lured Church back up to his room after dinner or after sessions in the labs. A day that had been shitty was somehow a lot easier to handle once he could just… vent to someone. He never went into details. He didn't dare. But Tucker listened. For whatever reason, he listened and gave advice to Church's vague descriptions of problems or concerns he had. Like an actual friend.

For the first time, Church had been happy. Honestly, truly happy.

He didn't get the camera for another year. Delta had wordlessly left it for him on his desk again and Church didn't question it. Tucker had turned out looking exactly how Church pictured him—dreads, easy grin, skin as dark as the Counselor's but not as greasy—and Tucker complained at Church looked nothing like what he had pictured for him.

"No neck-beard? Disappointing," the young man on the screen told Church. He was wearing a teal colored t-shirt and was lounging on a dark couch. "But I'm glad you're not a pedophile from Ontario, by the way."

"I'm so glad you were disappointed on both counts," Church replied dryly. He scratched his chin, which was always shaved because he refused to look anything like the Director if he had a choice in the matter. "Nice ponytail. It's very emasculating."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Look it up in the dictionary, moron."

"Hey, I just got into fucking college, bro, I don't need dictionaries anymore."

"Yeah, still trying to figure out how you managed that." Church settled in his chair, crossing his arms, and he grinned. "For once I might believe your story that you slept with someone. All the way into admissions."

Tucker was grinning, too. "Hey! Asshole, I happened to work really freaking hard last semester…"

They talked every week. Church didn't dare risk long face-to-face conversations, in case someone other than Delta check in on him. He had to imagine the Director knew—because the Director always knew—that he was talking to Tucker, but as time went on, it was clear that no one thought it was a breech of security. They let him have his one friend.

It was a comfort. But it was also terrifying. A good thing to have was a good thing that risked being taken away at a moment's notice. Church had learned that system a long time ago.

Tucker never asked about his home life, or at least, not directly. He was smart, however. He wasn't smart like Delta, but he was crafty and aware, like York was. Church had always liked York, like when the older man would sneak him movies and before Carolina had caught on and made him stop. Seeing the similar judging look in Tucker's eyes had given Church pause, because York was clever. Tucker was clever, too.

He must have known something was wrong. That was why he kept asking about college or future plans or what Church planned on doing "once he moved out." There was no easy way to just tell Tucker the truth. It did come out, in pieces and vague statements. Church was grateful he never had to come out and say it word for word. Tucker watched, listened, and learned.

Every day something bad had happened, and it must have shown on Church's face, Tucker's gaze would darken and he listened with thinned lips, face drawn tight with an emotion Church wasn't used to seeing. He never asked what happened. He just listened and then nodded and told him, "I'm sorry, dude." And that was enough.

It helped. It really did. It was what kept Church sane all those years. He didn't have other friends. His siblings were either monsters or kept at a distance by his own father. He didn't have anyone else.

Somewhere along the lines, Church realized he should have been grateful for Delta. He knew that the webcam was a secret. Delta had taken a risk for him. Church had tried to understand on his own, but one day, he went back to Delta's lab space to find him.

"Why did you give me the camera?" he finally asked.

"Because I have never seen you smile like that before," Delta replied, without missing a beat.

Church blinked.

"Oh," he said, words failing him.

Delta kept tinkering with his project, never looking up at him. "Do not think that everyone here is ignorant to what you want, Alpha," he said, words both soothing and upsetting to hear. "Some of us do care, in our own ways."

Church winced. "Don't call me that." Not there. Not when they were away from the labs and the Director and prying eyes.

Pausing, Delta did look up at him that time. "It is your name," he said, almost as a question.

He never did seem to get it. Neither did Theta or Gamma. Omega and Sigma… they understood, but chose to rub it in his face anyway.

"My name is Leonard," Church said, steeling himself. "Or just Church. One of those."

Delta stared at him. "…of course," he said. He turned back to his work. "Forgive me, Church."

"It's fine." Church took a deep breath and moved away, going to leave. "Thanks for the stuff, Delta."

"Use it wisely," Delta said as a way of farewell. He didn't look up again.

Church had scoffed at his comment and walked off. It had felt foolish at the time to need to be told that.

He did, in the end, use it wisely.

Six months after hearing those words, the Meta Incident happened and Delta left.

Six months after that, in the middle of his worst panic attack ever, Tucker told him to leave to come to Blood Gulch.

And six months after that, Church did.

0000

Sheila's Scrap

He didn't have a lot of skills outside of a laboratory and attached to machinery that never failed to make his skin feel like it was melting off. He was a spectacular nobody when people weren't aware of his power or his relation to the Director. He enjoyed any bit of anonymity he had back at Sidewinder, where he could have curled up with a book in the back of the newbie training rooms, where recruits thought he was just some random guy on break. He was scrawny and didn't do much besides play video games, talk to Tucker, or beg Delta to sneak him into movie night with his handler.

But he was good at one thing.

Two days after settling into Tucker's guest room (and getting used to Caboose snoring from the air mattress on the floor next to the bed), which used to be shared with an ex-college roommate who had moved out a month ago, Church had gone to the mechanic Tucker had recommended him to. They had left Caboose in Simmons and Grif's tender care before setting out.

"Are you sure you can work on cars?" Tucker asked, as he walked Church five blocks north and then they took a short bus ride down a busy street. They were probably dead center in the city. It felt like they were in a freaking canyon of skyscrapers. "Like, I've never heard you ever say you could do anything with cars before."

Church tugged at his collar, feeling a little more than nervous at the idea of a job interview when he had probably had about as much experience with it as a fourth grader did.

"I tinkered," he said, distracted.

"I thought you weren't allowed to go near cars?"

"Jesus, Tucker, just trust me that I can do this!"

Tucker had waited outside the mechanic's garage—Sheila's Scrap—and Church had been startled to learn that the person in charge was a pretty and petite looking woman named Sheila. Church was used to deadly tiny women, however, so he didn't question it much, just in case.

"Have you ever worked with cars before, Church?" Sheila asked, pleasant. She sounded so familiar, but he decided it was just coincidence.

"Yeah, totally," he said. "I, uh, even worked on a tank once. Yeah."

Sheila smiled, a little confused. "Well, we do not have tanks coming in here often," she said. "Did you use to be in the military, then?"

"Uhh, no. My dad, uh, was," Church said, struggling to drop the conversation. He pointed at the jeep in front of him. "So, uh, what do you want me to, uh, do?"

"I would like you to get the vehicle up and running again," she said. She motioned at the bench next to the jeep. It was covered in different tools; Church barely recognized any of them. "Tucker said that because you lack the resume experience, you could instead demonstrate you have the hands-on knowledge. I thought that was fair enough."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Church said, trying not to panic because fuck, he hated tests where he was the one being judged. "Um, thanks, by the way, for uh, taking his word for it."

"Oh, of course. Tucker is an old friend," Sheila said, still smiling. "I am happy to help a friend of a friend get back up on his feet."

Church hesitated. The smile was enough to disarm most of the building pressure in his gut.

"Right." He turned back to the jeep. "Okay. I can do this. Easy enough."

He walked over to the hood of the jeep, where it was propped open. He stared into the mess of engine, pipes, and wires. It was as alien to him as the inside of any computer.

Sheila waited by the end of the worktable. Church cleared his throat lightly.

"Um, could I just work on this by myself for a second?" he asked. "I, uh, I get a little nervous under pressure."

"Oh, certainly," Sheila said. She stepped to the side, motioning at her office. "I'll be inside. Please come get me when you're finished."

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Ms. Sheila."

"Oh, Sheila is just fine."

She walked off. Church looked back at the hood again. It still looked completely foreign to him.

Sighing, Church raised his hand over the engine.

"Easy enough," he murmured.

He purposely waited at least fifteen minutes, tapping here and there with a wrench to make it sound like he was working, before he took the keys from the table and deliberately turned the jeep over twice. It ran as smooth as it ever had. Sheila had come out at the noise and seemed impressed.

"My, you got done much sooner than I thought!" she said. She clasped her hands together. "Tucker certainly didn't embellish."

"Glad I lived up to the expectations," Church said, sheepish.

Sheila smiled at him. "Would you like to work for me, Church? I can offer you a little more than minimum wage right now while you work under my husband for a while. We can see about a raise once you get a few more months experience. Is that acceptable?"

That sounded fucking marvelous.

"That sounds great," Church said, grinning boldly.

He signed a bunch of papers—but probably less than normal, since he didn't have his social security number (as if the Director would have left that lying around) or any other proof of identification. Sheila was sympathetic, however, and helped him understand the contract.

Since he couldn't provide a SSN, he'd have to be paid under the table. It was a small mercy that Sheila, despite seeming like a weird version of an overly caring mom in movies, didn't seem to mind shady workers. As long as he could do that job, he was fine by her.

Church was practically floating on air by the time he got outside and walked up to Tucker, who was sitting on the bench where Church had left him.

"I got the job," he said, deciding to be a smug as possible, if only to spite his friend. "How about that, asshole?"

Tucker sputtered as he stood up. "How? ! Sheila's so picky about mechanics."

"I picked some things up from my brother," Church said, shrugging. "He's good with tech."

"Tech does not equal cars," Tucker said, eyebrow going up.

"It's close enough," Church insisted.

"I'm calling bullshit," Tucker said. He suddenly gasped and dropped his voice down in a conspiratorial manner. "Dude…did you use your power?"

Church flinched as if he had been hit.

Fuck, he thought.

"Be quiet," he said, eyes darting around nervously. No one seemed to be paying them any attention.

"Oh, come on. You said you'd tell me what it was when you got here."

"Tucker, let's just go," Church said, impatient and nervous. He pushed past the other man. "I'm fucking starving. I'll pay you back for food later."

"Duuude, come on. I've been dying to find out for years!" Tucker whined, louder.

"Tucker!" Church shouted, causing the other man to leap back in surprise.

Turning around, Church looked up and down the street. No one was nearby. That didn't mean shit, however. He didn't even trust their secrecy back at Outpost #1.

Lips drawn tight, Church turned back to face Tucker.

"I can't tell you," he said lowly, making sure Tucker was paying attention o every word he said and what he didn't have to say. "Because I'm not entirely sure if doing so would get you killed."

Because if anything, he knew with startling clarity just how vindictive and paranoid the Director was about everything in life. This would be no exception.

Tucker stared back, against surprised. Realization was sharp in his eyes,

"Oh," he said, quiet.

"Yeah," Church said, curling his fists tightly in his front pocket. "Oh."

Tucker recovered quickly enough, though he did have the decency to look a little sheepish. "Well, thanks for that?" he said. He laughed, shaking his head. "Man, you are such a Negative Nancy."

"Shut up. Get me food."

"Also a whiny bitch. But that's nothing new."

And with that, he suddenly had the start of a new life.

Suddenly, for the first time in his whole existence, things were looking up.

.

End Part 1.

.

In the next and last installment of "Outpost #1 Apartments," Church runs into an old friend and learns that, maybe, he hasn't been as successful leaving the past behind as he had hoped.

A/Ns:
-"I like cake better than pie though." Caboose is reacting to the number 314, or 3.14, the beginning of the number of Pi. I like to imagine he has absolutely useless knowledge of very strange things that are out of context to anyone else, because that's just how Caboose works.
-"minor class super" – referencing a super human who is categorized as having a lower amount of power than a major class super human. They're just not as strong and/or can't use their power for very long.
-There are a lot of things to be revealed over the course of the series, such as Utah and why Church is a younger brother to Delta and why Church was held up under the Director's thumb for so long. None of it is really that pleasant.
-Church and Tucker's friendship is important to me. And so is Caboose and Church's friendship. Blue Team broship all the way, man.
-Sheila is going to be different than FILSS in this, just because I miss Sheila being Sheila.
-What is Church's power(s)? We'll find out next time.
-Srsly tho, more powers are coming up. Ahaha sorry for like no mention of them in this chapter. Yes, several of the Blood Gulch crew have powers, including Tucker.