Dread and Fear

2: Master of None

A week earlier.

"If you spend all your free time with your nose inside those books then I fear there isn't much hope for us after all."

Deimos shut the book he was reading. In truth, he had hardly been reading it at all. He had done the best he could to focus on the page, but his mind was preoccupied with other things. The words had long ago become blurry, but he remained in his perch at the windowsill, book in hand on the same page. Someone had once told him when he was younger that reading in the dark would ruin his eyesight. At the time, he had assumed they literally meant pitch black darkness. He had thought it ridiculous that anyone would read with all the lights off like that. But as he got older he realised that just because you could see the words on the page, didn't mean you had enough light.

"Phobos," Deimos greeted the man who had spoken. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Phobos grimaced, pulling the scar on his bottom lip taut. "I do wish you would stop calling me that."

"It's your name."

"Well, they call me Phillip, now-"

"I have known you as Phobos from before you were even born. I don't intend to stop now."

Phobos looked as though he might retaliate, then thought better of it. He placed his hands behind his back, mimicking the army way he knew so well. If Deimos hadn't known it was so he could resist throttling his own brother, he might've found it impressive. He wanted to ask if he remembered when the roles were reversed, when Deimos was the one who had to control himself around Phobos.

Phobos was a tall, broad man with a square jaw and squarer shoulders to match. Over the years he had lost the bulk that had made him a warrior, but he had never lost his presence. The blond shock of hair on his head had been poorly tamed back with gel, which made him look even taller than he already was. Like Deimos, he had been cursed with hair that never seemed to listen, but Deimos had given into its natural state some time ago. He saw no reason to tame what did not require taming. Phobos and Deimos shared much alike as brothers, not including their dispositions.

"We want to know what happens next," Phobos said, pointing a finger at the floor. "We can't work through your silence." Deimos smiled at his brother knowingly. Phobos twitched. There was no appeasing him, and Deimos knew this well. Because some people were never, and would never be, satisfied. His brother was anxious at heart, despite his abrasive nature. He was quite like their father in that sense.

"Do we want?" Deimos placed the book on his desk. Dracula was always worth rereading, though evidently it had to wait. "Or do you want?"

A beat. "Me," Phobos muttered. "You must understand I can't take orders in the dark. You're sending people on suicide missions."

"It is only a suicide mission if you are underprepared. You may remember that you insisted on planning those missions independently, even though I warned you against it." Deimos was quickly becoming agitated. Given the circumstances, it was much harder to keep a level head, especially with Phobos storming in and out of the room. Both brothers lacked patience, but Phobos was prone to insolence. "I have trusted you thus far, the movement on the news had nothing to do with me. I trusted you to do what you promised. It was your job to handle it."

"I can do better, I just need to know what is going on. If you could just give me the resources—"

"What resources, Phobos? If I weren't sending Silas out each week we wouldn't even have enough paper to get us through a day's worth of work. We're barely scraping by with stationery, much less military weapons."

"But I don't need weapons." Phobos whined. Deimos hated it when Phobos whined. It reminded him too much of when they were children, sat in leather chairs in their father's gloomy office, or in the courtyard before prayer. He could almost see the faded walls of their bedroom at the commune. The square window and the little mattress next to the larger bed. Deimos adored the tall windows in his own study for this very reason.