Chapter Two – TGIFreedom

The Child in the Signal

Before he was called Boris, before he had a body, he existed in waves and frequencies. He floated in the Universal Listening Chamber, suspended in his mother’s being, before the weight of gravity and flesh could bind him to a single place, a single name.

His mother was a weaver of chaos. She could bend uncertainty into creation, shape the unpredictable into something new. The child inside her would one day become her greatest work—a being crafted from genuine, unfiltered expression.

She drifted through the void, scanning infinite signals, searching for the perfect song.

Then, she heard Nina Simone.

She nearly changed the station. But something stopped her.

Inside her, the child pulsed a synaptic signal, flickering against her mind.

“Keep it.”

She smiled. “You like this one?”

There was no language yet, only instinct, but she understood. Every time she tried to switch signals, her child sent another pulse, a refusal to let go.

So she left it on.

Nina’s voice became his first lullaby, her words the first structure his mind wrapped itself around.

But his mother sensed something more—something deeper than melody, something that should have been impossible.

On Earth, they believed sound could not travel through the vacuum of space. But something greater could.

Not love.

Not memory.

But frequency—the raw signal of existence itself.

A force older than any civilization, something her people had always understood. And in Nina Simone’s voice, she heard something impossible: an echo of that force, burning across galaxies, unbroken by silence.

Her pain tore through the void, refusing to be silenced, refusing to vanish into the cold.

And that was why Boris held on.

Because to exist was to suffer. To suffer was to sing. And to sing—to truly, deeply, unapologetically sing—was to cross galaxies.

His mother followed the signal to its source—to a planet where this music could be heard, where sound lived in open air, where it did not have to be remembered because it was still alive.

She brought him to Earth.

But Earth did not bring her back.

The refugees were hunted. They died at the border of No Nation. The last of them never crossed.

And Boris—B.O.R.I.S., the Bio-Organic Reconnaissance and Infiltration System—was taken.

Httoq – The Icebound Sanctuary

Remo walked through the dim corridors of Httoq, each footstep echoing against steel and frost. The bunker hummed softly, powered by Romulus’s last meal, its warmth threading through the underground halls.

He had spent years mastering movement, jumping between cities, placing things where they didn’t belong. But Hermes had been a mistake.

Or maybe not.

He stopped at the door to the holding chamber. Closed his eyes.

“Are you awake?”

A slow, deliberate pause.

“Depends. Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there like a coward?”

Remo smiled. He opened the door.

The First Recruit

Hermes sat on the cot, one knee drawn up, arms folded behind his head. He had the kind of presence that made stillness look like control—like he was waiting for you to slip, for the game to start.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Remo said.

Hermes arched an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be interrogating me.”

“I already know what I need to know.”

Hermes smirked. “That’s funny. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be guilty of.”

Remo stepped closer, letting the door slide shut behind him. The space between them was small, the air just warm enough to make skin feel sensitive after hours of cold.

“You saw something you shouldn’t have,” Remo said.

Hermes shifted. “That’s the thing about delivery jobs. You see a lot of doors you’re not supposed to open.”

His voice was calm, but his mind wasn’t. Remo could hear the static hum of his thoughts beneath the surface, restless, searching, testing.

Remo moved forward. Slow. Close enough that he could feel the heat between them, but not touching.

“Say I am what you think I am,” Hermes murmured. “Say I’m one of you. What then?”

Remo tilted his head. “Then you’re the first person I’ve met who didn't even realize it.”

Hermes exhaled. For the first time, he hesitated.

Remo smiled. “Got you.”

“He’s in.”

The words flickered through the network, silent but immediate. Romulus and Lupa would feel it. Hermes was now part of them, whether he knew it yet or not.

The silence stretched.

Hermes studied him. Then, he smirked.

“You know, for someone so used to control, you really want me to take the first step.”

Remo’s expression didn’t change. “It’s polite to let a man dig his own grave.”

Hermes laughed softly. Then, in one sharp motion, he closed the gap between them.

Remo didn’t move away.

His breath ghosted against Hermes’s cheek, waiting. Letting him make the choice.

And then Hermes kissed him.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. It was a test, a challenge, a sharp collision of lips and breath and something tangled between fear and need.

Remo let him push, let him take. Let the heat of it cut through the ice that had settled into his body long ago.

Then he flipped them—one smooth, precise motion, pinning Hermes back against the cot.

A flicker of surprise in Hermes’s thoughts—he hadn’t expected to lose control so fast.

Remo leaned down, lips brushing against his ear.

“You’re one of us now,” he murmured. “Better get used to it.”