Been A Son

BEEN A SON
chapter sixteen

Will's fingers dripped blood in a long line from the cellar, up the stairs and into the kitchen. He could feel the steady pulse of his heart pushing his own plasma through his veins, coursing healthy and strong throughout his body, the thrumming rush so loud it drowned out all other sensation. He couldn't focus, his vision blurred as he made his way through the kitchen and beyond into the dining room. He paused, realizing in some distant, wandering part of himself that the reason he couldn't see was because his glasses were covered in blood. His head shaking in a violent tic, he took his glasses off and attempted to wipe them clean with the hem of his cotton shirt, only to smear human tissue in a thick glob across the rounded glass. He blinked, the heel of his hand coming away wet as he rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't just covered in blood, there were pieces, tiny shreds like ground meat embedded into the fabric of his shirt and trousers.

He walked past the oak dining table and into the atrium, where monitors whirred and clicked, a dialysis machine slowly pumping waste and nutrients in a constant cycle of renewal. Suspended on a thick chain affixed to the ceiling and floor, slightly swaying thanks to a clockwork mechanism of unknown engineering, a large jar and its contents was sleeping peacefully. It was overly warm in the atrium, Hannibal had been very fastidious when it came to ensuring the room was of the proper temperature, which was clearly subtropical. This particular corner was kept in darkness, with only hints of light allowed in. A small iPod had been affixed to one of the monitors, the slender machine gauging heart rate and oxygen, and the tinny sounds of Bach drifted like a whisper through the near silence, the playful notes meant to soothe that which Will still couldn't comprehend was a living thing.

The jar had a wide, glass lid, complete with a handle and it would be no effort at all to lift it off. He placed his palm over the rounded glass knob, leaving a bloody outline of his fingers upon the surface before taking his hand away. Even in the near dark Will could see a plethora of other fingerprints dotting the cylindrical shape of the glass, streaks of graceful digits that had caressed it in relentless affection, as though the glass could easily be a substitute for skin. On the lid, just below his bloody handprint, he could see thin kissprints.

The contents of the jar shifted, and a startled Will stumbled backwards from it, his hand shakily coming to his mouth, leaving a smear of gore across his lips. The world had a far more menacing shape to it now, one that Will's imaginings took into its analysis, drawing out his inner visions and placing them in the context of what was now living within this corner. Outside the large windows of the atrium, the long, bony protruding antlers crawled out of the muck of the world and gleamed grey in the moonlight. Their tangled spikes rose high, thick as brambles that were allowed to grow wild, so unruly the antlers were pushing all sense of its own survival from it. The bones were to set to choke themselves out, eventually. Upon a landscape of spent blood they nourished themselves, unaware of the rot that was set to happen as they had been planted in such foul earth. The antlers gleamed with threat, suffocating everything that tried to grow beneath them. This is what he'd been born into. He glanced down at his shaking hands, the blood still so thick it clotted between his fingers in black chunks. This was his world's design.

~*~

--ten hours earlier--

When they arrived at the scene of the Doemling crime, Will knew that he had to brace himself. He was familiar enough with the layout of Muskrat Farm, he'd wandered its hidden hallways and staked it out too many times as he'd worked on his plan to kill Mason Verger, so when they pulled up to the barn where both Doemling and McDermott had been killed, Will knew exactly where Hannibal was heading. Without telling him, Hannibal revealed a wealth of information just on the choice of location upon the property, and Will braced himself as Hannibal brought the Bentley close to the entrance of the barn, parking it just off the side of a large puddle.

Muskrat Farm was a mess in spring, the sprawling property one of mud and dead grass, giving the viewer a feeling of hopeless decay that made the memory of the desolate winter months seem cozy. Broken fences dotted the property and there was the constant, annoying buzzing of flies lurking in black clouds, hungrily feeding on warmth and rot. Hannibal was careful where he stepped when he got out of the Bentley, and Will fought the urge to jibe him yet again over not wearing proper shoes. He was in an odd mood, Will noticed, fiercely cold and aloof, not allowing Will's empathy in and barely reacting to any attempts to soothe him, though he clearly needed it if the tight pull of his muscles was any indication. Hannibal was tightly wound, ready to spring against any perceived threat at first opportunity, and Will was careful not to let any of his own Alpha aggression tempt it no matter how much his instincts wanted to.

The smell of pig manure hit Will the second he left the car and he grimaced against the foul stench as he walked around the front of the Bentley to stand beside Hannibal, who was calmly taking off his riding gloves and folding them carefully before putting them in his coat pocket. "I believe you are aware, Will, that there are times when one is faced with an event or situation so monstrous, it defies all measure of words or feeling to properly express one's distress." He stood apart from Will, placing enough distance between them to prevent Will's instinctive Alpha need to gentle him. "In these situations, it is compartmentalization that is the best method of coping. Please keep this in mind." Hannibal approached the barn doors and lifted the heavy wooden plank, sliding open the massive, heavy doors himself with effortless ease, a small sign of his swirling adrenaline. He pushed the barn door wide open with a shove of his shoulders against the rotting wood, the stench and squealing screams of hundreds of pigs answering their intrusion into their cramped space. "Follow me."

Will glanced over his shoulder, quickly inspecting the mansion that was poised like a squatting demon behind them, half expecting to see Mason Verger and his lawyers trudging through the thawed earth to stop them. He entered the barn with a renewed sense of trepidation, Hannibal well ahead of him as he aimed for that single, empty pen that held the trap door that had facilitated his escape. Hannibal kicked aside the fresh straw that had been strewn over it, and tugged on the iron rung that was revealed, opening it into the dark staircase that led into the basement of the Verger estate. He was already more than halfway down as Will approached, and he caught the last glimpse of the hem of Hannibal's sand coloured Burberry wool coat before he disappeared from view, his steps marching and sure. Will followed with significantly less assurance, his palms sweaty as he gripped the metal railing and made his way into the small corridor that led to the holding area where Hannibal had been imprisoned. The piece of loose drywall was placed to one side and Will stepped through it and into a harshly lit white space, one he was already familiar with but which sent points of anger into white hot embers within him. He tried to ignore the large metal pen that had held his bonded mate captive, the fact it was still present and ready for use enough to make him want to burn the entire Verger stronghold to the ground.

The white door that had been locked to him was partially open and he could hear the bustle of people behind it, echoing voices that were familiar and held notes of fear. Alana, strong and forceful and the more timid intonations of Margot answering her. There was another voice, deeply frightened but professional, a stranger to Will, but clearly not one to Hannibal who was offering the deep tones of both reassurance and scientific question. Will frowned as he approached, the door swinging open slowly as he pushed the heel of his palm against it.

He wasn't prepared for the sight that met him, the various jars and tubes and whirling, beeping machinery looking like something out of a science fiction film. This was Mason's genetics lab, he realized, and with unsteady steps he approached closer to the two rows of glass jars, various tubes and lines tangled within and behind them. There were eight in all. He tried to get a closer inspection only to have Dr. Alana Bloom stand in his way, preventing him from seeing more.

"Will, it's not a good idea for you to be here."

Of course it wasn't, he wanted to say to her, none of the decisions he'd made since he'd met Hannibal had been good ones. Adding this to a long list was foolish to second guess at this point, and he shouldered his way past her, ignoring the tortured look she gave him as he headed for where Hannibal and an unknown Beta male were standing. They were deep in conversation already over one of the jars, with Hannibal eagerly inspecting equipment and the beeping output, his medical knowledge as a surgeon in full concentration upon the contents of the jar. Will frowned as he took the two parallel rows of them in, and quickly realized that all but two had machines that were still measuring oxygen and pulse rates, two large dialysis machines still pumping old and renewed blood through it. "What is this?" he finally said, and the unknown male, clearly a terrified doctor who didn't want to be there, turned to him with a nervous energy that belied both his horror and his scientific curiosity. He was a slight man, with a finely trimmed peppered beard and from the way he stood close to Hannibal it was clear they were old friends.

An inexplicable feeling of jealousy welled up within him, and Hannibal, sensing it, gestured to the man beside him. "Will, this is Dr. Donald Sutcliffe." Then, without waiting for Will to expand on his protest at this stranger being too familiar with his Omega, Hannibal added, "He is my gynaecologist."

Will was floored, his mouth hanging open. "W-What?"

Dr. Sutcliffe was suitably flustered by Hannibal's frankness. "Ob/Gyn, actually...Hannibal and I met when we were in residency at John Hopkins."

"Donald helped me through a very difficult time," Hannibal curtly added, and Will knew it was to assure him that their relationship had been one forged by tragedy and then subsequent necessity. Professional only. "There are no studies as to the long term affects of taking synthetic Alpha hormones. A yearly check-up to maintain my health is a courtesy Dr. Sutcliffe has afforded that I have long appreciated."

"Hannibal," Will said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice, and failing. "Why is he *here*?"

Hannibal didn't answer, leaving Will to further inspect the rows of jars, the contents of which were murky and mostly spoiled with layers of strange, fuzzy bacteria floating thick upon the surface of the liquid, the levels of it evaporated and leaving a crusty line across the inside of the glass. They were all stagnant save for the two jars which clearly had thriving organic life floating within them. All of the jars had small cards affixed to their lids, the cryptic, neat notes written in blue ball point pen:

F: O type: -A Donor: HL Gestation Date: February, 2---
Progress: Month 1: Cell division, embedded in the lining of the endometrium, beginning prognosis good, phenotype determined by amniotic analysis, cell organization positive

They all had the same date, one that Will was very familiar with, a fact that made his heart race and the tremors in his hands increase as he went jar by jar, until he stopped at the one Margot was staring blankly into. "M: A Type: AB Donor: HL Gestation date: February 2---"

Margot's voice was a soft whisper in the harshly lit white room. "Male. Alpha. Blood type AB. Donor, Hannibal Lecter..."

Will felt all the blood drain from his body. He held his hands up to his mouth as he staggered back from the rows of jars, Hannibal keenly watching him with such a cold lack of expression he could have been carved from stone. "Oh my God. These are...These are your *children*..."

Hannibal turned away from Will's disgust and horror, his elegant hand splayed wide on the lid of the jar he and Dr. Sutcliffe had been discussing. "No, Will. *This* is my child. You can guess who the patriarchal donor was. There is no need to discuss it. Margot, it seems to me only fitting that the statistics of this room fall into such a neat pattern. Half is mine, half is yours." He turned to Sutcliffe, who was ashen as he checked over the vitals of the two surviving foetuses, his concentration mired in scientific scrutiny. Hannibal kept his palm on the jar they had been inspecting when Will had walked in. Hannibal held his head high, his voice clear and concise within the fierce tension that lay thick over the occupants of the laboratory. "Donald, this is my daughter. I want to take her home."

Will shook his head at this, concepts forming that he hadn't ever wanted to entertain. "Hannibal, he can't do that, and besides, it's...Most of these died, you're setting yourself up for disaster."

"Actually," Dr. Sutcliffe cut in and Will could have killed him for it. "From the setup I'm witnessing here, it's perfectly clear to me that this is very much a viable process. I believe it was neglect that was to blame for the lack of success in the other samples. I must warn you, Hannibal, transport will be the trickiest part of this, but both specimens seem to be thriving and there is no reason not to believe that this isn't going to work. What the end result is of such a vile experiment, I can't tell you." Dr. Sutcliffe shrugged, eyeing the various cords with a sense of both shock and wonder. "As a human being, I am as disgusted as you are, Mr. Graham, but as a man of science...I can't walk away from the breakthrough this kind of work can reveal."

"This is.." Will fought to put it in easier terms, but there was simply no other description. "This is an abomination."

Dr. Sutcliffe gave Will's stricken face a nod of sympathy. "Though it is highly unethical, I can take some comfort in knowing it is not a process I started. In current trials, such artificial womb experiments are not permitted to develop beyond fourteen days. These two are now entering the second trimester at three and a half months old. Right now, in my view, it would be wrong of me not to respect the wishes of the mother." He glanced nervously at Hannibal, whose black gaze was unreadable. "This is Hannibal's call."

Will's nerves unwound and sprung, leaving his body shaking and the laboratory spinning as his mind quickly pieced together a myriad implications and dangers in relation to what Hannibal was set to do. He closed his eyes, trying to bring his breath into an even enough rhythm so that the ability to speak could return. He swallowed on several words, their bitter taste aching as they went down like shards of bone in his throat. "Hannibal, you really need to think about this, there is so much that can go wrong and I don't think you're prepared for that. There might be deformities, cognitive delay, this is a grade school science project morphed by nightmare, you can't predict the outcome."

"I want my daughter," Hannibal snapped at him.

There was no room for discussion on the matter. Alana and Margot stayed wisely out of it, the jar containing their own future eyed mostly with disgust. It seemed only Hannibal was the one infected with maternal feelings. Will, sick and queasy at the thought of what was about to happen, left the laboratory and walked back into the space he had visited so many times before, where he had stood in its centre, staring at that metal enclosure while he plotted and fantasized about killing Mason Verger and all of the torture his oh so rich imagination was dying to visit on him. It all paled in what he envisioned doing to that monstrous little pig of a man now, for this was an unnatural violation, an act akin to rape. Now part of that ugliness was going to come into their home, into the uneasy sense of family they were still trying to navigate, and Will was absolutely powerless to stop it.

He felt a strong, warm hand on his shoulder, and Will turned around, finding Hannibal oddly contrite before him, his eyes a black sheen that studied the pulse of Will's throat. Taking in a deep, shaking breath, Will stroked the side of Hannibal's face, gentling the back of his neck through the blue silk of his bonding ribbon with a kneading press of his palm.

Will pressed his lips together, bracing himself. He had to fight the urge to be sick as he placed his head at an angle Hannibal couldn't turn away from, forcing him to look at him. "When do we take her home?"

Hannibal's gaze lost its black sheen, descending back into a deep maroon, his muscles relaxing until he was in Will's embrace, the way he sank into Will suggesting a fragility that Will found alarming.

"Immediately."

~*~

Her relocation had gone far smoother than any of them had anticipated. Hannibal's mood was significantly more elevated as the equipment was smoothly moved from the white transport van and through the front foyer and into the kitchen, winding past the dining room and ending in a shaded corner in the atrium. Hannibal was careful to arrange several ferns around the jar and its apparatus to keep out the harsh sunlight, and he pushed the temperature up several degrees to ensure the room held the same warmth as a human body. The ride back to Baltimore was thankfully uneventful as the McBain crowds were concentrated more on the area around the Baltimore Convention Centre where Governor McBain was set to have his rally that evening. Their stately home was on the opposite side of the city, where the roads were mostly clear. The drive up from Virginia had felt inordinately long, and Will felt every mile in his body as they drove, the silence of Dr. Donald Sutcliffe next to him only adding to the distance. Hannibal sat in the back of the van, the jar in his lap and clutched in a firm embrace. Through the rear view mirror, Will watched him carefully, how at every sharp turn and bump, Hannibal would kiss the clear glass lid and shush the slightly jostled contents with a tender affection Will couldn't help but find macabre.

Now she was in their home, Dr. Sutcliffe and Hannibal both fussing with worried unease over the various lines and equipment, recalibrating where needed and checking on vitals. Sutcliffe nodded at Hannibal, and pointed to the several IV's strung up above the jar, connected tubes floating within the clumps of tissue. Will had been the one volunteered to affix the chains to the ceiling and floor, the clockwork mechanism the chains were attached to meant to mimic the movement of the infant's mother. Dr. Sutcliffe was irritating in his positivity. "It's a good idea to donate some of your own blood for her nourishment. You will need to find more donors as she develops further, you won't be able to keep up with her nutritional needs by the time she hits the third trimester. It's unlikely she's going to go to term, but the vitals are still strong, and with the proper care I'm confident this can happen." He cast a guilty glance towards Will. "I'm going back to Muskrat Farm to monitor the progress of the male, and discuss with Margot and Alana what they want to do. Are you going to be okay on your own with this for now? Call me on the cell if there are any changes in her condition, I'll be here as soon as I can."

Hannibal wordlessly nodded, his hands splayed over the surface of the jar as he caressed it. Will stood unmovable at the far end of the atrium, next to the harpsichord, the nightmarish vision before him too surreal for even his imagination to place inside of any facet of reality. Dr. Sutcliffe saw himself out and Will flinched as though it were a gunshot when the front door slammed shut behind him.

They were alone together now, as much alone as a couple could be when there was an unborn creature simmering in its own gory juices between them. Hannibal's caresses over the jar were filled with a relieved longing, and Will shuddered as he watched Hannibal place soft kisses along the glass jar's lid.

"We are going to be a family, Will. Is there no greater gift than this?" Hannibal pressed his stomach against the side of the glass, his expression one of wistful bliss. "What are you thinking, Will?"

"I'm thinking the man who did this would disgust the devil." Tears welled unbidden, and Will clenched his teeth tight as he spoke through them. "That bastard was going to grow them like plants and *sell* them. He created them to suffer, Hannibal."

"She will only know happiness with us," Hannibal said, his promise brought smiling against the glass as he kissed it again.

In a gesture that was oddly sultry, Hannibal unwrapped himself from his growing daughter and approached Will, his hand outstretched to him, bidding him to take it. Will placed his own sweaty palm into Hannibal's dry, cool one and allowed him to guide him towards the entrance of their cellar. The trap door was still open, and Hannibal lightly kissed Will on the cheek as he bid him to follow him down the stairs and into the cool, mossy darkness. "I have something very special for you, my dear Will," he said.

Will wanted to protest, there was no way he was in the mood for lovemaking, not with that, whatever it was, sitting upstairs in the atrium, its existence hissing and pumping in a mechanized rhythm that had nothing to do with natural life. He shivered as he passed the metal prep table that still had the Omega murder file spread wide across it, post it notes and circled maps of his property additions to his theorizing. Hannibal brought him to a dark corner next to his refrigerator, an area he used as a cold room in the past for hanging his choice cuts of Alpha meat. He kissed Will softly on his lips, drawing it out with a gentleness that was the weight of feathers. With a soft sigh he broke away from Will with great reluctance, and opened the cold room door.

Mason Verger. Handcuffed to an uncomfortable plastic chair, his mouth clamped shut with duct tape. Will stared at him, disbelieving, the panic in the piggy eyes widened to just beyond pinpricks as he struggled against his bonds, the air thick with his terrified musk. Hannibal took Will's hand and placed something smooth within it, and it took a few moments for him to recognize the shape and contours of the handle of his hunting knife.

Hannibal kissed his forehead.

"Have fun, my darling."

Hannibal slipped away, back upstairs to drape himself over the hope that lay in an opaque jar, leaving Will to let his demons out to play.

~*~
Will sat on the harpsichord's bench, keeping a far distance away from the thing in the corner that continued to breath and live when every human instinct inside of him told him it wasn't supposed to. His hands had stopped dripping, the blood now congealing and thick, drying in places as it flaked off of his skin in burgundy shards. In the cold room, evidence of his Alpha rage lay in an explosion of human tissue and blood, his hunting knife lost somewhere amongst the meat that he had cut into the tiniest of pieces until it resembled ground pork. It hadn't been enough to reduce Mason Verger to this, he'd had to shatter and snap his bones, too, until near nothing was left but fine, powdery spindles. The walls were covered with him, as was the floor of the cold room, a thick wash of red and black, with bits of fat and grey matter splattered liberally within it. He'd reduced him, piece by piece and even after the screams had died down and he was obviously dead, it simply wasn't enough. What Mason Verger had destroyed had to find its proper punishment, and Will visited it with relentless skill upon his mangled corpse. There was nothing at all left in that cold room that had once resembled a human being. If he'd stuffed every single one of Mason Verger's orifices full of dynamite and blew him apart he wouldn't be as deconstructed as he was now.

All that was left now was fear brought about by the realization that he truly did have that kind of violence lurking within him, ready to pounce upon the knowledge all the murderers he'd investigated over the years had taught him. Through it all visions of the dead Omegas haunted his efforts, watching with approval as he cut and cut, the blood seeping over black concrete and showering him with its gory purification. He could see Hannibal reflected in the blade of the hunting knife, his lips slightly upturned in loving approval. He'd done what he'd been expected to do, and it took hours. He made Mason Verger hurt.

He was exhausted, his muscles aching with overexertion, and sitting on the harpsichord bench did nothing to ease it, his back bent from retribution. What he wanted was Hannibal, but he was surprised to discover that his Omega wasn't home, and Will was left to sit in the atrium alone, with that eerie thoughtform in a jar Hannibal had called their daughter. He wanted to feel the same enthusiasm Hannibal clearly felt, but he was too guarded, knowing that what lurked in that jar was tainted with Verger genes.

He closed his eyes, and let out a weary sigh. "It's not your fault," he said to it. "No one chooses to be born."

He stayed that way, breathing hard through his nose, his teeth and jaw clenched tight enough to give him a pressure headache that cracked along the back of his skull and ended somewhere behind his eyes. He frowned, listening carefully to the sounds of the beeping and whirring machines, only to discover there was another, more insistent ringing, one that he was very familiar with. His cell phone. He'd left it in his jacket pocket, the coat draped over the kitchen island when they'd arrived back from the lab.

He stood up with effort and with stiff steps he made his way past the dining room, dried blood staining the oak flooring before flaking against the slate tiles of the kitchen. He grabbed his jacket, which was still sending out that muffled ringing, knowing damned well there was only one person who would have let it ring that long before cursing and hanging up. He took out his cell phone and held it up to his ear as he answered it. "Jack."

"For fuck's sake, Graham, I've been trying to get a hold of you for the past two hours!" There was a scuffling behind the line, like a thin layer of static, and it took Will a few moments to realize that he was hearing frantic dispatch between riot police. Will slowly made his way out of the kitchen, his steps careful and uneven as he walked back through the dark, shadowy route into the atrium. There was a hum behind the crunchy static of orders between officers, a crowd of hundreds, maybe even thousands. A mob. Screaming.

"Will! Can you hear me?"

Will took careful steps towards the harpsichord's bench, he felt like one wrong move could topple him. He kept the cell phone pressed tight against his ear, the damp clots of souring blood and tissue sticking to it like jelly. "I'm here, Jack."

"You don't know what's happening, do you?" Jack cursed and shouted an unintelligible order, his breath heavy and anxious when he returned to his cell. "Turn on your goddamned TV!"

Will swallowed, tasting iron. "We don't have one."

Jack cursed again. "Fuck's sake, just use the phone then, Tattle Crime has got a live feed going on--Motherfucking firestorm and bloodbath out here it's looking like Armageddon. We got countless Alpha males dead, McBain assassinated, and fuck if the whole Baltimore Convention Centre isn't firebombed to shit! Will! Get your ass down here!" Jack shouted more curses at another officer and he was momentarily muffled by the sound of an explosion deep in the background. "Don't just stand there! The whole place is going up! Get everyone the hell out of here!" He returned to the phone. "Will! Will, we think it's the Chesapeake Ripper--You were right, he had an end game in mind, he was not a motherfucking serial killer but a fucking domestic terrorist, you hear me? A goddamned terrorist! Fucking hell of a thing!"

Will gently pressed 'end' on the cell phone, hanging up on Jack. He stared at the blank screen of his cell phone for a long time, the wallpaper of his dog, Winston, out of sync with what the cell phone usually delivered to him. He hit the Tattle Crime app, bringing up the site's live feed. A tiny image of Freddie Lounds in front her iPhone appeared, her movements jerky, and the sound fading in and out. Will turned the volume all the way up.

"...It's a shocking night here in Baltimore, as flames lick the sky and explosions continue to rock the Baltimore Convention Centre. It's unknown how many fatalities are expected, but it's safe to say that hundreds, if not thousands, of people may be either dead or injured in these blasts. For those of you just tuning in, I repeat, Baltimore Convention Centre is in flames after being attacked by what appears to be an Omega centred terrorist group. You heard that right, OMEGA centred terrorists. The explosions began shortly after the assassination of key elite Alphas from the Eastern Coastline as well as Governor McBain and his campaign party..."

Will scrolled down the page, clicking on the 'as it happened' video image and bringing the events she described to the fore. He expanded the video to fit the small screen and watched carefully as the opening ceremonies to Governor McBain's rally began. The Convention Centre was packed to bursting, the opening band one he'd never heard of but clearly one with partisan leanings towards the McBain campaign if their 'Make A Family' t-shirts and enthusiasm were anything to go on. There were several close-ups of the crowds, laughing youth and clapping, chanting people echoing the 'Make A Family' mantra in a rousing sing along that made Will cringe. Ribbons with the slogan printed on it in Coastline colours soared through the air, and shotguns of paper poured in thick chunks of confetti over the seats. It was more rock concert than politics and it was clearly a venue fit for the Coastline elite, who took up the first three rows, wealthy Alphas dressed in their conservative, shining finery while well mannered silent but beautiful Omegas sat primly beside them. By the time the opening song was finished and McBain stepped out, the crowd was roaring to its feet, hands clapping and loud whistles shouted across the din, so loud he could barely be heard.

Jeb McBain was a bland looking man, Will thought. He had that Everyone look polished to perfection, the smile as fake as plastic and his appearance not quite perfect but not ugly either, he held just enough of some inner charisma to keep his speech from sounding maudlin. He punched the air and the crowd went wild, sharing in his assured victory as they stomped their feet and shook their fists with him in unison.

McBain stepped up to the podium, and it took a good few minutes for the crowd to calm down enough to listen to what he had to say, his gleaming teeth bright in the spotlights, his hair so perfectly trimmed it could have been moulded from clay. "I want to say," and the crowd went wild again, and he held up his hands, good natured and happy but in the manner of a nice dad, telling those kids to settle down now, he had a thing or two that needed to be heard. He waited for a pause in the applause and began again. "I want to say what an honour it is to be here in Baltimore, a city of such great history and art, the cornerstone of the United Main's great cultural achievements. We are blessed to have such a great and wonderful nation within which to display our talents, and as we strive to become stronger, those talents will help us in finding worldwide stability that other nations will be forced to envy. We are a strong nation, set to become stronger with every Alpha we bring into it, our goals clear and our hearts ready to forge a path through all barriers. Other nations harshly criticize our way of life, but do they have the economic might that we do? Do they not bend to our sanctions? They treat their Omegas as equals, a mistake and a lie to the very nature of our biology. The rest of the world offers that rarer portion of our populace freedoms the wayward, docile Omega knows not what to do with. We are the nation that strives to do what's right! We keep our citizens safe!"

There was massive cheering to this display of ignorance, and Will grit his teeth, forcing himself to watch the video in its entirety.

"We need to be able to shut out the world, because we don't need outside influence, we are our own universe and we have proven we are mighty. We are a family and we need to act like one. To do that, we need to start focusing on what it means to be a United Main.

Think about that word...'United'. I plan on bringing in policies that make that word have meaning again. We need to bring the Mainland into our fold, to have laws that all of our nation, our United Main, are accountable to and follow to the letter. Their co-operation must be demanded, by military force if necessary. The Mainland is wracked with poverty, yes this is true, and I propose that to combat this we stop the over concentration of Coastline economies and consider expansion *within*. The Mainland need not be a lawless wasteland of do nothings and poorly treated Omegas. Laws will be put in place to keep all Omegas in the entirety of the United Main safe in their homes, free of abuse and harassment and keeping their promiscuous habits in check.

Clearly , what we do on the Coastline is exactly how it is meant to be done throughout the rest of this great nation. Who doesn't want their Omega child to be safe? And what fine examples we have here, these lovely young things draped upon the arms of the Alphas of our time, demure and beautiful."

The spotlight hit the first three rows, an onslaught of light that was no doubt painful for the female Omegas to endure. Will frowned as he watched them carefully, their eyes never wavering or wincing beneath the light, as though they'd been taught to fight through it. The Omegas were dressed in a strangely congruous uniform of pastel blue silk robes, the colour that enhancing their pallor and translucent skin. Glittering jewels adorned their gowns, shimmering perfectly cut crystals of a pale white hue that sent a blinding kaleidoscope of colour reflected back onto the stage. The security guards standing beside McBain blinked into them.

"Come on now, boys, don't be shy, show off those lovely things!" McBain bid the rows to stand and they proudly did, the Alpha males draped by their Omegas who fluttered next to them like flags of pale blue silk. "Aren't they lovely! This is what we do here on the United Main, folks, we make these sorts of beauties! And like all the world's most valued treasures, we keep them well locked away and cared for. Nobody wants a tarnished diamond!"

A dark haired Omega in the front row narrowed her eyes at this, a ferocious intelligence shining within them. Beneath the blue silk the outline of ink peered through, a plethora of tattoos that covered her body.

This was where Hell began.

History will say there were all sorts of ingenious methods by which the Omegas had concealed the long daggers in their skirts, but the facts are it was remarkably simple. No one expected them to be armed, they were the innocents of the time, believed to be conditioned into sweetness and docility with not a hint of aggression to their nature. The problem with never being heard is that when a voice finally has something serious to say, it will erupt into an intonation that is impossible to ignore. There was none of that simpering conditioning present when all that stretched before every bonded Omega's life was isolated suffering. History might find it surprising that a spontaneous army erupted out of this ethos, but there was no lack of organization in this. They were synchronized in military precision as they pulled free their sharp swords, hidden in the folds of silk. Razor fine edges gleamed in the harsh light as they brandished their blades with outstretched arms.

Flashbacks and conversations fluttered over Will as he watched, the smooth voice of Hannibal in his ear as he drove Will home, telling him, without hesitation, that his favourite work of art was Caravaggio's 'Judith Beheading Holofernes'.

Heads will roll, as they say.

As the Alphas fell, blood spraying thick across their Omegas' gowns, soaking them close to their lithe forms, security personnel aimed to take out the first row, only for a quick thinking Omega, the one with the hidden tattoos, to get to them first. She stabbed them both at once in the neck, skewering them like kebabs before drawing her blade back and cutting down a few more who tried to intervene. The explosions started soon after, the back entrances erupting into fire that spread in a straight line, sending the crowd into a wave of crushing panic. Screams of pain and terror coursed through the space, and all of the Omegas rushed the stage, easily felling the limp security Governor McBain had opted for.

McBain clung to his podium, unable to escape, fire all around him and surrounded by armed Omegas. A cherub faced Omega with angelic lips and sparkling green eyes approached him, taking the microphone from him and whispering into it with an echoing clarity that couldn't be misunderstood:

"The baby died."

Will saw it, then. The absolute understanding that flickered across Jeb McBain's face, that this was one personal vendetta he was not going to escape from. And in that moment, Will knew, he didn't need to turn on his empathy for this one, it was plain enough for even someone as bull headed as Jack Crawford to see, this was the man they had been looking for, this was the buyer that had lined the pockets and ambitions of Mason Verger.

Governor Jeb McBain was the Omega Murderer.

The sweet Omega's face remained angelic as she twisted her blade into his neck, severing his head completely from it and laughing as it rolled off of the podium and into the crowd where it was trampled beneath the hundreds of panicked high heels and sneakers like soft fruit.

The video ended there. He scrolled back up to Freddie Lounds' live news report but she had drifted into the periphery of the crowd, seeking eye-witness reactions to the events, the shaking heads and horror of the people on the street already creating tough political divides. "This is going to be about the Mainland, in the end," a grizzled looking man Will recognized as their taxi driver from the other night said to Lounds. He shook his head, his unruly beard tossed over his shoulder as he let out a whistle of lamentation. "Things are going to get bad all over. War's a coming, you'll see. When they write up them history books in future, it'll be that blowhard they blame."

Will turned off the news feed and saw that Jack had been trying to get a hold of him again, texting him frantically in between calls. Will turned off his cell phone and let it drop to the floor, suddenly too tired and weak to hold it. There was nothing he could now, not with how effectively Hannibal had finished him. He'd murdered Mason Verger with his bare hands while Hannibal had exacted a much older and far more reaching revenge. He closed his eyes, knowing this had all been prearranged, that he had been sent below to kill Mason as a method of distraction. He wondered how he'd ended up in their cellar and realized Hannibal had more allies than he'd originally thought. Dr. Alana Bloom would have been more than happy at this result, as would the remaining Verger heir.

Will Graham was done for. Hannibal had cut off his mate's head, too. There was no way Jack Crawford was to get any portion of his mind now, not with it so tainted with this much guilt. He had inadvertently become complicit in Hannibal's master plan. The Chesapeake Ripper had nothing to fear from him.

In the corner of the room, in the darkness, the machines ticked and whirred. Will closed his eyes and stretched his neck, his muscles aching in places he didn't realize he'd had tendons. He sighed and stood up from the harpsichord bench and approached that which Hannibal had latched all of his hope upon, a heavy weight for someone this young to bear. Will traced a fingertip along the outside of the glass, the warmth of it strangely soothing.

"Goodnight," he said to it, and left the room.