Thorax: Cavalry Drone

Always A Drone

Thorax was lucky that he didn't survive off love anymore. If he did, HYDRA would've starved him after a week. Now, thanks to Morgan, he'd survived four months without a single drop of love. Thanks, maybe, but not love.

Life at HYDRA wasn't too different, then, from his childhood home.

Thorax grew up in a hive. A big, dark hive full of holes and glowing green chitin on the walls. Patrols happened there too. Thorax and a group of his fellow changelings flew around the Hive, and the terrain outside to search for any possible foes or food. Those found were brought back to the Hive for harvesting.

The screams weren't so different. Queen Chrysalis liked to hear them fight back- to hear the weakness of their prey, even as they were drained of every ounce of love and life. Over and over again.

His mother was queen of the hive, of the changelings. She gave birth to all of them. Chrysalis told her children that the only place they would ever get love was from their prey. Mother of the year material, really.

She wanted ruthless killers.

Thorax wanted his wife back.

He thought he got out of that life. Days with Morgan, with their family, it made thinking about his childhood suck less.

Now, Thorax is stuck in that same cycle. Wake up, go on patrol, hurt fellow creatures, mealtime, and lights out. That same cycle, over and over. His entire childhood in a nutshell. Hurting people. Hearing screams, because they enjoyed hearing their victims scream. No break in routine. No change allowed or welcome.

But Morgan inspired Thorax to change once.

He wasn't ever going back.

==TCD==

Thorax went through his days in a routine.

Wake up to the alarms.

March in line behind other HYDRA soldiers.

Go on patrol.

Watch the prisoners.

See which ones are weakest, which ones need to leave sooner rather than walk into death.

Go on another patrol.

Meal time.

Another patrol.

Lights out.

This routine was broken very rarely. Usually, for understandable circumstances. If a prisoner needed to leave that very day, Thorax worked his hardest to get them out. He, and only he, managed it.

The other prisoners were nervous to trust him. Thorax couldn't blame them. One look at the six armed monster on his coat reminded him why everyone should keep a wide berth.

But one prisoner agreed. One asked to escape. So, Thorax worked to get him free.

He unlocked him from his cell. A guard asked where he was going, and Thorax answered that Doctor Zola needed another patient. The guard let him go without another word.

Thorax snuck him out. Under the cover of darkness of night, and using his own magic sparingly to better get them free. Thorax managed to get them out from the perimeter of the factory, giving them directions to the closest village. He couldn't sneak away supplies for them, or anything that could be properly counted. The higher ups cared more for how much things they used over time, instead of the count for the dead.

Four months of this routine. 29 men saved by Thorax. It wasn't much, but Thorax reminded himself that he was short of options.

He hadn't heard of any prisoners being found. Alive or dead. That's the only assurance Thorax had for this working. If they found a dead prisoner, surely Thorax would've heard them bragging about it.