project vessel (twenty one pilots)

seven - redcoat

To his utmost surprise, a substantial rebel army of sorts had been blossoming in the heart of the Undercity. For years, Tyler would have sworn on his life that those who knew of Project Vessel turned blind eyes or shrugged at the name as though it were nothing but a mere shadow in the grand scheme of things. Yet, a few hundred, perhaps even thousands, had recognized the importance of this god-awful taint of humanity. Someone finally gave a damn that children were being plucked from their family for years and years, hidden away for reasons unknown to the world and occasionally, being released back into society with nothing to them except the clothes on their backs, their names, and powers that often frightened locals and created tensions with the law. Of course, if one resided in the Undercity, one scarcely had to worry about the law.

Nonetheless, Tyler was most shocked by the structure of it. With a loaded armory of (mostly stolen) pistols, revolvers, smaller firearms, as long as a rather extensive supply of larger machine guns and even a semi-functional artillery. Morgana gave him a short tour of the few buildings, which were isolated and few and clinging outside the very outskirts of the city. It was a no man's land and yet seemed to be bursting and teeming with life, like a colony of insects bubbling with life beneath the soil; the grass says nothing of what lies below, usually.

When offered a shotgun, Tyler cordially declined the offer, holding up his curved knife. Morgana immediately snatched it, which triggered a rage of him that sparked flames, but she was too ornery to let go of it. Studying and scrutinizing it meticulously, she came to a conclusion as she handed it back to him and took something out of her own pocket.

"We're all given knives."

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing, "Excuse me?"

"Those who leave or have to go in the field or whatever; we're all given bladed weapons of some sorts. But never guns. There was this girl, died long ago, rest her soul, from the project. Scarcely fifteen, mind you; it was like a tiny little harpoon. We called it the Penstabber, because the thing was scarcely the size of a writing pencil-" Morgana carried off, explaining the size of the interesting weapon. By this time, Tyler placed his hands on her shoulders and uttered, staring straight into her eyes, "I really couldn't care less."

Her eyes widened and then she let out a little sigh of disappointment. "Pity. Good kid, died well."

Suddenly, sympathy showed on his face. It'd been the first time he'd actually felt a twinge for it in, well, forever. But the thought of a child dying, one from Project Vessel, it truly saddened him in a way he once thought was impossible. He'd been feeling a constant nauseating, yet refreshing, cycle of emotions since his first episode seeing the woman in white.

"Gave us critical intel on the enemy's biggest asset." She sniffled, wiping her nose. "Only soldier I didn't hate. Because she had a nice sense of humor. Not like the rest of those metalhead dimwits."

"The affection you have for your soldiers is absolutely inspiring, Morgana."

"Shut up, Joseph. There's one in the Sector, one like us. More powerful than any other, apparently. But, there's a problem with it." She rested her elbows on the sloppily laid out strategy table, knocking down a piece perched on the very edge. Through quick reflexes, she was able to catch it and place it back in its appropriate location.

Tyler crossed his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue. Morgana took a moment to figure out how to articulate her thoughts. "Well, it's on both sides. A rebel, but a pet to the government."

"Oh, that's absolutely marvelous for us. We could walk into an ambush and get ourselves killed or make means to the end of this project. Absolutely fantastic. I applaud your scout. She died for nothing."