Praise the Mutilated World

Chapter 8

Louis looked to the clock for what felt like the fiftieth time in the course of an hour.

He'd gotten himself dressed for their planned dinner out nearly three hours previous and the material of his sweater scratched against his neck harshly. The material itself was soft, but his anxiety made every little sensation of the thread against his skin feel amplified.

Harry rarely came home at the same time every night, but he'd never left him alone an entire night without so much as a message, and he'd certainly never skipped out on plans they'd made.

His stomach twisted with anxiety as the minutes turned to half eight and there was still no sign of Harry.

"NOA, call Harry's watch. Mark the call as urgent."

Ringing echoed through the kitchen only once before it cut off, the sound he knew meant the call had dropped taking its place.

"NOA," He asked again, frowning, "Where's Harry?"

"Harry cannot be located right now. Please try again shortly."

His anxiety spiked again at that.

The last time he'd thought he lost someone, he'd been freshly eighteen.

He'd just graduated from their training and Liam had gone to ALL for the first time.

Back then, he was working undercover as an agent, alone, in Two. He'd had a mission that was supposed to last eight weeks - just long enough to get information on a specific man that they'd been following and tracking for nearly a year. He was supposed to come back with information about his routine, about his family and his life.

Twelve weeks had passed and they'd lost all communication with him.

Everyone had decided to mourn the loss, to let him go and try not to hold onto it for too long.

In Four, funerals were common.

It never made them any easier, though.

They'd held the ceremony. An honorable death ceremony, for those who died in combat. Because that's what it was, to them. Combat for those who lost their lives every day under the regime of ALL, the killing machine that took people in and chewed them up and left them hollow remains of themselves.

Liam had come back after sixteen weeks, apologetic and alive.

But Louis had been certain he'd lost him, then, and that same feeling crept up in his stomach as he looked towards the clock again.

Harry thrived on his routines in ways Louis hadn't understood until he'd gotten wrapped up in Harry's routines right beside him. The way he kept to a schedule and had his automated reminders that kept him on track for every single part of his day had slowly been built into him, too.

NOA didn't tell Harry it was time for dinner.

Instead, she reminded only him. "Louis, it's time for dinner. Please remember to take your medication that is dispensed into your medication tube. Tonight your meal plan calls for the frozen lasagna that was premade two nights ago. Is this still okay?"

He didn't answer. The system was quiet for a moment.

"Is this okay?" She repeated. Louis knew she would repeat the same question every thirty seconds until he accepted the request, so he finally spoke up.

"No. Mute notification."

The only acknowledgement that the system understood his request was the quick fade of blue lights around the entire apartment.

It did nothing to comfort him.

What would happen if Harry never returned?

Would things be different now that he was pregnant with a child? Would he be confined to one of the rooms like that girl from the facility until he gave birth?