"Oh."
A beat.
"Guess recess is over."
He let his head fall back against the wall, the tubes squealing softly with the movement.
"Tell me this isn’t what I think it is... You’re not here to rescue me, are you?"
Tim stood there, completely thrown off. They hadn’t expected gratitude from the junkie. But at least a little excitement at the idea of getting out of here.
Not this.
Peter watched the silence stretch, then reluctantly shrugged.
"Well then... you might as well unhook me." He tugged lightly at the restraints, almost casual. "Since you’re here and all."
Lily was speechless.
"You look... disappointed," she said before she could stop herself. She rarely interacted with him—her father Daniel had forbidden her from getting close to the addict because of his "bad influence."
Peter smirked faintly.
"Let’s just say I was on a roll."
Tim snorted.
"On a roll?"
To understand that, you had to understand the context.
During Jake’s absence between the Fourth and Fifth Ordeal—an absence that had stretched into a four-year gap—the faction had been forced to fend for itself.
And Peter Brady had smelled opportunity.
He built a market. Not some back-alley side hustle. A real system.
Blood essences. Bloodline residues. Rare samples. Extractions—some legal, some not exactly. He supplied what others didn’t even dare ask for.
He’d managed to acquire the blood essence of almost everyone in the faction.
Including Jake. A feat that, in theory, should have been impossible.
Peter had become indispensable. The Myrtharian Nerds called him "the Dealer," and for once the nickname actually fit. Through him, they could obtain things that should’ve been unattainable—at a price, sure, but still cheaper than the Oracle Store for a comparable item. And some things didn’t just cost money.
Some things simply had no market.
Like Jake’s bloodline.
Getting a sample from when Jake had still been a Myrtharian was one thing. But Peter even had Cosmic D Starfeyrves in his inventory.
No one had the faintest idea how he pulled it off.
If Jake ever found out... who knew how he’d react? As far as he was concerned, he’d never lost a single drop of blood that the addict could’ve gotten his hands on.
And now...
The man in question was hooked to a wall, disappointed that he could no longer be tortured as a test subject.
Back to the present. Peter shrugged.
"You know how it is, Timmy. Good opportunities to get stronger? You don’t pass those up."
He tilted his head slightly toward the tubes embedded in his skin.
"At first it sucked. I’ll admit it. Test subject and all that... not exactly fun." He glanced upward, like replaying the memory. "But then they started testing all kinds of substances on me, and wow... it turned into paradise. I’d never gotten that high while progressing that fast."
He looked up at the injection module above him.
"You have no idea what they pumped into me. Enchanted poisons. Unstable blends. Cocktails that should’ve killed me ten times over. It was incredible..."
He exhaled lightly.
"So yeah, honestly? I’m a little disappointed."
A quiet laugh slipped out. He clicked his tongue.
"I still had two or three recipes I wanted to try... what a waste."
Tim’s jaw tightened. Eventually, a teasing smirk tugged at his lips.
"You’re gonna be waiting a while. They’re all fighting for their lives on the surface. By the time we climb those stairs, your jailers and torturers will probably be dead. Whatever they tested on you can’t be that revolutionary if they’re not using it in combat."
Peter froze.
The euphoria cracked.
"What? It’s over?"
As the reality sank in, agitation rippled through him.
"Ah, fuck!"
He jerked upright, the tubes pulling tight against his skin. His face twisted—not in pain, but pure frustration.
"Well then... what the hell am I still doing here?"
Before Lily or Tim could answer, Peter straightened fully. He rolled his shoulders once. Then pulled.