KJ was sure to leave a trail of bodies to litter the halls as he walked the majority of their group out of Jefferies' fortress. In honor of Violet's wishes, he left them all alive, but they would not be able to forget the taste of his displeasure for a very, very long time – if they could forget. Wrath still burned thickly on his tongue as they left the perimeter, and he turned one more glare over his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Dietfried, Benedict. Wait for me," he said with his gaze as he stared at the cold brick surrounding his friends. "When I return to get you, we'll make them pay. Dearly." Though, for the moment, he had to focus on his little girl. He felt a gentle touch from a cold, metal hand, and that one outreach warmed his heart immensely. He turned toward Violet, and they spoke volumes together in the meeting of their eyes. They both knew: they would not have to retreat for long. He nodded, and she acknowledged him with the slightest narrowing of her azure eyes. KJ gently shifted Gilbert's weight on his back, concerned by the depth of unconsciousness that Jefferies had forced upon him. He needed a thorough medical examination, but they had many miles to cover -by foot- before they could get him that attention. Steeling his resolve, KJ took more steps forward, hating with each step that he left two of his people behind him.

It was a long time before they found themselves back in familiar territory, but once they did, it was quick order before their needs were met: Gilbert received medical attention, and quickly regained consciousness once the cocktail of drugs had been siphoned from his system. KJ sent word to Claudia advising of their status, and their plans to return. It was many days still before they made their way back home, where Claudia awaited the group of escapees at the CH Postal company. His expression was drawn with excessive worry and somber with the weight of their dire situation. He heard their plight, and looked to Gilbert – the last of the rescued group. "Did you see no sign of your brother?," he asked, voice rough with concern. At the solemn shake of Gilbert's head, Claudia closed his eyes, grieved. "So he's been left there… alone?"

"No," KJ said with feigned nonchalance. "I left Benedict with him as backup." Claudia choked on air as he looked at KJ with despairing denial. "My mail man?!," he gagged out, looking alarmed. "How am I going to deliver all these LETTERS?!" He stared at KJ, aghast. After a moment, he seemed to collect himself, coughed once into his closed fist, then an even more somber air fell over him.

"Dietfried is the key to their plotting, I think. All the rest of you were just there to make him comply." He made a frustrated sound through his teeth, leaning over the documents on his desk to search for one particular page among the multitude of others. "I received a report from a friend still in Dietfried's circle of Naval officers: Griff." After pushing past a stack of paper that had fallen over the report, he handed it to Gilbert with dire intensity. "Gil, if you have any connections through the ongoing secret service, you needs to pull any string you can to get him out of there. These people are connected with attempts to overthrow the entire government, and that's just the tip of the iceberg."

Gilbert took the report and scanned it swiftly, his green emerald eye darting across the pages with increasing alarm. The suspects included were big fish: ones that his own unit had been seeking for years and had corrupt connections that reached all the way up to the House of Commons. "These are many of the ones I have had to play dead just to try and sniff around, Claudia!," he exclaimed, his cool demeanor cracking around the edges. "Are you seriously expecting me to believe this is one vast network of interconnected traitors to the country?" He knew by the look in Claudia's eyes that this was the most sincere truth he could muster, and that he clearly believed the validity of it. "How are we even going to begin….?" Gilbert trailed off, staring at the report as if hoping the letters would shift around and morph into a different conclusion. The hopelessness of the situation suddenly fell over him, and he looked to Violet, who was staring at him from the corner of the room.

From his leaning position against the wall, KJ glanced over his shoulder at Violet as well, following Gilbert's gaze. He took in her blank expression silently, then looked back at Gilbert. "I think we'll just have to start from the place we just left behind. I'm sure they've moved camps, but maybe they've left behind men who will talk -whether by asking nicely or coercion. If not men, then surely there are tracks to follow. They can't move a camp of that size completely without leaving behind some kind of evidence." He kicked away from the wall, fire-orange eyes ablaze. "I'll check it out and see what I can discover, then report back." Gilbert looked as if he were going to object, so KJ added, "It'll be easier to avoid detection if it is just one of us, after all." They talked over details a bit longer, crafting strategy to Gilbert's (minimally acceptable level of) satisfaction. KJ insisted on that being the extent of the conversation, as he was anxious to start his mission before the trail grew cold.

With a few last exchanges, KJ turned to Violet and patted the top of her head fondly, a gentle smile covering his lips and warming his eyes. Her blue gaze stared at him, the light of surprise gentle in the hidden places of her eyes, which were only visible for those looking hard enough to be capable of observing. "Try not to worry, little flower. He's intelligent enough to play this the right way: he'll come back to us, one way or another." Some small amount of tension left the skin around her eyes, and KJ departed with the slightest bit of preparation, determination hastening his every step. Every minute traveling was wasted, and further endangered his friends. He took a deep breath of the winter-touched air, and hurried away.

…..

Dietfried knew faintly that he was in a new location, but he couldn't summon enough fortitude to care. He also dimly comprehended time as it passed, although there were few moments of clarity in between great chasms of static that swallowed all of his senses. At first, these moments were few as he awoke after being drugged once more and dragged off from whatever fortress he'd been held prisoner within previously to roost in what appeared to be a vast personal estate. As the weeks passed, the moments he was submerged in the static increased, leaving awareness in its wake less and less. All was being lost to the white noise, a pixelated buzz of sound like cloth scraping continuously together. On some level, Dietfried knew that this was a horrific state to allow himself to drown in, and an even worse time to be unaware of his surroundings, but he could not muster enough energy to fight for the surface of the ocean of depression that crushed him. Violet was gone. No… he said Violet… was… dead. His whole world seemed to come unhinged each time that thought crossed his mind, robbing him of any hope of functionality.

What few moments stuck within his memory allowed him to realize that he -once again- was possessed of a desire to die. This was apparent in the way he intentionally riled up a rather large man, clearly a soldier and body builder by choice, whose muscles were roughly the size of boulders all up and down his arms, legs, and pectorals. He didn't remember what scathing sarcastic remark he'd made in the man's presence, but 'Rocky' - as he'd mentally nicknamed the man – took great offense to it. He'd snatched him up by the collar of his shirt and drew back a big, meaty fist to slam right into Dietfried's unprotected nose. Jefferies had interfered, but what had truly stopped the man had something to do with Dietfried himself. He'd looked straight at him, and barely below his breath cursed. "Look't those eyes, would ya? Right beastly, you are." If he would have elaborated, Dietfried would never know. Jefferies had removed the man from the estate shortly after the altercation.

They were training Dietfried for something. He faintly recalled hand-to-hand combat, self defense courses, and weaponry practice – not unlike the sort the Navy put him through. The primary difference was that there was a certain amount of effort to break Dietfried's will combined with their efforts. They wanted him to have plenty of self-doubt, self-loathing, and a healthy respect for those designated as 'authority' figures. He didn't put up a fuss; didn't actively oppose anything they decided for him. Compliance was much easier than fighting every step of the way in a foreign environment and no allies in sight. Jefferies also had him being tutored in 'the ways of a king' such as dancing and politics: the art of a layered conversation and tactical rebukes hidden within a smiling farce of a complement…. He hated it all. He hated existing. Even with the rooms teeming with people, Dietfried had never felt more alone.

The worst thing thrown at him, however, was a wounded beastie of a woman, who always dressed in scarlet. His first memories of her were associated with her seduction attempts, although that was the most tame he saw her at any given moment. He remembered being shirtless, as he had freshly completed cleaning his body when she granted herself entry into his room. He didn't remember much of their encounter until she was far too close, smelling of lavender and smiling a viper's smile. Her finger trailed down the muscled depression from his breastbone down, passing between his abs to the tops of his loose waistband britches. He'd watched her with icy dispassion, then lifted glaring eyes to hers, attempting to communicate the utter lack of welcome he had for her touch without saying or doing anything against her. She seemed to take his disinterest as a personal affront, and proceeded to throw a tantrum that left him bleeding, but blessedly alone.

She attempted to seduce him many times hence. He remembered her trapping him in a hallway to grind herself against his manhood and groan with her desire, but all he could think of was a cat in heat. She was only a hindrance to his day, and it showed. This time she expressed her resentment of his disregard with a ferocious yowl and stormed off. Other times, she came to him as if vulnerable. She would tell him of her past, her family, and tears would dust her eyelashes. Dietfried held little compassion or patience for her, and although he would listen as she told stories of the abuse she'd suffered, he would not take pity on her and comfort her. She would bare her soul, but he still kept himself as far across the room as the walls would permit, and would offer little conversation in return. Sometimes, listening satisfied her enough. Other times, she would rage at him by proclaiming that he was no better than her, that he was more of a waste of space than her family…

The worst encounter he'd had with her rage so far was one such night, when she decided he would be her personal outlet with which to conduct her release of emotion first by pacing and muttering in his rooms. He stood at the far corner, watching her with arms crossed and eyes dull, waiting. Her temper was evident in the flush of her cheeks, the stomp to her steps, and the glittering danger in her eyes. She began talking, but nothing of her chatter made sense to him; he wanted to understand not even one piece of it. She accused him then of some sort of oversight that caused havoc on her feelings, pointing her finger and glaring daggers at him. This quickly escalated to screaming, more pacing… then the flood just broke the barriers of her sanity, and she stopped, utterly still as she stared at him hotly. Then, without a word, she picked up a wine glass nearby and hurled it at him. It was so unexpected that Dietfried didn't even have time to summon the strength or desire to dodge. Thankfully, she either had poor aim, or hadn't actually been aiming at his face. The glass shattered against the wall near his head as she screamed her accusations at him, and he offered her no opposition. The glass broke, and bits of sharp ceramics scattered around him. One piece opened a jagged cut on his cheek. Others lanced his left ear, shoulder, and arm. One or two of the wounds would scar. Blood dripped down his face, and she froze as she looked into his eyes. He wasn't sure what she saw there, but he fancied the idea that his warrior's mask was held suspended over his face, indicating a ferocity he did not feel. She left, and quickly.

He'd doctored himself in his private bathroom, although he waited in the static until the blood had long since dried, and his exhaustion told him it was well into the early morning. Insomnia frequented him at night now, so these early hours spent alone were not strange for him. He looked at himself in the mirror, face blank as he took in the blood and other changes that had slowly overcome him. His hair was longer now, closer to what it was before his hospital stay. His body was leaner... harder than before. He had no appetite, and the training there was rigorous. It made sense, this transformation, but he had no desire to flaunt the soldier's body before him like he would've before by sporting a deep V neck shirt and low-hip hugging trousers. He felt as though he were looking at a stranger, as if his body were no longer his own. And… in a way, it was true. Here, he was essentially a slave – an item possessed by a cruel master. This is what the scarlet clad woman was meant to tech him… right?

The next day, Dietfried sat staring across the outer garden toward the sea, where a beautiful landscape stretched out to cover the land in sharp contrast with the evil lurking in the shadows of the estate. He realized that the abnormal had once more become the mundane for him, as abuse had become the only attention he would know. It made him think of his father, and the childhood that was spent being conditioned by an abuser. He wondered if he hadn't been through the hell his father had made for him if he would still be sane now. His present reality had so much in common with his past: authority attempting to break and conform him to another person's will while ingraining self-doubt in a demeaning manner. Except now he felt more fractured, due to the repeating loss of Violet going through his mind. He sighed, depositing the weight of grief and regret on the wind, sure that if he had any energy to do so he would have instead screamed at the top of his lungs. He closed his eyes a moment and let the static cloud his senses.

The sense of being watched startled him into alertness, and his eyes flew open to meet a set of wide, childlike eyes set in the face of a young girl with blond hair, whose resemblance was uncanny…. He blinked, but it was as if a small version of Zillipheradora Von Weber stood directly before him, alive and beautiful. There was a similar glint to those eyes that belied the sharp wit and intelligence of the Naval officer, and that gaze was pointed right at him. The static left Dietfried at that moment, and ferocity overtook his heart. The only way this child existed… was if Zilly had not met her demise on a ship many years ago…. Dietfried seized this opportunity to fill his heart with a reason to carry on, and he realized that, because of this face, he had reason to take down every single thing Jefferies held dear… and he would begin by dismantling his plot, piece by piece, until ashes alone remained. Dietfried said nothing to the child, but her eyes widened as if he had startled her, then narrowed into slits – so like Zilly – until she glared at him through pale blond lashes, wrapping her little body in bravery befitting a soldier. "And who are you, wandering my garden?," she asked, voice like a lullaby, but thorny as a rose bud. He felt a small smile spread across his lips, and energy began pouring into his body as he forced his slumping shoulders back into a proper posture. "I am Dietfried Bouganvillea, formerly of the navy. And who are you?"

She analyzed him almost haughtily before answering: "I am called Jackie. Formally, I am Jacqueline Von Weber. Now, why are you moping about my garden?" They were going to get along just fine, Dietfried decided quietly. Just fine.