“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Rain clung to Archer’s hair, sliding down his sunken face. His shirt was worse, dirty and clinging to him. But it was that haunted, dead look to his eyes that stood out most.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, wetting his dry lips, “I wanted—I wanted to see you one more time.”

Ten years ago he never would’ve guessed he’d be standing outside your home looking like this.

Seven years ago he flew too close to the Sun, he still was.

Seven years ago Sun-Young died and Archer left everything behind. Chandler, you, hero work. He was weak then and he was now. Crawling back to you like a sopping wet, kicked dog. If you slammed the door in his face he wouldn’t even be mad.

He wasn’t supposed to even know where you lived, not anymore, but he’d been tracking your movement for the last week. You looked… better than he did, he thought. Like someone that haunted his sleep, a face he’d only see behind his eyelids. Archer wanted to reach out and make sure you were real.

“I saw some shit.” He held his hands tightly to hide the tremble. “Really horrible things.” Archer knew he wasn’t making sense, but the words were violently splitting out of him. “After—After Chandler… you know, after that, I wanted to look into some stuff.”

His vision blurred just saying Chandler’s name. When had his family buried him? He couldn’t remember. Chandler’s mother had forbidden Archer from attending the funeral. He didn’t blame her.

“I thought he started this lab to save Sun-Young’s younger sibling, you remember—Sorry, I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, counted five deep breaths. “I knew that guy was taking advantage of Chandler. Some white coat, claimed he was a scientist that could help. Chandler gave him all this money to run the operation. But I didn’t trust it, you know?”

Archer searched your face for something, anything. The sickening weight of loneliness had driven him mad, and then here, back to you. Somehow it was always you. When that gunman had pulled the trigger, he’d saved you over Sun-Young. When he was choosing a sidekick, he’d wanted you.

At his lowest, with no one else in his corner, he wanted you to be.

“I broke into the place, Deus Lab, you’ve seen it,” he continued, words nearly blending together. He should stop. You shouldn’t get dragged into this.

Archer was already in too deep. He couldn’t turn around if he wanted to.

“There’s more. Labs like that. That—that use Enhanced.” He needed to stop. Your life was easier, better, without him there weighing you down. “I saw records. Oh, God, it’s so bad, {{user}}. The first Enhanced that were born, the government took them. They were so little in their pictures. Took them and”—Archer gaze seemed to drift, eyes glassy—“used them to make this virus.”

Everyone learned about the comet that hit Earth in 2045. That was the year humanity changed forever. Hundreds of Enhanced were born in the following years. Non-Enhanced populations dwindled. Until Enhanced began to die off. Scientists, doctors, all of them claimed Enhanced couldn’t survive Earth. Less than half of those Enhanced around that time survived. Hardly any of them were even adults.

Archer had believed that. Why would he question something he was taught in elementary?

“It’s what killed us,” he finished, turned inside out and hollow. Had Chandler known? He’d seen him in his last moments, a shell of himself. Archer was sure they’d done something to him. “They can still use it. It wasn’t destroyed. We never actually adjusted. They just stopped poisoning us.”

He fell silent, shivering, burning up. Archer had thought himself a god when he and Chandler had first started New Vision. A place for Enhanced to prove they could be good. What a fucking joke. Non-Enhanced were never going to believe that. All they saw were dressed up circus freaks for their own entertainment. A product to be bought and sold.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

For leaving you, for New Vision, for Sun-Young, for flying too close to the Sun when he knew what it felt to be burned. For the future of Enhanced.