Instead of 370 agents there was now about 250. That was the most shocking part.

Since Owen was still locked in the basement prisons and Hunter was too drunk with power to really do the job of Inspector, Flagg was now more involved in agent affairs.

Yay.

He only had us practice individual courses, no team exercises on the Street or relays or team sparring. He put Harrison and I in the same training group, only because we had the same skill set, capabilities and experience. Sprinting suicides up and down the field, distance running from dawn to dusk, pull ups until your arms gave out, weight lifting, sit ups, climbing up buildings, push ups, swimming, parkour. The amount of times I'd thrown up the past two weeks was unbelievable, and I'd gotten so used to spit dribbling down my chin I didn't even notice it anymore.

Flagg had also taken the liberty of "teaching" the level 8 group Harrison and I were in himself, since Zach was suspended as a trainer and he'd depleted the training groups so much there was only one level 8 group now. Blitz was also suspended as a level 9, getting moved all the way back down to level 6 just like Lucky, Lautaro and Quinn, where they weren't even mission status anymore. With my shit shoulder and Flagg's promise not to let Harrison out for couple years we technically weren't mission status either but I think Flagg just liked torturing us even harder and that's why he kept us as level 8s.

Cal was doing his best with his remaining seven fingers in the infirmary tending to the increasing amount of agents coming in with injuries from Flagg's accelerated training exercises. He wasn't angry at Flagg so much as he was just stressed and depressed. Same with Zach. Flagg hadn't put him in a level training group at all, probably because he was too old. Instead, he had his nephew trapped in a classroom teaching French, English, geography, coding and a couple other classes. Some might call it selfish of me, but I had been a little more focused on keeping myself alive recently.

"Get down farther Lawrence!" Flagg slammed his boot down on my back and I collapsed to my stomach on the track. "Not that far you worthless shit!" He yelled at me again. I struggled to push myself back up and continue doing the set of clapping push-ups.

"Where are you at?" Flagg paced in front of us.

"87," Jett Dinh managed weakly from my other side.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is the matter with you?" Flagg glared down at us with dead eyes and kept pacing. "You're all lazy, unwanted fuckers, you know that?"

Harrison spat saliva stained in blood out his mouth next to me. "Likewise," he managed to say.

The tip of our Director's boot hit Harrison straight in the nose, sending him flying sideways into me and knocking both of us to the ground.

Flagg looked disgusted above us. "Pathetic. You two have been here for eight fucking years, and you're still just as pathetic as when you got here." He physically spat at us this time, and the spit landed on Harrison's bare back. He was too tired to try to wipe it off, he just rolled off my legs and continued the set. I did the same.

We reached 200 and we all immediately dropped to the ground, gasping, gagging and groaning.

Flagg simply rolled his eyes. "Enough arm work. End line. Now."

-

Jett clipped my bad shoulder when he walked past. "Watch it bitch," he snarled.

"Hey dipshit!" Harrison got up into Jett's face. "You hit him, asshole," he snapped at him.

Jett laughed once, then punched Harrison straight in the face and knocked him to the ground. "Stay down Andrews, so the rest of us don't have to see your fucked-up face."

Harrison tried to scramble to his feet but I got in the way of him so he would stay down.

"Not so tough now?" The Vietnamese boy mused with his lip curled up.

Harrison trembled with rage from the ground. "You fucking wish."

Jett chuckled darkly. "Whatever you say Andrews. You two are the reason we're in this shit to begin with. I'd watch your backs. Or better yet --your throats." Then he stalked off the field and towards the stairs that led to the main agency building.

I dropped to the ground beside Harrison on the turf field. "Somehow he's got us turning on each other as well as killing us." I rubbed my aching biceps and spat off to my side.

"Idiotic jackoff is what he is." Harrison flopped onto his back.

I copied him and slowly laid down. "We never should have come back," I groaned up at the dark sky. Flagg had taken our watches too, but I was guessing it was at least 8 at night.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Harrison closed his eyes and grabbed his stomach.

"I think I dislocated my shoulder again."

"How's it feel?"

"Broken."

"How's it look?"

All the other boys had their shirts off before we were even an hour into the torture Flagg called training, Harrison included, but I'd kept mine on since A) I didn't want Flagg to smear a cheshire cat grin across his face when he saw how my shoulder was still bruised and scarred from his little demolition project, and B) I didn't want any of the other guys to make even more fun of me since I couldn't do what I used to be able to when my shoulder was securely attached to my body.

I sat up and, keeping my left arm down since it still hurt enormously when I lifted it in the air (Flagg had to tase me in the neck until I finished pull ups earlier), slipped the black t-shirt over my head and off my arm.

Harrison picked his head up and glanced over at me. "Uh..."

"Thanks."

"I'm really sorry man."

I slowly leaned back down onto the ground again, letting the grass tickle my bare back. I put my right arm under my head and let my excruciatingly sore muscles stretch out.

Harrison suddenly turned over on his side and just started retching.

I laughed as much as I could without passing out from pain.

"Oh fuck you," he coughed between heaves.

I kept laughing while he continued to spit out his guts.

Finally he eased up. He swiped away the blood, sweat and saliva dribbling from his nose and mouth. He slumped back onto his back again and let out a guttural groan.

"Is it bad that the only thing that makes me laugh anymore is seeing you throw up after we just got worked to the brink of exhaustion?" I asked him.

"To the brink? Dude, the brink is long gone, we passed that brink like four brinks ago, I'm just flat-out exhausted."

"God, Cal is gonna kill me when he sees my shoulder."

"Of all the things Flagg could have done, why cut some of his fingers off? Cal is the best medic in this place and the infirmary is overflowing with all the boys he's pushing to their limits. He's just stressing Cal out. You know how much he wants to help people but he can't do that with seven fingers."

"Mental torture. Crafty bastard," I rubbed my face down.

"Or as Jinx would say, 'love that,'" Harrison sighed.

Suddenly the massive fluorescent lights on the field went out, and we were bathed in the darkness. We laid in pitch silence for a while and then Harrison yelled, "are you fucking kidding me?!"

I started laughing again.

"What's funny about this?!"

"I dunno," I managed between laughs. I hugged my chest and rolled onto my good side still laughing. Soon Harrison was cracking up next to me and the two of us rolled around on the dark field for at least five minutes.

"God, Laurie if you weren't here I'd lose my goddamn mind," Harrison finally sat up and began to get to his feet.

"Don't let Flagg hear you say that, he might just kill me." I accepted his hand and he tugged me up too.

Together we limped back towards the agency building to collapse into our beds. Flagg purposely liked to run our trainings until after dinner stopped being served, but we'd gotten used to two meals a day by this point, so it was fine. And I knew Flagg would have us throwing up by 6am tomorrow anyway. Harrison and I, and all the other remaining agents from the Basilone mission, had gotten seriously beat up in the showers before so we skipped that too.

Right now all I wanted was to crumple into my bed, which hopefully didn't have nails in it like last night, and when I slept not to dream about Adira.

But when did I ever get what I want anymore?

-

"Bloody hell Callum," Blitz hissed through his teeth. "You trying to break 'em again?"

Cal sighed, dropping his hands from Blitz's ribs. "They're never going to heal unless Flagg gives you some sort of a break." He handed an icepack to the Englishman.

"I don't think that will be happening to any of us," Lucky also sighed. He was sitting on the end of the hospital bed Cal had various supplies laid out on with his feet dangling over the end. He was leaning more on his left trying to avoid putting too much stress on his right hip.

Cal handed Blitz his shirt back and motioned for Lautaro to come over to him. The Honduran did, slightly unsteady on his feet, and turned so his bandaged ear was facing Cal.

Blitz struggled to slip his shirt over his head without stretching his ribs. "How do you think Owen is?"

"Quinn, are you going to be okay with this?" Cal ignored Blitz's question.

"Oh you're gonna take the bandages off?" The Iraqi looked up from scratching at his cast. "Then yeah no imma move." He scooted over so he couldn't see Lautaro's mangled ear as the bandages started to come off.

Cal didn't reply until all the plasters were off. "I don't know how Owen is."

"He wouldn't kill him...would he?" I asked.

No one answered.

"How does it look?" Lautaro asked Cal softly.

"Better."

"Probably 'cause Flagg can't overwork your hearing," Blitz muttered, finally pulling his shirt over his chest. He placed the ice pack along his left ribs.

"Do you know what's wrong with it?" Lautaro asked.

"Ruptured eardrum," Cal said. "It's too late tonight for me to thoroughly check, but I don't think it will need surgery. Just keep trying to keep talking to a minimal and don't jerk your heard around too much."

Lautaro nodded and then winced.

A small smile appeared on Cal's lips as he shook his head and watched Lautaro literally do the exact opposite of what he said. "I know you're trying but you gotta try just a little harder."

"Title of your sex tape," Harrison smirked.

Everyone but Zach chuckled under their breath.

"Any more headaches or vertigo?" Cal ignored Harrison.

"Yeah."

Cal sighed softly and started to reach for the bottle of Advil. "I'm going to get driven out of stock at this point."

"Blitz, you're old level 5s got caught handing out pain meds earlier, did you hear?" Harrison asked.

Blitz snapped up his head from staring at the ground. "I swear to fucking hell if Flagg touches a hair on those boys—"

"Did you think he was gonna let them off for free?"

Blitz took his ice pack off and set it on the bed behind him. "Have you seen them since you heard about it?" His tone was deep and low and his hands convulsed into fists.

"Not—not exactly," Harrison murmured.

Blitz headed for the door. Zach caught his arm before he could get past him and didn't let him go.

"Piss off Patterson!"

Zach didn't. "What're you gonna do Blitz? Beat him? Kill him? You can't do anything, okay? We've all tried. For your own good, just back off."

"I don't care about my own good, I care about theirs!"

"Then don't do anything. If he knows you care so much he will punish you instead."

"So?!"

Zach sighed. "Fine. But wait until tomorrow at least."

Blitz groaned and Zach let him go. He trudged back to where he was before and put the ice pack back over his ribs. "My 5's are good boys as well as good agents, and that was without any teaching from me. They don't deserve to get punished for just trying to help."

"Your turn Axel," Cal said.

I traded spots with Lautaro and his freshly bandaged ear, and began the long, awkward, uncomfortable and painful process of taking off my t-shirt with a busted shoulder.

"No one's gonna help me?" I huffed as I peeled the black cloth over my head and wiggled out the left arm sleeve.

Lucky stifled a laugh. Nobody laughed much anymore, so I guess I was doing everyone a favor by looking like a string puppet tangled up in its own limbs.

I rolled my eyes and let Cal take an expert look around the mutilated area. "I still don't know how you're even alive Axel," he said.

"What can I say, I've always been a stubborn fucker when it comes to not dying," I shrugged with my good shoulder. "Drug lords, mafia bosses, controversial Chinese businessmen, more powerful men than Flagg have tried."

Harrison laughed under his breath. "'I'm sort of like this fungus you can't get rid of when it comes to pesky questions and sarcasm.'" We all stared at him. "Jinx said that," he told us.

"Damn, I really miss her cup of noodle soups."

"And the coffee," Blitz sighed dreamily. "Oh my god I miss coffee."

"I miss Percy," Quinn moaned.

"What did he make you do today?" Cal asked me.

I snapped out of dreaming about onion rings. "He's just gonna work me harder if you ask him not to," I said. "He's not sending any of us out on a mission for a while anyway, so it's not like I need to be in perfect health."

"He could still do permanent damage to you if he keeps pushing you like this though. Then you might get dismissed, and then you're out in the real world with a crippling injury that puts you out of work for the rest of your life." I felt him start to gingerly peel off the tape that was essentially keeping my back muscles together.

"Fuck," the Irishman whispered.

"Language!" Lautaro raised his eyebrows.

"What?" I asked Cal urgently.

"If we were in a normal hospital and not under the jurisdiction of a madman I'd be amputating you, does that suffice?" He turned around and grabbed a tin of biofreeze muscle cream. It was almost empty by now, which was entirely my doing. He screwed the lid off and started spreading it very gently on my back.

"Do you think I should risk going down to the prison cells and asking about Owen?" He asked.

Zach shook his head. "There's triple the guards down there."

"So? He could be seriously hurt. What could he do to me if I just went down and asked?"

"Yeah, you still have, what, seven fingers left to lose?" Harrison said dully.

"And Owen could be dying," Cal stressed. "I'd rather risk losing my whole hand than let him perish alone down there. Isolation can be just as damaging as breaking a bone. And besides, James is gone. And so Owen is locked away wondering what Flagg did to him and where he is now, and if he hasn't had any food or water he could start hallucinating and that could drive him to insanity or even suicide. Solitude can be extremely strenuous on the mind, especially to Owen's."

"Why his mind specifically?" Lucky asked.

My eyes fluttered shut as Cal continued spreading the cream on my back and numbed away the pain. "Because," the Irishman hesitated, "Owen is... vulnerable."

"How?" Quinn asked.

"God, where do I start?" Cal muttered.

"We're all vulnerable, he's not special," Zach muttered.

"Your insensitivity is getting really bloody annoying," Cal said firmly.

The Canadian looked away. Cal was the only one who could get away with critiquing Zach's personality.

"I've never seen pain in anyone like I have in Owen," Cal said as he kept working on my back. "I've seen emotional pain before, lots of boys here have come from trauma, but his is a different kind I can't quite put my finger on."

"He's lovesick," Lautaro said.

We all stared at him.

"What?" The Honduran stopped touching his bandaged ear. "¿Seriamente? You guys haven't noticed how whipped he is for James? He never takes his eyes off of him."

"That's so gay," Zach rolled his eyes.

Blitz punched him in the shoulder. "You're such a prat."

Zach ruffled his black hair. "Well it's girlish."

Blitz punched him harder.

"Ow!"

"That was from Adira," the Englishman sneered at him.

"Whatever happened to looking on the bright side?" Quinn pouted.

"Nobody ever said anything about looking on the bright side Barnes," Zach said blankly. Okay, I agreed that looking on the bright side was pitiful kid stuff right now, but damn Zach, it didn't hurt to hope.

"I'll go down tomorrow," Cal said firmly. "If they send me away, fine."

Harrison groaned and ran his hands through his hair. "This is fucking ridiculous. We're just supposed to sit here and let him do this?"

Cal screwed the cap back on the tin of cream and gestured for me to put my shirt back on.

"Give it up Andrews," Zach sighed, running a hand through his jet black hair.

"No," Harrison glared at him. "You got suspended. I got my face scratched up so bad I look like a fucking zombie."

I picked up my t-shirt again and stretched it over my bad side and managed to squeeze it over my head without too much pain. That muscle cream did wonders.

"You got let off easy," Harrison sneered at him.

Zach snorted. "Sure."

"He took my tags Patterson —literally the only thing I have for myself."

I guess the good part about me having literally nothing is that I can't feel the pain of it getting taken away.

Well, other than Adira. But that didn't work out.

Zach stood stony with his massive arms crossed across his chest. "Pipe down Andrews, your injury isn't that bad."

Lautaro sighed. "Esto no va a terminar bien."

"Taking away those tags fucked me up more than you could imagine Zachariah."

Cal rubbed his face. "You guys are gonna give me an anxiety attack."

Zach narrowed his electric blue eyes. "Don't call me that."

"At least you've got family left," Harrison said, "every single one of mine died fighting for their country, or died early from injuries they got fighting abroad. Do you know how that feels?"

"Alright, just shut the fuck up Harrison," I spat.

The agents around us froze.

Cal slowly set down the tin of ointment on the bed without a sound. Lucky stopped swinging his feet on the end of the bed he sat on. Blitz stopped maneuvering his ice pack. Quinn stopped poking at his eye patch.

"Excuse me?" Harrison's voice was low and husky.

I leaned my back against the bed Cal had his supplies laid out on. "How can you just stand there talking about how much pain you're in when we're all being treated like shit?"

Harrison rolled his eyes. "Laurie—"

"Oh, that's right. You hate feeling abandoned, so you've got to make everything about you."

Harrison crushed his hands into fists. Next to him Lautaro eyed his white knuckles and slowly shifted so he was leaning away from him.

"Laurie, I get that it's hard—"

"Do you?" I demanded. I pushed myself off the bed and stood up straight. "You sure aren't fucking acting like it."

Harrison didn't move from his position, but continued to glare at me. "I'm sorry, isn't it kind of your fault that all of this is happening in the first place?"

"What are you talking about?" My voice was tight.