#leona könig | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dovithedarklord · 10 months ago

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona and the team travel again, and more and more interesting situations arise.

Hello!

I noticed that with all the upheavals in my life, I can safely upload approx. every two weeks, so I'll stick to that! :D

I don't have a separate Trigger Warning for today's chapter!

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeorm I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Seventeen

......................................

The small room is enveloped in motionless semi-darkness, and only the flickering lights of the machines resting next to the bed paint the two figures clinging to each other on the patient's bed into a neon-colored rainbow. And although their faces now finally radiate peaceful calmness, as they rest in the whiteness of the sterile bedding, they look more like plants floating on the edge of death, intertwined with their dry branches as a last refuge. Yet, despite their almost painful weakness, the aura mixed with terror that reigned over them seems to be easing at last, which was ingrained in each of their cells like an ineradicable illness.

And as I look at the crumpled bed on the other side of the room, I can read from the wet stains on the pillow that the boy probably woke up from a bad dream and sought solace from the woman. It's not surprising that he chose close proximity instead of comfort, because, in the many horrors he has experienced so far, his older companion has been his protector. Perhaps she anchored him in reality now as well, when he floated, writhing in tears, on the border between the bitter images of the realm of dreams and this world. And a rather bitter taste invades my tongue when it occurs to me, that it cannot be ruled out that he will suffer in this temporary nightmare for the rest of his life. Stuck in the middle of painful memories and fleeting safety.

Because I'm dead sure that the government won't let two very young Healers, whom they can squeeze out a few more years of service from, go to waste. No leader will let them take early retirement, even if they die while serving the Hunters. This system isn’t kind to anyone, especially not to those who, according to the authorities, were born to serve. And even though it's better for everyone if a Hunter stays sane and doesn't slaughter everyone in their path if they run out of energy, it doesn't change the fact that, as per the current state of the world, there isn't even time for people to mourn their traumas.

And this thought weakens the contentment purring inside me, which I experienced last night with the help of my clever ability. Because my little action seems infinitely futile as I watch them. I treated all their wounds, and all traces of the pain they suffered disappeared from the tissues, but every minute they spent in the dark little hole where they were pushed into lives just as vividly in their minds. And neither my energy, nor that bastard's pitiable death, nor time will cure this. I doubt that any of them will ever recover, and I can only hope with the utmost benevolence that they lose their sanity and wither in a lab for the rest of their lives, high on medication. That would be the slowest but most merciful death that life could give them.

I must be quite deeply immersed in my thoughts, because I only notice that a tall figure casts a dark shadow on me, when he settles next to me in front of the window of the small ward and joins me in my silent observations. I don't need to look at Riley to know the expression on his masked face, because the barely suppressed rage that emanates from him when he glances at the pair hiding in the small, dim room almost stings my skin. And my mind, buried in resignation, has the strength to feel pleasure for a minute at his agitation, for it soothes my soul in a sick way, that, despite the fact that his kind doesn't need to fear such horrors, I still see the glint of anger in the dark eyes of his reflection. This gives me some faint relief from the gnawing doubts that snake into my bones, which have burrowed deeper and deeper since yesterday with such insidious efficiency as worms feasting on corpses. Because I can't get rid of the image of the terrified faces of the two Healers, and in those few passing hours, when I was finally able to close my eyes, I saw myself in the dirty corner instead of them.

"What did Price say?" I speak up suddenly, diverting my thoughts to safer ground, because the further development of our mission seems a much more pleasant topic than discussing the future of the two poor souls shrouded in doubt, or reviving the damned delusions of my brain. And even though I don't look away from the seemingly peaceful scene unfolding before me, I can see him examining me inquisitively, as if he would be searching for something in my expressionless features. And he must have found it, because even though I can bury my emotions expertly, even my persona created for denial cannot hide from his trained senses.

"Laswell looked the thug up." He finally answers, and whatever was going on in that mysterious mind of his, he goes into the game of ignoring my strange behavior without comment. And I'm immensely grateful for the fact that he is able to turn to duty so quickly, because no matter how much my mind is occupied by the miserable fate of my two fellow colligues, our mission is more important. Now only my subconscious and I should be on the same page about this. "We're leavin' tomorrow." He informs me, stating a certain fact, and I just glance at him curiously from the corner of my eye. Laswell works faster than the devil, and it looks like she hasn't let us down now either. Even though we only had a name and a colony in our hands, which could have been too little to be able to move on with our pursuit. But our station chief's nose is much sharper, and she picked up a hot scent again at such a pace that belies the fact that she is just a simple human. And the knowledge that tomorrow I can finally leave this cesspool, and all this dreadful moment will be an unpleasant experience lost in the mist of the past, selfishly calms my mind. Because I don't want to face why I want to leave the two Healers so enthusiastically and forget about what will happen to them.

"Are they coming with us too?" I continue to inquire, raising another important question, which, although less intensively, but with sufficient enthusiasm, strains my skull. Because the two short days I spent in the company of our new teammates helped to plant the seeds of suspicion and foreboding in my mind enough to make me prefer to part ways with them, even if that would mean the loss of their help. There wouldn't even be a problem with Horangi, but König... he's a different story. And I don't just want to keep him away from my friends, because I'm secretly afraid that they work together like a ticking time bomb, and it's only a matter of time before they have a punch-up due to their incompatible personalities with Riley. There is something inherently dangerous about the hooded Hunter that clings to his every cell like a bloodthirsty demonic presence. It was already difficult for me to decipher the masked man, but König is a completely new kind of riddle, and I'm not sure that I want to know what is hidden under the dark textile. I have a gut feeling that if I dip even one toe into this shallow, murky mystery, the monster lurking in the bottomless swamp will grab me and drag me under. But despite my vivid imagination, my rational side is perfectly aware that I need to observe just enough to be able to read him and know what he and his little companion are up to behind the scenes. Because they are most certainly not so willing because of their good heart and conscience.

"Shepherd won't let us go without his dogs." The Hunter notes curtly, and based on his tone it's clear that even without saying it, he understood whom I was aiming at so skillfully. The edge of disdain moves into his deep voice, which has been lurking under the surface ever since we were drawn here by the clues given us by Valeria. And although I know the kind of self-restraint and discipline the man possesses, it's still impressive how effectively he can rein in his temper, even though his colleague's behavior made it a difficult task for him on several occasions. They cooperate with us with perfect professionalism, but they make sure, with small and sly signs, that we know that, thanks to the old shit, we are not in control here. Our little adventure yesterday made this very clear.

"How surprising." I remark dryly, and I don't even try to make the words crawling on my tongue a little less sarcastic, because I know that my cynicism now finds a match in my partner. Shepherd wants to keep us on a short leash through the two Hunters, and I'm pretty sure it would only take one wrong move to make the kindness of our new helpers disappear like a mirage in the desert. But it's even more likely that the old bastard will wait until we smooth this little nuisance out for him, and then he will get rid of us. That would be very clever, and would give a good reason why the two mercenaries are coming with us. In light of this, we not only have to get hold of the serum and be careful with the mutants, but we also have to keep a watchful eye on when they stab us in the back. Wonderful.

"You shouldn't have come to the interrogation room." Riley deviates from the thread of our conversation, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect him to bring up my little incident sooner or later. It's a fact that it would have made a much better impression on our hosts if I hadn't poked my nose into their business, and perhaps if anger hadn't burned inside me like an inferno, I would have been able to think clearly and stay away. Undoubtedly, it would have attracted less attention, and it's also likely that even without my intervention, they would have found the bloody method that would have made that scumbag want to spill every last bit of info he had. The secret of my little abilities would also have remained under wraps, which would still give me a trump card in case one of our hired babysitters decided to help me cross over to the other world. But the icy hatred that closed its teeth around my insides injected a poison into me, causing a red fog to descend on my mind that I was unable to fight against. And to be honest, I didn't want to.

"I'd argue with that." I retort dispassionately, and I still don't meet his gaze, the weight of which now almost suffocates me. Although our relationship has fallen into something quite attractively complicated, I know that when it comes to work, he knows no joke. And it occurs to me that he might want to scold me now because I wasn't able to do what was expected of me again. And I would like to warn him well in advance, before he can even delve into his disciplining, that no one forbade me to interfere even with a fucking word. Horangi's feeble attempt was more of a less-than-enthusiastic warning than an actual command. If he was serious, then he would have easily arranged it so that I could not barge into the interrogation room. Because he could have killed me with one move.

A frightened whine penetrates the noise of the chirping machines in the ward, and as I see the half-asleep boy moving closer to the woman, who just begins to draw soothing circles through the blue material of the hospital nightgown on his bony back, then the terrifying feeling that brought me to the container on swift legs rises again in me. There is no protocol or rule that could have stopped me then, even if my brain now knows that sitting on my pretty ass and waiting for the big boys to take care of the situation would have been the right thing to do. But I'm too stubborn for that.

"It was our task to find out what he knows." The man states the truth flatly, and I only carefully divert my gaze from the Healers hugging on the sick bed to immerse myself in the inscrutable eyes of Riley's reflection. Because from someone who carries out his duties with such rigor and keeps to what is expected of him, I wouldn't exactly expect him to let my newest naughtiness pass without a word. Although I had already managed to avoid the retort that my misbehavior would have deserved once, I had saved his bosom friend by disobeying the order. But now, guided only by my own feelings, I charged into the middle of their party like a bull gone wild. Not that I mind for a minute.

"It took a long time. I sped it up." I offer the most acceptable reason, which I'm sure can soften the condemnation that might be camped in his mind. Because even though he knows that my terrible game was about much more than that, he can't argue with the fact that I forced out the answers that we were after much sooner than they could have achieved by beating him into a bloody pulp. And it's just an insignificant factor that I used specific tools, and the motivating force behind my actions is another completely negligible detail. The point is, that we got what we needed to continue our search for the serum. It's best for him and me if we leave it at that.

"You took revenge." He specifies simply, and even I'm surprised that there is no reprimanding weight behind his words. As if he had merely made a frivolous remark, rather than stating why I had so vehemently stormed in when they worked so diligently on their victim. But if his insight strikes me unexpectedly, my surprise quickly fades, because it's clear that he already knew why I was there when I crossed the threshold of the interrogation room. But instead of feeling ashamed for exposing my not-so-nice motives, the uncomfortable tightness in my stomach that hasn't really gone away since yesterday just flares up again. And as petty as it may be, I was filled with vengeance indeed when I laid my sly little hands on our prisoner, but I'm by no means such a noble soul as to refrain from it. This kind of meanness fits right into my repertoire of personality traits.

"Is it such a big deal?" I turn back to spying on the small room, because it's much easier to study the dark walls than to digest how effortlessly he can see through me. Of course, it's not that I have lost my mystery to him that bothers me, but rather the fact that I feel like a little kid caught doing mischief. Because from his tone it's like I did something completely wrong. Although I know that my approach was truly merciless, that dirtbag deserved every single moment of it. I don't care if what I have done is questionable, because as soon as I saw the desperation on that disgusting face swimming in tears and snot, my mood turned better in an instant. And if there was even a little justice left in the world, then all the wretches like this bastard would receive this punishment. What's wrong with such scum finally getting a taste of their own cruelty?

"No." He breaks the short silence, agreeing with me almost too naturally, which is completely foreign from his mouth. Because this makes me unsure for a minute about why he brought up the whole topic in the first place. If it doesn't bother him that I took control and used my own little incentive, then what is his problem? "But you don't have to get your hands dirtier at all costs." He adds, and I don't like the tone he puts into his voice at all, like he wanted to scold me. Which sounds bad coming from him, because we both know that while I may be a sneaky bastard, he doesn't need to go next door when it comes to brutality. We aren’t different in any way, and he shouldn't point out how unfeminine and not-so-delicate it is when I use these merciless tactics.

"There's enough blood on them anyway. A little more won't make a difference." I remark nonchalantly, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me with all my strength, because I'm afraid that if I look at the Hunter, I will glimpse something that my soul couldn't bear. I don't want to see his contempt or his superiority, because I don’t feel an iota of regret. This cruelty helped me through hardships all my life, I took what I needed to survive. If there was even a little less blood on my hands, I'd be lying there in that fucking bed right now, beaten, starved, raped and used. The only thing that kept me from this was that I immersed myself in the filth as deeply as was necessary, and my selfishness served me quite well. And if I have to drown in this infectious pool, I will.

But the movement comes completely unexpectedly, as one of his big hands finds my shoulder, and as his fingers gently tighten around the tensing muscles, I turn my head towards him with a starled shiver, because the tenderness in his touch reluctantly tears me out of the gloomy monologue going on in my head. And the way those brown eyes glance down at me makes my stomach jump instinctively, because the inscrutable flickers dancing there make the anger raging inside me fade away in a minute. The heat emanating from his palm pleasantly licks at my skin, which has cooled down due to the bitter rage, and brings my attention back to him so decisively from the chaos in my brain, as if he would be my anchor keeping me in reality.

"I know you're cruel. You don't have to prove it." He states, and his voice fades to a grumble, as he takes a small step to close the distance between the two of us. And as he leans down to me and his scent fills my nose like a familiar visitor, every nerve in my body is sharpened to what he has to say. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore." He declares, and with this one sentence, he dispels all the doubts that have nested in the hidden corners of my brain so far. And the realization that this is exactly why I wanted to leave the two Healers behind me tears into my mind. Because I saw in them the fate that could easily have found me too. I could have ended up chained and abused to the extreme, but instead, for all my selfishness and dishonesty, karma has led me to a place where I am treated much better than my background would justify.

And now here is Riley, who knows my worst side, has experienced firsthand the caustic sarcasm I can use to dig into other people's weaknesses with my words, and what evils my hands are capable of when my interests demand it. Yet knowing this, he offers that I don't have to walk this dark road alone, but willingly joins me. He doesn't expect me to leave behind my dubious methods accumulated over the years, he doesn't ask me to wash my hands clean. And because of this, something completely inexplicable awakens inside me, which simultaneously fills me with a pleasant warmth, which is followed by a hot trembling lightness that spreads through all the fibers of my being. And along with that, an icy fear creeps into the pit of my stomach, because the warning flashes in my subconscious almost immediately that I mustn't let this go. I can't waste this opportunity that fate has given me, because I'm not sure I could survive if I lost them.

And as a result of the realization, the invisible fingers of the tears spurred by the rising emotions gnaw into my eyes with almost painful force, but forcing the feelings down my dry throat, I just nod with a faint smile on my face. Because now I can see clearly. It takes shape in my head firmly that I'm willing to cling to the team, and especially to him with every drop of my blood, that this pledge almost burns into my brain.

⃰

The warm rays of the sun caress my naked arm peeking from under my shirt with deceptive peace, and as I leave the cargo deck hand in hand with my companions, and wade into the wild grass, the sweet scent of wildflowers fills my nose, and I allow myself to drink in the picturesque landscape for a minute. As if I had fallen into a dream, the meadow stretches to the edge of the horizon with such unimaginable calmness, where Nik so skilfully put down our plane, the soft noise of which is accompanied by the buzzing of bees and the chirping song of crickets as background noise. And at other times, this huge open space might make me nervous, where we are easy prey for the mutants who are stalking us, but behind the large building not far from us, the abundance of trees stretching to the sky cover us beneficially from at least one side. A real, hidden corner of paradise.

In other circumstances and in another life, this beautiful weather might even tempt me to have a little picnic in this undisturbed clearing that spreads out in front of our temporary accommodation. Of course, this would be a realistic idea if there was no chance that my idyllic pastime would be interrupted by a deformed monster or one of its humanoid friends, who would pay their respects with a slightly different kind of snack in mind. Although based on Price's information, the safe house might be located in the middle of nowhere, but it's just reassuringly close enough to the colony to be at a comfortable distance from any reckless beasts. Of course, the suspicion raging in my brain doesn't ease one bit, because, during my ever-longer mission, I already had the opportunity to experience what kind of horrors can be lurking behind such beautiful landscapes with watchful eyes. And most of the time they don't appear in the form of malformed animals, but take on a much more human face. Naturally, in this filthy place laced with death, we are still each other's greatest enemies.

"Good to see you're still alive!" A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, and as I turn my head in the direction of its source, my dark little heart leaps with real joy. Because as soon as I see Garrick emerging from behind the battered door of the house, a definite line of a sincere smile crosses my face. And although it's barely been a while since I last had the good fortune to admire the Hunter's good features and even more pleasant aura, yet, in an almost disgusting way, my soul is relieved that amidst all the complicated misery, I finally have a familiar figure near me.

"We need more than that to bite the bullet!" MacTavish exclaims, and he hurries forward grinning, so that when his friend is within arm's reach, he simply pulls him into a brotherly embrace enthusiastically, patting his back with the weights of the unspoken words of happiness in the small movement. It's no wonder that this meeting is so heart-warming, since every single mission is another chance for these happy moments to never happen again. And this is probably not the first party they got involved in, but in light of the fact that we are drowning deeper and deeper into unknown complications, even I can sympathize with the zeal of my two fanboys.

I don't have to wait long for the one person who is still missing from the impromptu celebration to show up, and as I recognize the well-known figure of Price marching out from the dim depths of the house, the fleeting feeling of absence that may have been present in me until now disappears. The man carefully studies us gathered in the field, and when his gaze settles on me after Riley, who is anchored next to me, and his beard-framed mouth curls up in a satisfied little smile, then my stomach jumps with excited joy with such ridiculous speed that it's downright disgusting. Still, it doesn't bother me for a minute that such crippling emotions rear their heads in my little soul, because I would be willing to do anything to never have to live without them.

"I've hoped this would be the case." Price also joins in our greeting, referring back to my Scottish friend's earlier confident statement with his small comment, as he comes close enough to welcome us. And when one of his big hands lands on my shoulder with the greatest naturalness and squeezes it gently, the pleasant warmth, that only the small team was able to revive in me for a very long time, spreads through all of my limbs following his touch. And I swear that an almost paternal pride shines in those bright eyes, as they survey my face, and I have to keep my cheeky superiority in my features with all my strength, because I don't want to get emotional in front of our audience just getting off the plane. "I've heard a lot of good things about you." He adds, and even though his praise is enough to awaken an impossible cheerfulness in me, but as his gaze meaningfully moves to the masked Hunter enveloped in silence, I understand to whom I owe this exceptional treatment. And because of this, I feel that the tremble in my stomach paints surprise on my face despite my will and all my attempts at indifference. I didn't think that it would be Riley who would so enthusiastically praise my performance to the boss, when earlier I had him to thank for the bright idea of my forest trip, due to which I almost got impaled by a mutant piggy. But this is enough for the hope in my head to push me even deeper into the embrace of my complicated feelings for him. Great.

And at that moment, Riley, who was already more wordless than usual, joins in the warm welcoming, and although he remains silent, he greets our leader with a firm nod. Others might not find his curtness particularly striking, but he cannot hide from the captain's eyes either. And I'm sure that Price also realized by reading his companion's body language that his stand-offishness is directed much more to the two mercenaries who approach us with lazy steps. Because it would be impossible not to notice the distant aura he puts on when he has to share the same space with his colleagues. And although this tense atmosphere made our plane ride excruciatingly long, considering the unique show we were treated to during our joint mission, the grumpy mood of the masked man doesn't seem exaggerated one bit.

Even though they close the distance between us with the silence of the predators lying in wait, I don't have to look back to know that our new companions have arrived at our small gathered group, because the tiny little hairs reflexively rise at my back as I feel that unmistakable gaze burning the back of my head. It was enough for me to look into those blue eyes once over the mangled body spread out on the floor of the interrogation room to know that the wisest thing to do was to ignore the existence of the hooded Hunter altogether. For although I don’t know to what, apart from his obvious interest in my kind, I owe that persistent attention with which he honors me every time we come into forced proximity, yet I'm sure that no good would come of entering into this dubious game. Whatever his purpose is by obnoxiously and shamelessly staring at me at every opportunity he gets.

Price is the one who, as a true leader, grasps the noble task of breaking the ice, and turns to the two mercenaries, straightening his back out with confidence. And although there is a diplomatic impassiveness on his face, and I might even detect a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, but my trained eyes catch the troubled wrinkles gathering on his forehead under the cover of the hat just in time before they disappear. It's rather cunning and tactical of the man to show his best face to those who might run to report to their master after his first questionable move, but despite his best efforts, the visible traces of suspicion remain in his gaze, with which he measures his colleagues up.

"Thanks for the help." The captain expresses his gratitude, and if he has doubts about the two men, it doesn't show in his voice for a minute. And although it's quite clear that he did this out of mandatory politeness, but even I'm impressed when he fixes his eyes on the hired Hunters with the keen attention of a hawk, as if he is trying to read even the smallest twitches, assessing every second how trustworthy the newcomers really are.

"We were paid well to do it." Horangi comments with complete calmness, and even though it was evident that the credits made them so willing until now, even I find it bold that he chirps out this little detail so casually. He doesn't even try to deny his motivations, and it can only happen for an infinitely simple reason, which helps my eyebrows furrow. The Korean Hunter and his no less pleasant companion are so carefree because they don't see an iota of threat in us, which would make them think it would be worth behaving more cautiously. Although under normal circumstances the goal would be for our group to be able to work together without stress, but it's quite obvious from the small, nonchalant little movement as the man cocks his head in interest that this isn’t the case. This is at least as humiliatingly belittling as it's irresponsible, and helps to spread the sparks of tension for a minute in the warm air swayed by the spring wind.

But as rapidly as the unpleasant atmosphere arrived, it dissolves as quickly, for MacTavish breaks the silence, loud with the buzzing of the beetles, that has set in, before my masked friend has time to act driven by the spark of irritation in his dark gaze. As he leaves Garrick's side and takes a few hasty steps closer to the captain, all eyes are suddenly on him, beneficially interrupting the storm that was no doubt slowly brewing.

"Did ya find out anythin' interestin'?" The Hunter with the mohawk turns the attention to the mission instead, directing our conversation in a much safer and more important direction. Despite his best efforts, no one moves for a couple of uncertain seconds, and even the blades of grass stand on guard, waiting to see if one of my buddies would like to test their skills against each other instead of working together, but in the end, it's Price who is the first to settle back into his composure with the impeccable nimbleness of years and routine.

"Maybe." The captain answers thoughtfully, and his gaze lingers on the two mercenaries before he nods toward our new shelter, inviting us inside. Whatever Laswell has dug up from the depths of yet another bottomless drawer, it's not a topic to be discussed in the open, and this sufficiently awakens my curiosity. "Let's go inside." And as he sets off towards the entrance of the safe house with quick steps, I'm the first to follow him, not only because instead of the tense atmosphere that slowly fills the peaceful meadow on the wings of the pollen blowing in the breeze, even the vague emptiness beyond the threshold is more inviting, but also because there are much more urgent problems scratching my mind than the struggle for dominance stemming from masculine vanity. The serum is what made us so beautifully wander to almost the other side of the world, and this very dangerous little vial of hell is why we crossed the ocean to visit another continent. The clever trick Shepherd will use to remove us from the uncertain variables is the problem of the future, which won't come if we don't concentrate on the task with all our focus. And it seems that after the fleeting intermezzo, the others come to this conclusion as well, because without further ado everyone heads towards our temporary headquarters too.

And despite the desolation of the building from the outside, as I cross the border of the house and the cool darkness embraces me, I'm greeted by a very well-maintained, almost homely interior. The gaudy stains on the walls preserve the old tasteful pattern of the torn wallpaper, and there is no doubt that a whole series of family photos could have rested on these eerie square patterns, which the residents might have taken with them in a hurry, in order to have a few memories frozen in the past peace, to which they can long to return to. And as I follow Price further into the uninhabited depths of the house, from the worn furniture forgotten behind and the child's toy lying in the corner, and from the curtain submitted to a slow rot I feel like I had trespassed into somewhere, where the faded ghosts of the late inhabitants still haunt, locked in the objects left behind. But I quickly suppress this short-lived unpleasant sensation, because if there is anything remaining here from the previous owners, it can only be a few bones and decaying scraps of clothing left by the victims when the beasts inevitably found them.

"What a nice place you got us." I note pulling the corner of my mouth into a grimace, and although my voice is noticeably laced with irony, considering the circumstances, the captain has managed to find a really impressive den, which is just right for us to hang out in for a few days. And even though my pretty little body is used to the puritanical comfort of the colony, but for once I'm willing to set aside the inconvenience that I might have to share my bed with ghouls.

"The credit is our helper's. The big guy gave us the coordinates." Garrick shares the information quietly as he catches up to me, and it's enough for him to nod behind with his head to let me know who he might be talking about from our new teammates. And the fact that the pleasant shack is thanks to König explains a lot. Up until now, it was obvious, based only on his rather strong German accent and even more German-sounding name, that he was not from an American colony, but the fact that he provided such accurate information about this safe house hidden in the desolate wilderness confirms that he was born somewhere in the area. And it's quite logical that a terrifying butcher like him started his later adventurous journey from one of the largest and world-famous colonies, because the mention of the name of the Hunter training center operating here fills even civilians with sufficient foreboding. And where else could such a burly giant have been trained into such an efficient killing machine than in Purgatory? It wasn't by chance that they gave it this apt nickname, because the miserable little kids who are dragged there endure such sufferings that, although they become "purified warriors", the few years they suffer there, leave a permanent mark on them. Or at least this urban legend is spread by word of mouth. But it's enough to just recall the bloodthirsty pleasure with which the hooded Hunter stomped someone to death, and it immediately becomes clear that there is perhaps a hint of truth in the rumor.

The captain finally ushers us into a spacious dining room, in the middle of which stretches an old table, where a myriad of documents and weapons are spread out, indicating that the man had just felt at home enough to get to work while he waited for us to join them. And although they got here with less than a day's lead, based on the scattered reports and papers, the two Hunters had enough time to review the important pieces of information, and perhaps even work out the beginnings of a plan to celebrate our arrival. If Laswell took swift action, then Price rivals this momentum, because as my eyes discover the map of the colony among the many pages, and the tangled chaos of streets and buildings highlighted on it in bright colors, I quickly understand that our leader wasn't lazy and must have already studied the field.

"Kate had a hard time with this. She managed to find out that the Rat is in the colony indeed and that his organization is involved in several businesses." The bearded man immediately jumps into the middle of the briefing, not wasting a minute, as we all gather around the table, and he skilfully pulls out a file, which he pushes to the center and opens in front of us. And when the picture of an unknown guy richly adorned with tattoos appears, it becomes obvious that our aforementioned criminal is staring back at us from the low-quality photo. "But he hides well, and no one finds him if he doesn't want it." He shares this not-necessarily positive development, and with this, he succeeds in planting an easily recognizable atmosphere of pessimism in the dim little room. Of course, we could guess that this bastard had to earn the nickname somehow, so it wouldn't be easy to get hold of him, but now we can't allow ourselves to start this search with uncertain assumptions. We need to find him quickly, but mostly immediately, because the clock is ticking, and with every minute we are getting closer to that damned poison finding a new owner.

"This doesn't make our job any easier." MacTavish voices some of the doubts in my head, and as his dark eyebrows meet with annoyance in a rather troubled grimace, it becomes quite evident that he had a similar train of thought in his head as I did.

"We have to get him before he sells the serum." Riley joins in as well, and although the seriousness of the situation should require my undivided attention, I can't help but acknowledge with satisfaction that he almost automatically lined up next to me, like a loyal shadow. And even this small detail can ignite excited little sparks under my skin, because his proximity is enough for all my senses to be painfully sharpened. And I have to forcibly divert my concentration back towards our discussion, because no matter how much I want to read every tiny movement of his face covered with a mask, now my useless brain has to deal with the analysis of bigger complications. Pull yourself together, Leona.

"If he doesn't come out on his own, we'll smoke him out." Horangi puts forward the rather radical idea, and leans comfortably on the table with folded hands on the other side, as casually as if we weren’t just trying to find the ever-cooling trail of a drug that leads to certain death. And I find his ease interesting, because I'm pretty sure that fat credits won't be of much use if the army of hybrids and their little minions overrun every corner of the surviving civilization. Because this tiny little suggestion would most certainly lead to that.

"It would be an irresponsible idea." I interject my comment, looking through the file that was probably dug up by Laswell, searching for anything that might narrow down where in this huge, bustling city we should start our search to find our criminal in the shortest possible time. And Price was really not exaggerating, the dude got his hands into almost everything from trading with weapons, to prostitution, to drug and human trafficking, so it's no wonder that his criminal organization weaves through the colony like a spider web full of decay. Because, except for the central sectors, where the centers of the official bodies are concentrated in each colony, areas where he has influence have been circled in bright red almost everywhere else. Fabulous.

"Scum like him is easy to catch. All it takes is force." König chimes in for the first time since our arrival, and as his voice resonates through the barren walls of the building, I also break out of my observations and shift my gaze from the piles of documents to the man with careful deliberation. And from the way he straightens up and stands out from our small group without the slightest uncertainty, it's clear that he sees nothing wrong with his idea full of violence. And although it's already quite obvious from this how they managed to find the weak link leading to the Vultures so amazingly quickly, this approach won't work now. Because it's the least of our problems that everyone is in a foreign land except him, but if our target is such an influential person that he has ears on every corner, then he will know that we are in his heels before we have a chance to touch him with a finger.

"If he finds out he's being targeted by Hunters, he'll take off before we can even get close to him." I explain this non-negligible factor, and as I firmly hold the unpleasant weight of his gaze fixed on me, I know I'm not imagining the curious glint in those ice-blue eyes. "That's why we're here now instead of the colony, I imagine." I add this detail almost as a side note, and I don't try to prevent cynicism from creeping into my voice, because I want this behemoth to know that no matter how menacingly he stares, he won't be able to force me to surrender. Especially not when I know I'm right. If it were so easy to track down that goddamn thug without being noticed, then Price would have been breathing down the dude's neck before our plane even touched the ground.

"She's right." Garrick agrees, his face involuntarily giving way to the helplessness that must have settled in his head, and which helps to plant the faint line of resigned wrinkles on his face. Without a doubt, he would have been the first to bring our target to us wrapped in a pretty bow if he had the chance to lay his deadly little hands on him. But it wasn't a coincidence that they arrived here first and waited for us, because this action requires much more caution than they can organize with their usual bloody techniques.

"But we can't just sit around and wait!" MacTavish argues, spreading his hands out passionately, thus effectively voicing the frustration that is probably slowly forming in everyone upon hearing our increasingly hopeless mission. But even though I can understand his powerless rage, we cannot run headlong into the wall, because at this point we risk the complete destruction of humanity with every wrong move.

"I agree with Woods on this. We can't act hastily. We need intel." Price affirms, his eyes scanning our small gathering meaningfully, silently signaling that although he would like to throw himself into the middle of action, even his experience cannot guarantee success right now. "Nik, can you help us?" He suddenly turns towards the entrance of the dining room, and I look back over my shoulder in confusion, because I could swear that we left our pilot at the plane. But as I see the man leaning against the doorframe with complete peace of mind, many questions arise in my mind regarding our friend, who until now was believed to be rather harmless. And judging by the fact that my companions aren't at all surprised that Nik was able to sneak up to us so unobtrusively, I have a very strong feeling that I quite misunderstood the guy. His remarkable ability to follow us without being noticed is only a negligible detail in addition to the fact that the captain turns to him to solve our predicament.

"I have a few contacts in Colony No. 2. I'll see what they know." Nik offers, with such a self-evident simplicity that deepens my suspicion that the man mostly plays pilot as a hobby, and pursues very dubious activities as a full-time job instead. Because there is no other logical explanation as to why he has contacts on another continent who hide deep enough in the underworld to help us. Very interesting.

"All right." Price gives his blessing to the proposed solution, and then immediately turns his determined attention back to our small team. "Until then, we'll wait." He shares our next step, and although I can feel that not everyone is filled with unclouded happiness by this development, he gets a nod of agreement from everyone, even from our mercenary comrades. "Let's rest. The last week has been busy." He adds in conclusion, now with a much softer tone, and the hoarseness of exhaustion settles in his voice, which he has been able to more or less successfully remove from himself so far.

As our two mercenaries take the opportunity without further comment and leave the scene of our meeting with comfortable steps, I have the opportunity to take a closer look at the face of our leader. And although for a fleeting moment, I still feel the scrutinizing gaze of the giant man on the middle of my back, I'm much more occupied by the very pale grayness that I now quite clearly discover appearing on the captain's skin. Up until now, it might have been the excitement of the trip that could divert my attention, but now I see the weariness dominating the features of the bearded Hunter, and in the semi-darkness surrounding the room, the circles under his eyes seem even darker. And as I shift my searching gaze to Garrick, I can make out the small gray veins running along his temple even from the cover of his cap, which can indicate only one thing. And after a quick calculation, my suspicion is confirmed, that I haven't been able to handle them with my clever little hands for weeks, and although they probably didn't have to use their ability extremely, stress can very effectively bring out exhaustion in them. Although my Scottish buddy and his masked bosom friend received a charge not so long ago, at the gate of our important little mission, a little boost won't hurt them either.

"By the way." I speak up suddenly, effectively drawing all eyes on me, and I take advantage of this to get around the table, strolling closer to Garrick, who looks the most worn out, and who only curiously raises one of his dark eyebrows, when I pull off the glove from one of my pretty little hands to hold it out towards him. "It would be time to regenerate you." I note, bringing a mixture of surprise and concern to the man's face.

"Won't it be a bit much?" He asks, his voice full of doubt, and I can't hold back the cheeky little smile that escapes my lips, because the way he peers at Price for help makes him look infinitely boyish. And I also know from this small confused gesture that it's only worry speaking, because there is no doubt that he doesn't want to strain my little body in the least by asking for my aid. But unfortunately, determination works much stronger in me than the dull grip of the slowly awakening hunger in my stomach, and I'm willing to go to painful ends if I can guarantee that the care with which they turn towards me won't disappear. And although this admission fills a part of me with the right amount of disgust and contempt, I just have to think about the fact they mean my safety, and I immediately manage to suppress these unwanted voices. Because thanks to the suffering of the two Healers, the motivation to feed my selfish desires with their attention lives much more vividly in my consciousness, as if I were pouring oil on an already insatiable fire.

"I'll survive it." I comment simply, and although I know that by charging four Hunters I will wake up the torturous hunger gnawing at my insides, this small nuisance seems bearable. Even knowing that it’s uncertain how I will get blood, because I'm sure, even if Price brought me a tasty treat, it won't alleviate my problems permanently. And I can only wildly hope that the power of the mouth-watering dinner given by Riley will last until I maybe manage to catch an unsuspecting fool in the colony to quench my thirst. But no matter how much these troubling thoughts arise in me, as Garrick's damp hand wraps around mine, and the first burst of my energy penetrates his body, then I feel the familiar pull of the demanding force, and I know I have made the right decision. Because my hunger is a negligible inconvenience, if I can guarantee they will be in top shape when it's needed most. Even if every single nerve in me cruelly warns me that this will have consequences.

⃰

The silence in the house echoes in my ears with painful loudness, and the creaking of the old floor under my boots screams in my skull in an almost ear-piercing way, as I drag my legs, which are growing heavier by the minute, toward the room assigned to me. I wasn't wrong in that the charging of my four companions would sufficiently flare up the well-known pangs of hunger twisting my insides, and although it doesn't besiege me nearly as strongly as last time, I feel that it's only a matter of time before the feverish agony hits me. And even though I don't regret for a minute that I was able to solve my team's problem, I have to get some food very soon, if I don't want to be the one who, weakened by hunger, hinders the mission. If I have a little luck, the captain has been kind enough to surprise me with a delicious morsel, which will be just enough to ease my suffering. And as soon as we wander into the colony, I make sure to catch some stupid criminal and refuel with nutrients, because I have a bad feeling in my mind that tells me that our deployment will take turns where it will come in handy if I'm in peak condition.

And as, lost inside the massive building, I finally reach the corridor on the floor where my temporary quarters rest, instead of being relieved, all my limbs fill with tension in a split second, because I discover someone who shouldn't be hiding here in the least. Because Price certainly planned it so that I would be given the one out of the dozen rooms which is farthest from our guests, in case they wanted to use my services. Although I don't think they would openly force me to regenerate them, in this dirty world even less deadly people are capable of horrible things, and it's even better to be careful with someone who can crush another's skull with their bare hands.

Certainly, he had already heard my steps when I was tramping up the rickety stairs, but now, as I approach him, König turns his head in my direction with leisurely calmness, and even this small movement is enough for caution to gain a foothold in my mind. I have already acknowledged the amazing size that genetics has blessed him with, but now, as he is surrounded by the faint light filtering through one of the broken windows, he looks more like a shapeshifting demon than a human being. And even though he's comfortably leaning his back against the worn wall, there's something quite unsettling about the way the fabric of his black uniform strains painfully on his arms, as his folded hands rest on his chest. Because he may seem perfectly harmless to an unsuspecting observer, but my paranoid mind warns that it's only an ephemeral illusion, and that an artificial peace resides in each and every inch of him. But I'm even more interested in why he's here, because I was sure that after our impromptu meeting, he and his friend went off to rest. And even if he has zero navigational skills, he couldn't have accidentally wandered in here, because their room is most definitely on the ground floor.

But no matter how much caution creeps into my limbs, I don't let any of it reach the surface, because it would be a mistake to show him the concerns he can arouse in me. I have just seen enough of his behavior to know that this operation is just as much about polishing his ego as material goods, and what could be a more tempting pastime for such a man, than to frighten a unique little thing like me. I saw the barely concealed fear in the eyes of his men during the mission, and it's quite easy to deduce from this what kind of respect the Hunter desires. The kind that makes the knees of the unfortunate person who stumbles in front of him tremble, and that makes him feel even more powerful. A pathetic but perfectly legitimate goal. After all, instilling fear is at least as effective a control strategy as gaining respect.

His bright eyes follow my every step with unbroken attention, as I walk closer, and from his gaze resting on me, I feel like a mistrustful small animal that approaches a larger predator in the hope that it will be merciful enough not to kill it. And although we are currently playing on the same team, nothing guarantees that this hunch of mine won't come true at some point in the not-so-distant future. Because, unfortunately, my observations and intuitions are very rarely wrong, and now every nerve fiber of mine screams that I'm dealing with a beast in the guise of a man who, if he could, would have wrapped his needle-sharp teeth around my throat a long time ago. And while in the case of Riley, I was sure that he rewarded me with his disdain for my not-so-appealing behavior, in the case of the hooded Hunter, I have no idea what could be causing this outstanding interest.

"Your team is unusual." He breaks the heavy silence that has settled between the desolate walls, and I just stop at a safe distance from him and raise one of my eyebrows curiously, because he starts the first direct conversation we have with a rather interesting remark. And with this one sentence, he succeeds in reminding me that the good life I experienced in the unit is a unique privilege, which normally my kind hardly ever gets. And while in most cases the Healers are kept away from all the nitty-gritty details of the actual deployments because they get more use out of them unharmed, it cannot be denied that the active role that my team so generously gifted me within the ranks of Unit 141 is quite unusual. And although I don't like the fact that he expresses his comments so freely, it's indisputable that as a stranger, and especially as a Hunter in a leading role, the dynamics of my team can be a real curiosity for him.

"If you think it's strange that I dare to speak in their company, then it really is." I answer with an unimpressed tone, trying with every cell to be able to keep my confidence. Although he still doesn't move from the wall, the way he stares at me with an almost abnormal immobility makes the goosebumps prickle on my back. As if every single muscle of his would be stuck in a deliberate frozen state, but my keen senses catch the tiny little movement as his fingers wrap a breath tighter around his biceps. And this simply gives the impression that he is forcing himself, against his nature, into a less threatening position than his instincts would like. Maybe my brain overthinks every little thing, but it's no coincidence that I honed my observational skills over the years. I see that something completely different lurks under the surface than what he lets on.

"This isn't common in many places." He states simply, but his remark doesn't throw me off in the slightest, because I'm also perfectly aware of this fact. That's why I'm so motivated to keep my place. "But Price seems to be a liberal leader." He notes almost only to himself, and his voice is full of fascination, as if he had just made a very profound statement. However, it bothers me much more, and it can suddenly turn my already sharpened mood into a more prickly one, when my clever little ears hear the breath of derision hidden in his tone. Others might not even notice it, or would attribute it to something completely insignificant, something that is not worth pointing out, but I have analyzed just enough people over the years to know that nothing is completely unconscious that is buried behind one's words.

And even I cannot explain the angry flame that kindles within me at the thought that this complete stranger is making such casual comments about the captain. Of course, I'm aware that Price is not an innocent virgin, nor a flawless saint who needs someone to protect his honor, but there is something viscerally infuriating about the way the hooded man turns to him with barely veiled criticism.

But, as the stagnant emptiness in my stomach tightens, I decide that I shouldn't engage in this conversation when my mind is dulled by the pull of hunger slowly coming to life. Nothing good will come of this irritation taking control of my brain, because I might say something that would give him a reason to leave behind his false peace and show what secret temper lies beneath the no less dangerous exterior.

"If you came here to provoke me, then don't waste your time." I sigh tiredly, and as the exhaustion screams in every corner of my body at the same time, I set off with renewed motivation towards the door, behind which the solitude awaits that I yearn for. "It won't work." I add, not even sparing him a last look, my eyes strictly fixed on the worn wood that hides my shelter. And once again, I have to note that he didn't come here by chance, because out of the countless possibilities, he managed to settle down right before the entrance where I'm heading, with almost measured accuracy.

"I didn't mean to insult you." He says plainly, and it's quite disturbing that there is still no obvious emotion in his tone, which makes him seem much less human than my nervous system finds comfortable. His statement doesn't seem like a lie, but my impatience grows with each passing minute, because I can't figure out what the hell is going on here. I could think that he only wanted to forge closer unity between our teams, but then I would have to be much more naive. In that case, he wouldn't have waited to catch me alone and without any witnesses to see whatever he was planning in that mysterious mind of his.

"You want to befriend me, perhaps?" I inquire with a malicious little smile on my face, and the sarcasm that nestles in my voice stings even in my ears. And I know it's not the smartest idea to taunt a guy who can tear me to pieces with his hands, but that didn't stop me even when I was mouthing back to Riley. And my sharp little tongue won't go on vacation when the starved tension working inside me rages in my head. "How nice of you." I sprinkle at the end, considering the whole tense conversation as closed, because no matter what reason he strayed here for, I don't want to talk it out with him now, when we are all too alone. And even though carefree mockery shines from every cell in me, my hands wrap around the doorknob too quickly when I finally arrive before my room. Because he may still not move from the place he has occupied until now, but the threatening aura that emanates from him like some uncontrollable, poisonous gas almost gnaws at my skin.

But before I have the chance to finally disappear into my little cave, so that I can finally be left alone with the suffering clinging to my insides with its nails, the floor behind me creaks and my fingers freeze on the metal as suddenly as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water in my neck. And for a suffocating moment, everything is shrouded in quietness, and there is such a silence between us that the crackling screams of the old house travel through the walls like an ominous melody.

"I liked what you did in the interrogation room." He utters, and it takes me a second to understand what kind of compliment he gave me due to the stress and the agony of the spasm that is slowly closing my intestines in an iron fist. And when the recognition penetrates my brain and I decode his words, I turn back to him with complete confusion, looking up at him with such shocked astonishment on my face that almost certainly paints a cartoon-like shock on my features. Because suddenly I can't find any logical explanation for how the thread of the conversation has led us to this point, and I can't discover any answers as to why he feels so comfortable around me that he can point this out to me so freely. What the hell?

"Excuse me?" The startled question breaks out of me, and I'm unable to hold back the surprise creeping into my voice, doubting for a fleeting moment whether I heard what he said correctly. But as soon as my eyes meet his, and I discover a glimmer resembling admiration in them, I’m completely dumbfounded. Because under other circumstances, my twisted little soul might even be touched by this unusual recognition, but I know all too well who is standing in front of me. And that makes the unexpected turn the situation took seem even more surreal.

"The bloodlust in your eyes was beautiful." He continues his grotesque praise, almost undisturbed, and as he takes a step towards me, I need the combined work of all my nerves in order not to back away from him, because the distrust drills itself into my brain that if I turn my back on him again, it will end very badly. Because I suddenly sense very well how unbelievably huge this man is, and as my troubled eyes reflexively run over him, I become painfully aware that if he attacks me, I won't be able to defend myself. "I doubt your friends could truly appreciate it." He claims, and now some deliberate malice creeps into his voice, which he doesn't even try to hide, thus clearly showing that he has been holding back his real thoughts until now very willingly.

But when my body breaks out of the paralyzed shock, and I get over the fact that he could crush all my bones to dust with a strong hug, then I finally have the brain capacity to understand what he shared with me so carelessly. And from this simple sentence, the alarm disappears from my mind, because it suddenly makes sense why he honored me with his presence. And as my mind realizes that this little discourse is about nothing but the rivalry that has existed since the very first moment our team met, then my little soul calms down in the blink of an eye, because no matter how terrifying the man may seem, according to this, he is driven by just as fallible and transparent motives like everyone else. And although it's very difficult for me to maintain my indifference due to the intrusion of hunger in my stomach, now that I know why he is so persistently interested in me, the doubt of the unknown disappears from my mind.

"Interesting deduction. But I'm afraid I don't care." I respond with utter disinterest, and as the line of a sardonic smile stretches across my lips, I see the first bewildered wrinkles appear around the skin covered with dark paint. And it's painfully obvious that he didn't expect this reaction, but believed that such a big and strong Hunter's kind approach would make me fall at his feet from the pleasure. But he is seriously mistaken if he thinks it's so pathetically easy to sweep me off my feet.

"You’re wasting your talent with them." He laments, and if I were a little more stupid, I would really believe the sympathy in his voice to be authentic, but even if he hadn't blown his disguise so irresponsibly, I would still see through his benevolence. Because I can tell when someone tries to manipulate me, especially if said someone does it half as skillfully as it would take to be a successful strategy against me.

And at other times, I might want to play with him verbally and continue this complicated moment, but when my stomach convulses with the pain tearing into me, then all my patience evaporates like the last sip of water in the desert. Every single one of my nerve cells is stretched to the point of breaking, and this straining ache makes my body braver than it should be, because the sooner I put an end to this extremely bizarre situation, the sooner I can collapse into my bed to finally rest a little in the embrace of the slow ache that spreads to every fiber of me. I quickly cross the distance of a few steps that are remaining between us, and my hand shoots out towards him with the speed of a venomous snake. It seems that he didn't expect my attack, because before he could react, my fingers close around the fabric covering his face, and as I pull him down to me with a movement that is perhaps more forceful than necessary, he obediently leans down to me, stumbling towards me, and I see genuine shock in his eyes.

"It's unnecessary to try to flatter me." I murmur with deceptive kindness, and it seems that I managed to stun him so much with my unexpected act that he even forgets to protest, because he almost dazedly lets me intrude into his personal space to finally have stare off with him without him towering over me. And although it seems that his spine bends in rather uncomfortable positions in order for me to do this, it only makes the contemptuous grin on my face grow wider. "I know this is all about measuring who's dick is bigger. They have something that you don't and it hurts your ego. It's sad, but you'll have to live with it." I curve my mouth downward pitifully, savoring every single emotion that flashes through his eyes. But as soon as I see one of the gloved hands moving in my periphery, I let go of his hood with nonchalant ease and dance away from him in order to return to my door and open it again. "I recommend that you focus more on the mission. A lot of credit is at stake, isn't it?" I throw my last words at him from the threshold, and as I enter the embrace of the darkness of the small room, I have one last chance to catch his gaze stopping on me as he straightens up, and I'm almost relieved when I'm hidden by the thick wood.

Because even though it was only for a few seconds, I saw something very dangerous flash in those bright eyes, and the warning voice waking up in my brain tells me that this is exactly how the predator stares at its slowly cornered prey. With curious hunger. And that makes me realize, even despite the pain that is slowly squeezing my stomach, that I have crossed an invisible border, which sooner or later will bring the trouble that I so enthusiastically sought out for myself. Wonderful.

50 notes · View notes

dovithedarklord · 10 months ago

Text

Age of Mosters - Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team uncovers interesting clues, and Leona has the opportunity to get to know the new helpers during action.

Hello! :D

I apologize for disappearing, but I was forced to move and the last few weeks weren't exactly easy because of that:') But now I returned and I'm back to posting more regularly!

I have a lot of trigger warnings for today's chapter, please take it seriously! TW: Blood and gore, death, violence, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence against minors, torture, body horror.

All this brutality has a purpose, but we have to suffer it through first to be able to see it!

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - Infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Sixteen

......................................

Stormy wind blows the cool raindrops falling from the dark clouds in my face, and I'm only fleetingly aware of how the bony fingers of the dry branches sticking out of the wild vegetation dig into the straps of my uniform, as I cautiously advance towards the target despite the increasingly hostile siege of the weather. Once there was a vineyard of poetic beauty here, where people retreated from all the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and could immerse themselves in comfortable relaxation and enjoy every expensive drop of the wine sold at a price of gold, away from the big cities. However, fifty years of desolation have left nothing but an overgrown jungle of vines and an endless sea of weeds that envelop them in a suffocating embrace. But this abandoned garden still serves a good purpose, because it benevolently hides all the members of our small team heading towards the huge building resting in the middle of the large estate. And we need all the kind help of nature, because even this can hardly cover the two huge men at the head of our group.

It can't be denied that after our little trio arrived at the scene of our latest adventure, the matters started moving surprisingly quickly, after the Hunter, König, shared with us all the juicy information that he so sweetly extracted from the unfortunate gang member, who they seemingly pulled out of nowhere. After explaining the coordinates, he offered the plan at least at such a fast pace, putting the whole action together with the kind of practicality that can be expected from a member of a KorTac-like, well-oiled machine. And although the fast progression of events meant only positive news for us, but I know that I wasn't the only one who had mixed feelings and came to the rather suspicion-filled realization about what financial motivation lies behind our new team's enthusiasm.

And despite the professionalism with which my two companions move together with our new helpers and their hardworking soldiers, even through the curtain of the pouring rain, I can easily make out the tension that sits in the jacket-covered shoulders of MacTavish, who strides in front of me. Maybe I would think him crazy if he wouldn't be in a flap regarding the success of our mission, since the peace of our already fragile life depends on it, but I have the sneaking suspicion that for once it's not just our operation, twisting into increasingly complicated subplots, that is responsible for the uneasiness that lingers in him and his masked bosom friend.

My bright eyes are inevitably drawn to the huge figure, who cuts through the tangled cavalcade of overgrown plant life as if it were nothing more to him than a few unruly blades of grass, breaking down the army of twigs in front of him with a few careless movements of his long hands, as he moves forward with the purposefulness of a bulldozer. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the man with a rather German-sounding name and dressed in a strange hood successfully planted the sounds of caution in my mind from the very first moment, because even though he is now an ally to us, it wasn't by chance that Shepherd hired another SSS-class fighter to play babysitter on our mission overflowing with sensitive information. The old bastard wanted to play safe by giving Riley a playmate from his own weight group, and if there is even an iota of truth to my intuition that the two mercenaries will also include a very open ear for us along with their helping hand, then in addition to finding the serum we also have to make sure that they don't stab us in the back and inform the old man about every breath we take. Because that would be the logical step if the leader of the colony wanted complete discretion. That he silences us, who know an embarrassing amount about his rather criminal dealings. And who else would be more suitable for this chore than two killers abundantly loaded with credits, who present just the right challenge to my partners.

It's enough for me to glance at the masked Hunter, who is lurking not far behind the guy who resembles a smaller yeti, and his hand clenched on his weapon says enough about how comfortable he feels in the newly established set-up. Of course, those who are in deep shit shouldn't be picky when fate takes pity on them, but I can understand why this terrifying man is still troubled by the fact that the big boss has given us friends who would be able to give him a hard time too. I know that these thoughts have crossed his mind as well, and that is precisely why he remains in his colleague's heels like an ineradicable shadow. Because he wants to be the first to cut his throat if he tries anything even remotely suspicious.

During the raging storm, the few minutes seem like decades until we reach the end of the rows of grapes, and the line of a beaten stone fence appears in the wind-torn, knee-high grass. I obediently follow the Scottish Hunter, who kneels behind the low wall on the muddy ground, and almost immediately takes a closer look at the remains of the hotel stretching out in front of us, that once served as the site of expensive vacations. I have to admit that the bastard who leads the separatist group has pretty good taste, because even though all that's left of the once-luxurious comfort is a battered, empty skeleton, it's still just inviting enough to be suitable for hiding. But what’s perhaps even more remarkable is that, according to König, these people chose the imposing hideout not only because of the nostalgia that reminds them of the prosperity of the old days, but also because even though this den is located right in the middle of the red zone, yet it’s conveniently far from any well-known nest. Of course, this mystery could easily be explained by the fact that such a wandering troupe gains a lot of useful experience when roaming in the wilderness, but they have avoided danger too skillfully so far for it to be a mere lucky coincidence. At the head of this gang is someone who, like Valeria, has just enough experience to avoid the watchful eyes of the authorities and the sharp claws of mutants. Terribly interesting.

"That's the back door. We'll enter there." I hear the voice thick with an accent on the radio that breaks through the rustle of the wind, and I only peer at our hooded tour guide from the corner of my eye. And I'm once again reminded of the sheer size of the hired Hunter, because even though he shrunk himself down to the smallest possible size to the best of his capabilities, his broad shoulders still peek out spectacularly from the cover of the fence. And unlike Riley, whose enticingly massive measurements fill me mostly with excitement, König's stature plants dozens of sinister thoughts in my skull. My masked companion has also been blessed by nature and the kind genes of his species with a figure that commands authority, but our new mate surpasses even that. And I can't shake the suspicion that he uses this magnificent physique with the efficiency of a living weapon, which I have no problem with as long as he doesn't want to test his unparalleled skills against us. I warmly advise him not to do this, because due to the sea of crap that I experienced in these last few weeks, my stimulus threshold has decreased just enough to kill him after the first bad movement. Even if I have to be smart about it.

"It's not that heavely protected." Comes the curt observation from Riley, and now I direct my eyes toward the target in front of us instead of studying our new teammate, because it would be timely for me to dedicate my brain capacity to the mission as well. And at first glance, the whole place exudes a deceptive desertedness, but I dont let the apparent immobility mislead me. Because I immediately understand what the masked man saw so keenly. It's enough to observe the dark figures appearing through the cracks of the boarded-up windows to know that, although the vagaries of the weather are in our favor and there are no more guards than necessary, but inside it’s not certain that we will be so lucky. The task is made even more difficult by the fact that we have to catch the main bastard, because based on the information forced out from the weakest link, none of his subordinates was sufficiently informed about the group's business affairs to be able to spill wherever our stolen serum may be.

"Let's go." König immediately takes the initiative, and even before he would wait for his idea to be acknowledged, he springs up and jumps over the stone wall with such ease, as if our improvised hiding place, which is at least waist-high for me, would be nothing more than a small inconvenience that can easily be crossed.

However, there is no time to hesitate, because as soon as the man, burning with the fever of readiness to get into action, takes the first few meters on the quite open field covered with overgrown grass, he is almost immediately followed by Horangi and his stern-eyed men, leaving us no chance to wait around either. And all I need is a quick glance at the masked Hunter swinging over the wall to know, that the leadership role that his new colleague arbitrarily seized for himself is not really to his taste. Because although he doesn't voice his displeasure with a single word, I have observed him just enough to recognize the tension in his heavy steps. He has enough sense of duty to endure frustration for the sake of our goal, but I know that this charming patience won't last forever. And I have a feeling that this whole impossible situation is getting on his nerves enough to lure his less diplomatic self out of him. He will work together as long as he has to, but not for a minute longer. What a rosy outlook.

Just as MacTavish moves next to me, suppressing a tired sigh under his breath, and nimbly leaps over the fence after his bosom friend, then I finally pull myself together and throw my weapon on my back to swing myself to the other side, following the Scotsman. We cross the few narrow meters that separate us from the building at lightning speed, and I thank the increasingly fierce storm, because we would otherwise be embarrassingly easy targets even in this short distance. And the fact that the surrounding area of the structure is so easy to keep an eye on raises the suspicion in me again, that it could only have been designated as a temporary accommodation by someone who had enough experience to know what difficulty the long grassy wasteland poses for a curious wanderer trying to get close to it. And this makes me more and more curious as to who might be at the head of the separatists, because all their actions so far indicate that they aren't just a simple criminal.

In front of the beat-down entrance, the soldiers wait for the instructions of their leader, who, when he is sure that we have arrived successfully, opens the door without a second of delay and charges forward with decisiveness, raising his weapon in front of him, closely followed by his Korean comrade, who lets us know with just a wave that we'd better follow their example, if we don't want to fail prematurely by waiting around in the doorstep. Although I'm not particularly impressed by the behavior of the two men, but based on the expression on the faces of my two friends, I can be sure that they do not share my lack of interest. This may not be the first time they have had to work with strangers, and maybe it wouldn't hurt their egos to not be in control of the whole operation, but it's all the more likely that they will be at least as comfortable tolerating this treatment from Shepherd's men as if someone were pulling their teeth out. And I strongly hope, praying to any higher authority listening, that this whole circus doesn't turn into a dick-measuring contest in the middle of a world-shattering event, because even Riley, who keeps his cool very skillfully, won't tolerate it without saying a word.

My boots land on the worn marble floor with a wet thump, when, at the end of the line, I cross the threshold into the embrace of the dark little corridor, and my nose is hit almost immediately by the musty smell of mold spreading on the damp walls. Despite the late spring weather, the whole place radiates an unfriendly coldness, and as the intrusive caress of the breeze blowing through the vacant building penetrates my soaked clothes, goosebumps erupt on my back instinctively. The huge house looks lifeless enough to fool the less experienced travelers, but my eyes aren’t the only ones who notice the mud-covered footprints on the dirty stone, which spread along the hallway shrouded in darkness. According to this, these bastards are tough enough to kill civilians, but they prefer to hide from a small thunderstorm within the four walls, even if they voluntarily let the attackers into their dwelling by doing it. I wasn't wrong about these thieves being cruel, but far more stupid than it would first appear.

We start silently towards the depths of the hotel, and the hooded man leading the way guides us to the source of the dull light coming from a distance, dictating a slow but all the more determined pace, with such a soundless softness compared to his height, like a predator scouting for prey. And his caution soon pays off, because as soon as he reaches the end of the passageway, a guy dressed in ragged combat gear appears in the small room before us, who notices the danger coming towards him too late. Because when he breaks away from his deep conversation on the radio and glances towards us, König ia already in front of him with impossible speed, crossing the distance between him and his victim with three wide steps with his long legs. And before the bandit could react, and would be able to open his mouth and alarm his companions, by then, a huge hand already lands on his face, and swallowing the startled shock, which crawls there with instinctive speed when he realizes that he has fallen into the grasp of a giant. But he doesn't even have time to understand what is happening, because with the momentum with which he galloped towards him, the Hunter rams the criminal, frozen in stunned terror, against the nearest wall just as easily. And even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the attack, because as suddenly as it came, his attacker ends his life as quickly. The crack with which the helpless man's skull splits open when it meets the concrete is stomach-churning, and the once cream-colored plaster is turned into a grotesque painting by the bloody pieces of brain tissue bursting from the shattered bones. And I have to forcefully fight the stomach acid gathering in my throat, when an eyeball appears for a moment from between the gloved fingers, staring blankly at me before falling to the ground with the lifeless body, as it's released by its killer. But perhaps it enhances the discomfort in me even more when our new teammate turns towards us with such cold calmness, shaking off the shattered pieces of slimy meat stuck to his glove, as if he had not just crushed a person's head with his bare hands, but had just swatted a naughty fly.

And even though I know how powerful Hunters are, I can only drive away the surprise mixed with disgust on my face with great concentration, because this ruthlessness surpasses everything that my dark little mind has thought possible until now. It was definitely a successful way to silence someone, but even I can see that it wasn't about efficiency. Because, when he fixes his gaze on his men emerging from the corridor, and takes in the respect and fear that appears on their faces, even I can see the satisfaction with which his back straightens. And I don't need to know this brutal man to understand, that he eased the hunger of his own self-confidence with this gruesome but spectacular stunt.

And when I, behind Riley and MacTavish, wander into the small hall leading to what may be the staff passageways, I have the opportunity to observe the grim expression slowly taking shape on their faces as well. Perhaps they also feel that this presentation didn't only take place so that the soldiers know their place, but also carries an unspoken threat, with which their colleague lets them know that it would be advisable for them to behave well, because someone has joined their company who will be able to cause them problems even without activating his ability. Shepherd… you dirty fucker. You want us to remember that help can disappear quickly if we don't play by the rules. How awfully smart.

"We split up here. One team goes upstairs, the others search through the ground floor." König turns to our small group, still maintaining the noble task of managing the mission, gesturing with one hand to the stairs opening from the back of the place, and then to the corridors on both sides, facing each other. With his tall figure, he easily stands out from among us, as he quickly scans his men, looking for any brave volunteer who would not agree with his proposal. And when he only receives a curt but obedient nod, he turns towards us to find our trio, and his eyes settles on me inexplicably quickly, zeroing in on me with embarrassing speed. And this isn't the first time since our not-so-distant meeting that he has found me so enthusiastically. Ever since he stepped out of that cramped container used for interrogation, he discovers me from time to time again, as if there would be a fucking magnet stuck on my pretty little body, drawing his attention to me as soon as I'm within range.

And although every single one of my facial muscles melts into the determined mask of expressionlessness, as his gaze sinks into mine, a visceral uneasiness awakens in my stomach. Because although I knew from the first minute that we had to be on guard, since probably at the end of Shepherd's leash made of money they are only allies for us until their master orders them otherwise, but he slowly makes it very clear that both his demonstration of strength and his behavior serves as a warning. And it doesn't make me happy at all when I come to the painful realization that, unlike my two companions, I would have a harder time defending myself if our cooperation took a rough turn. I know that he can't harm me right now, since the success of the mission is too important for that, but the little voice in my brain tells me that I'd better watch out for him, because it doesn't mean anything good that he is keeping an eye on me so readily. I could chalk it up to the fact that, being a good Hunter, he is just afraid of the physical integrity of a valuable Extreme, if I'm so exotic, but I can't get rid of the small fleeting intuition that this is about something else. And I don't like the curious glimmer in those sky-blue eyes when I stubbornly raise my head. No matter how big you are, you will need a lot more than that to scare me.

"You're goin' upstairs with Soap." Riley suddenly speaks, thus breaking me out of the tense stare-down duel that I'm unconsciously engaging with the behemoth man, and I turn with the greatest joy to the masked Hunter, who lingers on his colleague for a dangerous moment, before turning his hard gaze on me. "Stay alert." He leans closer, covering us from the audience with his back, and even this small act speaks quite eloquently of how much trust he has for our new teammates. And I can't blame him for that, because even though we need all the help, none of us lost our minds from gratitude. Especially not him, who runs circles in his head similar to my paranoid brain, probably because he has too many bitter experiences behind him to be naive. He knows too, how sensitive this alliance is.

I only hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer, and that's enough to see the weariness lurking in his dark eyes, next to which my trained little senses recognize the tiny little light that seems quite concerned even to my mind struggling with colorful imagination. And after the busy events of the past few days, I don't necessarily feel delusional anymore when it occurs to me, that he will be worried not only about his bff, but also about my safety, when he starts his lonely journey in this ex-resort that has become a crime den. And this lures a faint, but still naughty little curve to my lips, with which I silently tell him that it will take a lot more than a couple of lowlife thieves to make me bite the dust. Unfortunately, no one gets rid of my mean little person that easily. Although I have a feeling that this caution is not for the criminals who roam the walls…

But even before I could come up with a particularly witty answer for him, a hand lands on my shoulder and directs my thoughts, which have strayed into inappropriate side tracks, to their owner. And as my Scottish friend bursts into my field of vision, clutching his gun, he motions with his head towards the stairs leading upstairs, showing quite obviously that it's time for us to get to work before the gang realizes what surprise is being prepared for them in secret.

"Come on, lassie. There are bastards we need to put some holes into." He reminds me, and the serious expression, that has been stubbornly clinging to his features since the beginning of our current outing, softens from the tiny line of the cheeky smile that moves to his stubble-framed mouth. And although it's possible that the circumstances of our alliance have made him more cautious, I know that he has by no means forgotten the many horrors, some of which he owes to the outlaws who loiter here. Even if our adventure in the city is not their making, the bloodshed caused in the research institute is, and I know the man well enough to know that the possibility of paying off some of the many painful promises is responsible for his enthusiasm. And I won't stand in his way for a minute.

"After you." I gesture with one of my hands towards the path leading up, thus handing over the stage to the Hunter to let him turn into the tour guide, if he is already buzzing with such energy. And he immediately seizes the opportunity, raising his assault rifle in front of him, to bid farewell to his masked bosom friend with a last meaningful nod, and head towards the stairs. And I obediently close up behind him with my weapon pointed forward ready to attack, glancing back at Riley once more before disappearing into the maze of spiraling steps. And perhaps it means nothing to an outside observer, as he raises his head and follows the progress of our little duo with unbroken persistence, but my senses, which are desperately quick to notice every small twitch of his, quickly discover the small wrinkles that appear around the painted skin around his eyes. And I can understand from this, that he is parting from us with an anxious heart, but he is much calmer when he can put a safe distance between us and our helpers who are slowly organizing themselves into smaller groups. He would rather be alone among the wolves than expose us to the same danger. And the unpleasant nervousness awakening in my stomach only hopes that the two mercenaries won’t feel like turning against us right now.

But before long, the small gathering disappears from my vision, as the steps continue to turn towards the upper floor, and we are swallowed up by the narrow staircase. The sound of our soaked boots is blessedly absorbed by the worn velvet carpet that runs along the stairs, thus enveloping our silently sneaking pair in a dangerous silence. And the higher we get, the stronger the suspicion gets in my head, because we get to the top floor too easily and undisturbed, as if no one had taken up residence within the walls of the abandoned facility. And although the massive building offers plenty of hiding places, these wretched vermins don't know they have guests, and this silence is far more ominous than what my paranoid mind can bear. That's why my fingers instinctively tighten around the grip of my gun, preparing to pump the very first suspicious shadow full of ammunition.

MacTavish pauses only for a moment at the end of the staircase to cautiously peer out from behind the wall looking for the enemy. And when he is certain it's safe to proceed and no unsuspecting gang members have appeared to attack, he gestures forward with his gloved hand, and I understand his silent request even from the small gesture and follow him as he steps out into the wide corridor framed by carved wood. Once upon a time, it was probably a fortune to pack this tasteful covering here, but now the thin cracks run along them like a spiderweb from the moisture and the iron teeth of time, replacing the former luxury with a ghostly atmosphere. However, it attracts my attention much more, and it also makes my Scottish friend wonder, where to go on the dark road, because each of the two paths opening towards the wings of the building has the same chance of hiding valuable targets.

But I don't have to think too much about where we should head next, for the man precedes me in discovery, and I merely raise one of my eyebrows in interest, when he closes his eyes and sniffs the stale air, like a hunting dog looking after the wounded prey. Although there is already a sassy comment on the tip of my tongue about his methods, he turns his head to the side surprisingly quickly, staring with such intensity at the dark corridor opening on the right, as if he really would be hot on the scent. His super-senses probably recognized the stench of the gangsters lurking between the walls quite accurately, because after flashing his blue eyes at me meaningfully, he sets off across the worn carpet with such determination as if he had actually found his prey.

And it soon becomes clear how effectively his abilities developed by nature detect the enemy, because as we get further into the narrow pathway, the faint noise of our steps is accompanied by the characteristic, soft murmur of human speech, which although doesn't uncovers the topic of the discourse, but reveals that there is more than one person waiting for us on the other side. A gloomy, gray light greets us as soon as we reach the end of the corridor, and following the Hunter's example, I lean against the cool wall, listening to the fragments of words drifting in our way. One of the members is probably wandering closer to us, because the conversation he is having with his friends is gradually becoming more audible, and although I don't know the context, I don't like what I can finally understand from it in the least.

"Take the bitch to the boss in two hours. Until then, do something to wake her up. She must be awake." Murmurs the deep male voice, and the disdain in his tone fills me with disgust without even knowing who he could be talking about so kindly. It's not only the tone that helps plant frustration in my brain, but also the fact that there are civilians here, probably not of their own volition, because it only makes our task more difficult. Because the whole mission quickly progresses from the initial capture of the main scum to hostage rescue. And it's clear from the muffled cursing coming out of MacTavish's mouth that he isn't particularly excited by this unexpected development, and if I have to judge only by the clenched curve of his jaw, then his already not-so-rosy mood is only getting worse.

Based on his steps, the guy barking out his instructions gets closer to us, and when he comes into view at the mouth of the corridor, he stares at the two of us in puzzlement. But, when he could reach for the pistol resting on his belt, my friend with the mohawk springs into action, and cuts the throat of the man with a knife taken from his vest with deadly precision, before the guy would have the chance to alert what a pleasant new company his gang has got in our person. Like a waterfall set free, the blood gushes out of the wound, and with wide-open eyes, desperately gaping, he tries to press his palms to the slit, but the crimson liquid escapes unstoppably between his fingers, and my stomach tightens from the metallic smell. But it's more of a reflexive response than true hunger, and my eyes instinctively fixate on the delicacy that slowly drenches the man's jacket, then draws a dark puddle around him as he sprawls on the ground with one last choked gasp. And luckily for this wretch, because of my self-control and Riley's surprisingly nutritious blood, I don't feel the insatiable urge to crank up his agony with a nice little snacking.

"We're goin' in. On me." MacTavish says, gesturing towards the room with his head, and I nod, adjusting my finger on the trigger, giving him the kick-start to push forward with the determination of a true professional. And when he steps into the spacious room bathed in light, then, without hesitation, he aims at the scumbags that are hanging out there, immediately putting a bullet in the head of one of them, as soon as he jumps up to honor the surprise that we give them.

And emerging from behind his strong figure, I launch myself into the attack, and thanks to the many hours spent with suffering on the shooting range, it's much easier for me to shoot the big guy standing guard in front of the double doors on the other side of the hall, who, thanks to my clever little ambush, falls down to the pale blue tile with a pained scream. However, there is no time to pat myself on the back for my magnificent performance, because much sooner than that, another volunteer charges at me, swinging his knife at me to try to reshape my face. But the lack of coordination in his movements gives me enough time, and my body acts much faster. I bend down to get out of the way of the blade, and taking advantage of his surprise, I point the barrel of my gun at his stomach, so that I can reorganize his internal organs with my bullets at friendly close range. Warm blood splashes on my face, but it doesn't affect me one bit, because it gives me much more satisfaction to see him stagger backwards, with genuine shock on his face, like a wounded animal. I don't feel an iota of guilt, because they didn't show a shred of compassion when they were playing hide ans seek with the defenseless staff in the research institute. Fate gives everyone what they deserve. And I don't even want to deny that it fills me with great pleasure to be able to contribute to its vendetta.

It's all but a few minutes, and all the stray sounds of our incipient fight die down, leaving nothing but the angry pattering of the rain on windows stretching up to the ceiling on the side of the room. The Scottish Hunter finishes off the last bandit as I straighten up and turn around to see how many enemies he has left me. He effortlessly pulls out the knife from the head of a bald man, which he could have sunk into his skull up to the hilt with an impossible force, and then, wiping the blade with a careless movement, steps back, allowing the lifeless body to fall into the empty pool in the middle of the room. And as it lands with a dull thud, it kicks up decades old dirt that has gathered in dirty stains on the dried, mosaic-like tiles.

"There is something behind the door that was worth being protected." I conclude as I take a look at the unmoving criminals spread out on the floor, quickly counting all eight that have got together so intimately in this cozy little hall. And since I suspect that they didn't gather among the remains of the indoor swimming pool because of nostalgia for the past, therefore they could only try to hide something very interesting behind that door, in front of which now lies the still corpse of the humongous gang member I shot.

"Probably the hostages." MacTavish notes walking beside me, his blue eyes fixed on the tastefully crafted solid wood entrance, slowly sliding his knife back into its pouch resting on his shoulder strap. And there is no mistake in his assumption, because it has already come to light that at least one person is being held captive in this magnificent shithole. But even if a dozen defenseless civilians were locked up here, far fewer armed guards would have been enough to keep them in check, especially if they were so weakened that life had to be breathed into them by force. They were trying to protect something else with such fearful concern here.

"Fewer people would have been enough for that. There is something else there." I cast my significant gaze on my friend, and he turns his head to me with his eyebrows furrowed. But as our eyes meet, he understands without words what I'm getting at. If something very important, say a super-secret chemical created by the government, is buried on the other side, then it's very reasonable for a bunch of guards to stand by, vigilantly waiting to see if someone comes to retrieve it.

"Let's go." The Hunter sets off with renewed motivation, and I follow him with no less vigor, because the knowledge that the end of this fucking parade overflowing with chaos can be within arms reach makes my steps much more faster. We cross the room briskly, so that when we reach the threshold of our next goal, I step over the bloodied man lying there and smooth my hand on the doorknob, glancing expectantly at the Hunter. And when he pulls himself together with his assault rifle raised and nods towards me, ready to attack, I push the door open with a decisive movement and let MacTavish charge forward, who rushes past me immediately.

But as I enter as well, and the spacious suite is revealed to me, I'm greeted by nothing but silence and a multitude of unknown crates, which are piled next to each other in rough irregularity, covering the space of a room that was once worth a fortune. And I don't have to tear any of them open to know what's in them, because the smell of gunpowder permeates the air like a disease. Lowering his weapon, the man with the mohawk ventures further into the room, opening one of the large boxes with bewilderment, and when I catch a glimpse of the metallic shine of the almost untouched rifles in it, I'm overcome with confusion similar to my friend's. I expected to find a couple of questionable, but all the more valuable items, but the absence of the hostages, and especially the lack of the serum, raises a series of dangerous questions in my head. Why was it necessary to protect stolen firearms so enthusiastically? Of course, I understand that goods have to be protected, but they can't just walk away, can they?

But when a disapproving grunt-like voice erupts from my Scottish companion, I quickly understand what could have needed such an awful lot of protection besides the rifles. As soon as the first bag full of white powder is found in another opened box, it becomes very obvious that these bandits got their hands on everything that could be used to bring in even the smallest amount of credits. So it's not so surprising that they were willing to cross the wilderness teeming with mutants and slaughter a whole group of unsuspecting researchers for the sake of profit. Of course, that still leaves one question open. Where are the civilians?

But I don't have time to dwell on that, because a roaring bang shakes the building out of nowhere, sending fine plaster dust from the ceiling into my rain-drenched hair. I smooth the damp dirt from my face with the back of my hand, smearing the drops of blood there, only glancing questioningly at MacTavish, on whose face suddenly the apparent gloom deepens, as if he knows that this noise can only mean trouble. And without a doubt, it does, because when he rushes to one of the boarded-up windows and peeks through the gap, he reaches for his radio in the middle of cussing.

"Ghost! What the hell is goin' on there?" He shouts into the device, and his deep voice is filled with such tension that I'm becoming more and more curious as to what his clever eyes could have seen in the yard that caused such concern on his face. But, as I walk towards him, a small, tormented whimper pierces through the chaos that has arisen, which reminds me more of the cry of a tortured animal than of a human being. And that instantly distracts me from the man and the troubling goings-on outside, as the uncomfortable pull in my stomach automatically directs my eyes to the single door on the side of the room.

"We found the target. It's a Hunter and he resists." Riley's hoarse baritone sounds in my ears, but the weight of the information doesn't reach my consciousness due to the noise of the alarm bells going off in my brain. I don't even register as the Hunter, hearing the new information, bursts out in colorful insults, because my legs instinctively take me towards my discovery, and with each step, the soft, muffled sobs become louder, which another voice tries to shush to silence.

"Woods, we have to go!" My partner suddenly calls out after me, but I don't even listen to his urging, because I'm already in front of the unknown entrance, and before he can inquire further about what the hell I'm doing, instead of rushing to the aid of our team with him, I already lock my fingers onto the doorknob and turn it without thinking, opening the wooden panel with a sudden movement.

And the blood freezes in my veins when I see what awaits me beyond the doorway. The light coming from behind me eerily paints the dim little bathroom, and licks at the figure of two strangers clinging to each other, backed into one of the corners. The boy, whose dirt-darkened face is smeared with lines of fresh tears, can't be more than fifteen, but a thousand years of pain and fear are concentrated in his eyes widening in alarm, as he curls up shivering in the embrace of protectively intertwined arms. The bony hands clenched around him bear the angry contours of several old wounds and dozens of seemingly new bruises, and even in spite of this, the woman, trembling, but all the more determined, pulls her protégé's body, weak from malnutrition, to her chest, saying with every cell that she will protect the poor kid even with her last breath. And as my eyes slide down to her ankles, where the thick shackles have rubbed spots blooming in black and purple, and then my gaze moves up and takes in the brownish scales of dried blood on the inside of her thighs, my stomach is clenched with such force by desperate rage that I can only forcefully hold back the scream that threatens to burst out of my throat. Because it doesn't take much logic to deduce who is held here in such high esteem when a Hunter is the leader of the whole fucking group.

"What the hell..." Comes the shocked question from MacTavish as he suddenly appears next to me, both of them flinching in fear at the man's voice. The boy starts to cry with renewed force, and the horrified sob that escapes from his chapped lips squeezes my insides as if someone had hit me in the stomach full force with a hammer. And this instinctively makes my hand reach back and motion to the Hunter to back away, and without taking my eyes off the pair I crouch down, laying my weapon on the ground with such caution as if with each movement I risked them disappearing into the shadows stretching behind them. And without a doubt, they would most likely want to do that, because the utterly distrustful look with which they follow me the entire time reveals that there is nothing else in this world that they wouldn't expect to hurt them, for they have already experienced so much misery.

"It's okay, you have nothing to fear. I'm a Healer too." I point to myself, and I try with every fiber of my being to move tenderness into my voice, which is difficult not because I rarely had to practice it, but because of the rage screaming in my brain, since I would rather gut the bastard who was capable of doing this. "I want to help. Don't be afraid."

And although the terror eases for a bit, with which they press themselves into the musty walls, but as the boy timidly pulls away from the woman a little, his bare legs emerge from under his outstretched T-shirt, and thus every desperate inch of his nakedness is revealed, then something quite terrifying, hot feeling flares up inside me. Because when I see the hand-like marks on his narrow, bony hips, the sure knowledge that the sick bastard who brought them here hasn’t spared any of them settles into my mind with a cruel force. And when my gaze, darkened by recognition, meets the woman's silent, distraught eyes, I can read from them that the horror that unfolded before me is only the tip of the iceberg. Fuck.

⃰

My legs take me almost automatically through the labyrinth of the unknown base, and even I'm surprised by how quickly I rush out into the yard, finding the familiar hangar and continuing my journey there. But my brain is too busy to have the energy to praise myself for my excellent orientation skills. Because every single nerve cell of mine is woven through with that icy rage that has nested itself in all the corners of my body like an infectious disease. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to overcome the destructive storm raging under the surface, because I still vividly remember what kind of injuries I discovered on the bodies of the two Healers when I finally treated them after we returned to the KorTac base with the separatist leader in our hands. The mission ended with a rapid success after the minor complication, and the knowledge that we are one step closer to finding the serum should cheer me up, but I felt their trembling under my own hands when I supported them out of that damned cesspool. And it isn't difficult to imagine what kind of treatment they received, if the boy was already clinging to me with fear when MacTavish tried to give him a coat. I saw in my mind's eye every single bone that had just been fused together, every single scar and bruise, and also the wounds that one can only suffer when a beast cannot command its fucking dick and stucks it into everything, it doesn't matter if the hole it found, what or who it belongs to.

I stare straight ahead as I enter the vast space of the hangar, and I'm only vaguely aware of how readily the soldiers passing by move out of my way when they see the frozen expression on my face. At other times, it might fill me with morbid joy to see what effect I can have on my environment, but now only one goal guides and directs me towards the container resting in the corner. I want to show that fucking sadistic bastard with my own hands, what kind of torture can drive a man to the point of begging for death.

But when I get close enough to the large metal cage, a strong figure appears in front of me almost out of nowhere, and it takes me a second to realize who is standing before me through the fog of fury raging in my head. The Korean man holds out one of his camo-clad hands in front of me, causing me to halt and take a deep breath, trying to muster every last spark of my self-control before I would jump on him with an inarticulate yell and help him stand aside.

"You can't go in, there's an interrogation going on." Horangi declares firmly, and even though I can't see his face, I can sense from his accent that he is very serious about his statement intended as an instruction. And maybe it's not customary for them to allow simple Healers to interfere in the busy work of the Hunters, but right now I don't care in the least what traditions and rules they keep here. Because my patience is hanging on by a thread, and every single obstacle that stands between me and my victim dangerously stretches my tolerance to the point of snapping.

"If you don't get out of my way, I'll kill you." I inform him without a flinch, and I flash my eyes at him with such a significant warning that even a brainless idiot would be able to understand that I'm one step away from sending him to the other world. And in any other case, maybe with my sharp tongue and brilliant mind, I would come up with a good little ploy to trick and manipulate him, but this isn't the point where I feel like wasting my precious time on such things.

He examines me silently for a moment, and I can almost hear the battle of arguments in his head, with which he considers how much it pays off for him to stand in my way now. He also knows that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower me, but I know that the murderous temper in my eyes promises him enough trouble if he insists on following the protocols. And it seems that my aura has become sinister enough to make him come around, because he steps aside with a staged sigh and folds his hands in front of his chest, turning his attention back to guarding instead.

"They don't pay enough for this." He grumbles almost to himself, shaking his head in resignation, but apart from the sounds of his complaining, does nothing to keep me back in my little action. And I only give him one last fleeting glance, and then without any further hesitation, I tear open the door perhaps more violently than necessary, because the anger pulsating in my muscles removes all caution from my limbs.

As the small room opens up in front of me, all eyes are fixed on me almost at the same time, my presence interrupting the important conversation spiced with violence that they are currently having. My senses catch the grimness with which Riley turns towards me, and if I were a little calmer, I would stop to analyze the force with which his fingers tighten around the knife clutched in his hand, as he studies the motionless look on my face more closely. But even though the Hunter attracts my attention, I can only focus on one person now, and he sits in the middle of the room on a battered chair with such superiority, as if he weren't surrounded by three mountain-sized men trained to kill. And even though König slowly grasps a hammer in his hands, which can mean nothing but pain to him, he has the strength to put a cocky grin on his face. And suddenly it becomes quite obvious that, in spite of the beating they gave this scumbag, they still haven't managed to get him to talk. Never mind. I'll handle this.

"Woods!" MacTavish turns to me, and from the concern in his voice, I can sense quite simply that now he doesn't want me to witness all this bloody fun in the least. And certainly not because he wants to spare my sensitive psyche from watching someone being tortured for information, but because he saw exactly the effect it had on me when I had the opportunity to admire the handiwork of this separatist bastard on his two victims.

Without a sound, I close the door of the interrogation room behind me, and it seems that our prisoner is slowly realizing that a new guest has arrived at the party organized in his honor. And as his eyes glide over me, and I discover in them the disgusting hunger with which such sick fucks usually ogle at their prey, then the anger pulsing inside me spreads to my limbs like lava. Because the first reflexive thought that pops into my mind is the body of the two Healers shaking with terror as this pair of filthy eyes stares at them from the threshold of their prison.

"You finally brought a hottie here!" Exclaims the bandit cheerfully, not even noticing how the masked Hunter takes a threatening step towards him because of this small remark, perhaps hoping that this will be enough to shut this idiot up. But it seems that although he is running a race with wisdom, unfortunately, it's still faster than him. Because if he had any sense, he wouldn't raise his head like an alpha male, and he would know what a tight spot he was in. "This is an Extreme! I've never fucked one before... Come here baby, let's talk!" He whistles to me, as if he was just trying to lure a dog to him, and there is no doubt that he doesn't regard my kind as more than pretty, useful little animals.

"Shut the fuck up!" MacTavish gets angry on my behalf, and shakes the leader of the separatists with such anger that the chair cries out with wild creak. And other times, I would feel the warmth rising in my stomach at my friend with the mohawk trying to protect me and my honor, but this turn of events awakens such a worrying joy in me that even I get scared for a minute. And I can clearly perceive the confusion on the face of the Scottish Hunter, when a seductive smile appears on my face suddenly in place of the icy anger, as I stroll closer to the stage with comfortable steps, where I will show the performance of my life.

"It's all right, Soap." I carelessly wave to the aforementioned person, and I can tell from the arch of his worriedly furrowing eyebrows, how much my mood, which took a one hundred and eighty turn, fills him with doubts. But soon he will understand what's going on, he doesn't have to be afraid. "You want to talk to me? You're in luck because I've been waiting for this opportunity. And now that you're sitting here all tied up like a gift... It all feels like a fucking miracle." I note, slowly running my hands along the line of my breasts hidden in my T-shirt, and the gaze of the captured criminal follows the path of my mischievous little fingers with such diligence, as if he were hypnotized. And it's likely the case, because it doesn't even register to him how unnatural is the carefree airiness with which I bypass a grim Riley, and with which I push König away with a soft touch, who, despite our brief acquaintance, backs up to the wall of the container without question.

"You have good taste, baby." The man grins with satisfaction, and it's easy to read from the superiority prevailing on his features that he really believes this to be true. He thinks he is a real jackpot, and I fell in love at first sight and danced in front of him, perhaps in the hope that such a big and strong Hunter boy would finally grace me with his attention. Because it's ridiculously obvious that according to his beliefs, a Healer is born only to serve. How cute.

However, when I arrive in front of him and lean forward, my hands slide onto his thighs, and my fingers sensually squeeze the flesh under the blood-stained fabric, then I see uncertainty run through his mind for a second. But that little spark that would prompt suspicion doesn't last long, because as I kneel between his legs tied to the chair, the two little brain cells that might still be functioning in his head go silent with alarming speed. His pupils dilate almost magically, and it's pathetic how his mouth hangs open as I slowly start massaging the tortured muscles with my palm. How terribly stupid.

"Why don't we play a little, hmm?" I ask softly, giving him a lustful look from under my eyelashes, conveying innocent longing to him with every cell, as if I had no greater desire in this world than to play with him. And it's true. It's an insignificant detail, that he and I are thinking of different kind of fun.

"Now?" The first recognizable wrinkles of doubt appear on his forehead, when reality suddenly penetrates the sensual images dancing in his fantasy. And I have to forcefully suppress the laughter that rises in my throat when he fixes his gaze almost shamefully on the Hunters who have retreated to be the audience. As if the sense of embarrassment had revived in him for a moment, and he would be disturbed by the witnesses, before whom he acted so confident a minute ago. But I don't allow him to sink into this wandering fear, because as one of my fingers travels up to his face and redirects his concentration back to me, I press closer to him, making sure that every inviting inch and curve of my body comes into contact with him.

"Don't pay attention to them. I'm a little shy, but I'll make an exception for you." I purr sweetly, smearing the blood that escaped from the cut across his face with my thumb, as I stroke the damaged skin almost soothingly. I can hear the air getting stuck in his throat as I slowly raise my crimson-painted finger to my lips and clean the delicious liquid with my tongue. How awfully simple.

"You're a little whore, aren't you?" That disgustingly amused grin returns to his face, simultaneously throwing aside any sanity that might have lurked in his head. But I don't blame him for being frivolous, because I know exactly what qualities genetics has blessed me with, and I've managed to sweep my victims off their feet many times with this and my perfectly honed manipulation. After all, what kind of predator would I be if I couldn't lull the vigilance of my prey?

I capture his gaze with unceasing enthusiasm, as I pull away from him to sit on my heels, and the disappointed moan that escapes from his mouth is pitiful. But I won't leave him anxious for long, because I grab his tattered shirt and release it from the grip of his pants with a firm movement, so that my nimble little hands can find their way to every unprotected inch of his stomach. And as my palm smooths over the hot skin, I feel how willingly it shivers under my gentle touch, like a real bewitched idiot.

"You like that, hmm?" I hum sensually, and when my curious energy slowly creeps into him through my fingers, goosebumps rise up under my hand as he closes his eyes accompanied by a sigh full of pleasure. And this is the number one mistake that a smart person would never make. They would not lose sight of their enemy, who, although approaches him with nice words and even kinder gestures, still wants his fall. But one learns the most from the lessons they suffer on their own skin. And now I will teach him wisdom that he will never forget.

In my mind, the intricate network of blood vessels weaving through his body appears, and my practiced little skill doesn't need more than a few seconds to find those extremely interesting little veins and arteries that will now play such an important role in pleasing this big boy. And as the slow wave of my energy causes the blood to start flowing out of the sensitive body part, I direct my eyes with the keen attention of a snake in ambush on the man caught in my claws. I don't have to be disappointed, because even I can feel in my fingertips how the typical tingle that is so characteristic of malfunctioning circulation appears in his muscles. And this disturbs his self-absorbed intoxication just enough, because his eyebrows meet with such incomprehension, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep.

"What…. what's happening?” The disoriented question breaks out of him, and he fixes his gaze on me suspiciously, as if he would already start to suspect that he didn't quite get the entertainment he signed up for. And I no longer feel the need to continue my masterful performance, which he has so stupidly fallen victim to so far. And when the seductive mask slips off, and a cruel smile crosses my face in its place, I can almost see foreboding flashing into that weak mind of his.

"You may start to feel weird down here because I'm directing the blood out from your little friend." I note simply, as if I were stating a completely self-evident fact, and the stupid expression that appears on his face was worth all the pretense I had to show. His eyes widen almost comically, as he stares at his lap with such shocked dismay, as if he would hope that this moment will dissolve into the bizarre image of a terrible nightmare. But no. The mouth-watering feeling is very real, as after the blood slowly trickles away under my blessed ability, a numbness mixed with pain awakens in that tiny little tool of which he is so fucking proud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He blurts out, and although he still wants to look very stern, I can hear his voice cracking with recognition. Now he can start to notice this unpleasant spasmodic feeling quite sharply, which arises as a result of my vile little activity, and which causes a dull ache to creep into his groin. And there is no more charming sight in the world than this stupid meathead sinking into despair. "Stop it, you sick bitch!" He snarls at me, emphasizing all his threatening aggression, but unfortunately, he doesn't seem dangerous as he begins to strain wildly against his unbreakable shackles. Because although he may be a Hunter, and he has increased strength and endurance, the chains prepared by my friends were invented for bad boys like him.

"Oh, what's wrong? I thought you wanted me to play with your dick..." I pout with fake sadness, cooing to him with such contemptuous disdain, as if I were just trying to reason with a hysterical child. And from the small tantrum he throws, which causes him to try to tear his hands out of the thick handcuffs amidst loud grunting, he seems no more than a overgrown baby. "Oh, my bad. I forgot to tell you that I like it rough." I spit, putting an edge imbued with caustic sarcasm in my voice, and there is nothing charming in that grin that flashes all my teeth, which I twist on my mouth.

He would try to speak, and maybe he would swear at me with some very macho harshness, but as I speed up the adventurous migration of blood from his cock with another burst of energy, a tortured moan erupts from his throat from the sharp pain that surely penetrates him by now. Small drops of cold sweat surface on his forehead, and I almost feel sorry for him from the look of terror on his face. But that's not enough. Because although he's slowly realizing what a sadistic little game I've lured him into, I still don't see the despair I'm looking for.

"Maybe I should make blood clots in your veins. You know what happens when a part of your body doesn't get blood, right? No nutrients, no oxygen..." I dwell on the endless possibilities, tilting my head curiously, and even he, with his small brain capacity, can understand what the consequences are when the tissues are left without blood supply. And, as he comprehends that neither his physical strength nor his ability to intimidate will get him out of this situation, then dread glides through his features with such a spectacular fastness that it's a joy to watch.

"Please don't..." He begins to plead, and the hoarseness that moves to his voice from the panic bubbling up in his throat is music to my ears. And when I see the first glistening pearls of tears in his eyes, the hatred burning in my stomach swells with contented joy, because the visceral desperation that takes shape on his face is quite wonderful. And the sugary-sweet smile that curls up the corners of my mouth at the sight of his misery may even seem sick, but this bastard deserves every moment of suffering, because there is so much pain stuck to his hands that no amount of shame and agony can wash away. And I'm not afraid to become ruthless and mean to help him taste what it's like to be truly defenseless and helpless.

"Oh, no, no, no! Don't cry! This is fun! It's like an experiment!" I lean closer to him, caressing his belly with mocking tenderness, and he jerks under my hand with reflexive speed from the delicate gesture. Shuddering, he tries to pull away from me, as if he wanted to merge with the back of the chair, but it's futile to think that he will be able to escape from this difficult situation. I enjoy it too much. "If we wait long enough, it will fall off! Or even start to rot! But don't worry, you'll still be able to get laid! Maybe you'll be able to fuck yourself with your own dick!" I continue my musing with unhinged glee, watching as his teeth clench with painful force, as his sanity and self-respect clash for dominance. And when a choking sound escapes from him, with which he tries to stifle the silent sobs shaking his chest, then I know I've broken him.

"Please, please... I'll do anything, just don't..." He whimpers, and a thick vein on his neck pops out from the effort he uses to force these pathetic words out of himself. I know he'd rather bite his own tongue for stooping so low, but he is just the kind of cretin that can be led on by a trick like that. He gets rid of every ounce of self-esteem in an instant with his plea, no doubt hoping that a pretty woman like me might have enough compassion to take pity on him. But he picked a fight with the wrong person. Because the circle of those who can create such tender feelings in me is very narrow. And of course, nasty pests are not among them.

"If you want me to stop, then start talking." I willingly offer him the obvious solution, and when he looks at me wild with desperation, I can see the long series of thoughts going through his head, with which he tries to process what I'm asking of him. And there can definitely be important information in that ugly little head of his, if even when he is up to his neck in a stinking pile of shit, he vacillates about whether to share it with us. "Because the clock is ticking." I remind him, imitating the rhythmic clicking of the hands of the clock with my index finger, and I can feel him twitch with increasing tension under my hands with each small tap. A suffocating minute passes as I stare unblinkingly at him and drum with unbroken enthusiasm on his bruised stomach, sending the blood further and further away from his jewels with each movement. And now the tears are starting to flow in rich streams on his face, which is almost purple in color, mixing with the sweat, which is slowly covering every inch of his skin from the pain caused by my little game.

"I don't have the serum!" He finally surrenders, almost shouting his confession, as his mouth opens wide with a tortured whimper, when I continue my treacherous little activity just to be sure. "I sold it to a guy named Rat! He has his network in Colony No. 2, he said he'll hand it over to his customer there!" He spills the info eagerly, and even though every word is raspy with the aching pulsing with even force in his lap, the obedience with which he surrenders to my will is music to my ears. And suddenly I'm filled with intense pride from the knowledge that I could be of such great help to my friends who are shrouded in eerie silence leaning against the wall, and that I got the information out of this asshole that had become our prey, which they didn't manage to beat out of him. Each vermin requires a different approach, it seems. And I'm lucky that not a prouder and smarter person is the head of Vultures, because it wouldn't have been possible to back anyone other than him into a corner so easily by threatening to make his junk fall off.

"There you go! It wasn't that hard, was it?" I pull my hands out from under the sweat-soaked textile, patting his thigh with such belittling tenderness, as if I wanted to praise a dog that performed a clever trick. And the relieved sigh with which he finally calms down a bit is quite sweet, and as soon as a breath of his confidence returns him, and he fixes his eyes on me expectantly, then I simply push myself away from him to stand up, turning my back on him to head for the interrogator's door without any further discussion. And now, for the first time, my undivided attention is diverted from my prey long enough for me to catch the expression on my companions' faces, and from the way MacTavish's brows furrow in bewilderment and dread, I have to forcefully suppress the outline of a cheeky smile that wants to curve at the corner of my mouth. I forgot that even though I had already entertained Riley with my slyness, the Scotsman hadn't yet had the chance to witness my questionable tactics.

"Hey! What are you doing? You said you would stop!" The leader of the separatists finally comes to his senses, and I just glance at him over my shoulder. And although I know that the trauma of the two Healers won't be nullified by my little revenge, it cannot be denied that the stunned distress with which he gapes at me, dispels the anger gnawing at my insides. And I wish that the two of them could see how deep a hole such a freak can crawl into, if sufficient methods are used to help him back to the edge of the abyss. But maybe it will give them a little joy to know that the bastard, who so indulgently laid his filthy hands on them in every way imaginable, will be forced to live out the rest of his pathetic life with his dick rotting away like a useless leather hose in his pants.

"It's a shame that I'm a filthy liar." I shrug my shoulders with noble simplicity, telling him with every inch of me that this is no longer my problem. And from my periphery, I can clearly see how my masked companion coks his head to the side in interest, and as our eyes meet, I see the dark little sparks in them when he realizes how freely I used the strategy that he presented to me so kindly during Valeria's interrogation. I've learned from the best.

"You dirty little bitch! Once I get my hands on you, I'll gut you! Do you hear me?!" The criminal indulges in his scary threats, and every muscle in his face tenses with rage as he spits his curses at me. And when I only raise my head with a pitying look, he loses himself in his rampage with such vigor that the chair he was enslaved to begins to shake amidst wild creaking. But no matter how hard he struggles, no matter how hard he tries to tear his hands from the chains, a D-class fool is unable to perform the same magic tricks my friends can do. Because my Scottish friend and his bosom friend would have already folded bows out of the metal by now. How utterly sad.

However, it seems that our new helper gets bored much sooner with this ridiculous interlude, in which our prisoner sinks more and more violently by the minute, because König appears in front of him so quickly, and grabs the separatist leader's throat without any warning, that every sound of his angry protest boils in his throat in a second. And he doesn't even have time to react, for the Hunter lifts the guy up by the neck along with the chair to then throw him to the ground, and as he lands on the floor of the container, the chair breaks into pieces with a tortured crash. And even before the outlaw could collect the thoughts of opposition in his brain, dulled by surprise and pain, his attacker makes sure that he stays where he had so kindly laid him down.

König's foot chruses on his victim's chest like a press, and an interesting hissing sound leaves the throat of the man lying among the pieces of broken furniture, as his mouth slowly opens to shout, but only a forced groan comes out. And although from the hooded Hunter's perspective, it all seems nothing more than when someone methodically tramples on a bug, I know how much strength it takes to coax this sick sound out of someone. The morbid sight lasts just a second longer than it should, just long enough for the halfwit writhing on the ground to feel how fleeting and senseless end his life has came to. And it occurs to me that there is no hesitation in this, only pure cruel pleasure, because as the protective wall of our prisoner's ribcage gives way with a sudden crackle under the heavy boot, even though his face is covered by the loose fabric, I see the satisfaction flash in the cold blue eyes, with which he watches the foamy path of the blood gushing from the lips of his prey stretched out in the dirt.

And I know that I'm not imagining those cheerful little wrinkles that appear around the skin covered in dark paint, as he turns towards me, towering above the now motionless dead body, and our gaze intertwines. And because of this, the restless voice in my head warns me to be careful in a tenth of a second, because I can't think of a good explanation for why I discover the invisible line of a smile around his eyes emerging from under the textile. What the hell?

32 notes · View notes

dovithedarklord · 1 year ago

Text

Age of Monsters

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...............................................................................................

Summary:

50 years ago, the world was turned upside down by the appearance of a virus, and monsters destroyed most of the known civilization. For safety, humanity has retreated to colonies all around the world, where life is lived according to strict rules and in fear of monsters. Fortunately, the virus caused something other than just the emergence of mutant monsters, it also awakened the Hunters, who have been heroically protecting the colonies ever since. Leona Woods spends her days in Colony 17 hiding from her duties as a Healer, but her carefree life soon ends when one of her evenings doesn't go as planned. And when karma finally catches up, she is forced to join Liquidation Unit 141 to fulfill her duties.

Life in Unit 141 isn't nearly all sunshine and rainbows, especially when a certain masked Hunter tries to make it even harder. However, the excitement only increases when a new danger appears, which threatens not only the life of the unit but the safety of the entire world. And Leona must decide whether to choose her own interests or the survival of her new team and the world.

The world in the story is inspired by the Guideverse.

.....................................................................

Authors note:

Leona ends up in a nice mess after eating her dinner too carelessly. She has no idea how quickly fate will catch up with her.

The story moves quite slowly, so please be patient! 141 boys won't appear in the first chapter just yet, but they will;) I have pretty much covered all the characters in the tags, but the list could expand in the future. (I proofread myself before posting, so sorry if there are mistakes! I write the story in my language first, and I translate it after. English is not my first language, so help is welcomed! Just be nice, please! )

I'll post more chapters, but if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter One

................................................................................................................

I lazily stir my cocktail with the small wooden stick in it, as an absentminded distraction, my eyes run through the room enveloped in a flood of colorful, flashing lights. The bass of the music vibrates through my every muscle and bone, and I can almost feel the rhythm in my stomach, sending pleasant shivers through me. This is the thrill of the hunt, to be exact.

The people crammed into the small hall are pressed together like herrings, and the air smells of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. My gaze wanders through the blissfully ignorant dancers from the force of habit, since I've done this a thousand times, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I’m searching for an exact type, a fool who seems lively enough to have just enough energy for a busy weeknight fun, and just as easily swayed by a seductive smile. I'm lucky because it seems like everyone wants to celebrate today, and that might be the reason behind today’s unusual crowd in this club, which is located in a hidden corner of the city. Usually, I would have to choose from a much smaller selection, but today on The Day of the Great Escape, everyone felt the need to paint the town red. Even if someone doesn’t give a damn about the important holiday, this day is still one of the few occasions when even those doing the most menial jobs are given a day off to be able to honor the memory of the first great Hunters who appeared fifty years ago. What an idiotic habit. If they knew the easy lives of those publicly funded mercenaries and executioners… they wouldn't be so grateful that they occasionally venture outside the green zone to kill a mutant monster or two.

Raising my glass to my mouth, I take a generous sip of my sweet cocktail and enjoy the way the alcohol sold at the price of gold pleasantly burns my throat. Like any other luxury item, alcohol is also a treasure, of course, only if you don't want to go blind from the crap concocted at someone’s shady basement. I feel my frustration awaken in the back of my head when I think about the near fortune I spent on the cocktail, but I push the annoying thought away, thinking that in worst case scenario I will not only get my usual snack from tonight's victim, but also the content of their wallet. If I'm lucky, the unfortunate bastard will have a few credits on them. Almost on cue, I catch a glimpse of a guy on the edge of the dance floor who stands out from the ring of people around him like a scarecrow on a cornfield. Judging by his movements, he's not the least bit thirsty, and as I watch him almost tripping over his own feet during his clumsy dance moves, a satisfied grin crosses my lips. Got you.

I down the last remnants of my nauseating drink, and I jump off the bar stool with light movements and throw myself into the crowd of dancers. I make my way toward the cutie I've chosen, not taking my eyes off of him for even a moment, and I feel my heart beating excitedly as I get closer and closer. As the adrenaline spreads through my body, all my senses sharpen, like a wild animal waiting to pounce on its victim. Tonight I'm bubbling with anticipation and impatience more than usual because it's been a week and a half since I caught the last sweet little boy for some private fun… and my appetite is coming back fast. With dull, but steady force.

As I finally arrive behind the boy, my fingers twine on his arms with a butterfly-light touch and travel sensually up to his shoulders. Despite his apparent drunkenness, the guy visibly flinches in fright, and this one tiny movement makes my mouth dry with anticipation. He looks puzzled and surprised as he turns towards me, and as he glances down at me, all my nerves and senses are attuned to him. And as the inviting warmth of his body travels from his hot skin through my fingertips, I can already see the intricate network that weaves through his body in my mind's eye, with his pulsing heart in the middle beating to a fierce rhythm. I don't need to use my ability to know that I don’t have to try hard, because as soon as the first shock wears off in a fraction of a second, he arranges his features on his sweet boyish face and pulls his mouth into a lazy grin. Bingo.

"Hi. " I shout over the music blaring around us, and I conjure up the flirtatious smile that I have perfected over the years, which I know will immediately sweep such simple-minded fools off their feet. Obviously, it also helps a lot that even if the higher powers that supposedly exist have already cursed me with my fucking abilities, they at least put conventionally attractive features on me. It would be foolish to deny that I am charming, and I am neither modest nor delusional enough to try to lie to myself about it. It would certainly be a more attractive quality to blush and protest against such facts in order to score good points in the eyes of other people, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that in this new order, you won’t get far with modesty and goodness. That fair world has been gone since the first mutant monsters slaughtered an entire city, or maybe it never even existed.

"Hello... " The guy greets me too, and as he turns towards me welcomingly, ready to flirt, my hands clasp around his neck with a swift movement, and I snuggle up to him with my whole body, promising salacious adventures. It doesn't escape my attention how his pupils dilate almost on command, as my breasts press against his chest and my nails run through the back of his neck teasingly. I can almost feel it in my mouth how the heat of his desire starts to build and a tingle fueled by lust travels through him. It's ridiculously easy for me to turn him on, but he’s exactly the type of easy target I usually hunt for. He's just drunk enough to not be able to think clearly but be up for action when a pretty girl approaches him. He's just healthy enough to withstand my snacking but weak enough to not be able to resist. Not that he'd stand a chance against me.

I’m not wasting time on talking anymore, because I can tell from his heated gaze and his fast-beating heart that I could climb on him even here if I wanted to. But I was always shy when it came to my private life. I like it better when we enjoy these intimate moments together without any pesky interruptions.

I remove the presence of my naughty little body from the guy, and as his dark eyes fill with disappointment, I hold back the laughter that threatens to burst out of me with all my might. I grab him by the arm, and I just give him a teasing smile over my shoulder as I point towards to the exit with my head, and his quick to understand what I’m implying. He follows me without a question as I lead him out of the dance floor with purposeful steps towards the back entrance of the club. He stumbles along like the fool he is, with a distinct look of puppy-like longing spread on his face. And I send tiny sparks of my energy into his body through his skin, which boosts the already present alcoholic stupor in him even more, because I never leave anything up for luck. We should look like just a simple, carefree young couple who after finding each other in the heat of the night, are heading somewhere, anywhere, to relieve their needs. Which is true. But I suspect that this little cutie and I are not thinking about the same needs as we are galloping towards the exit.

And as the back door opens and the cool fresh air of the night hits me, the all too known impatience that usually comes at this time takes over me. I've been feeling that painful tension in my stomach for days now, which indicates that I can't wait any longer and I have to find someone to help my little problem. I hate the feeling when I squirm in bed with a heated body, trying to fall asleep, but every part of me aches and pleads for me to just finally satisfy my hunger.

As the guy finally exits the club behind me the door closes behind us with a loud bang. The dim light filtering in from the street only vaguely paints his features, but I can make out enough to know that by now my machinations got him ready for the finale. I don't like what I am, but I love my abilities. If the members of my species weren’t treated like objects or animals for slaughter, I wouldn't be frustrated by all of this shit.

I drag the now completely dazed guy towards one of the corners filled with cardboard boxes, forcing him to back up against the hard concrete, trapping him with my arms over his shoulders. The sight could look quite comical, a girl who is at least half a head shorter, pinning a grown man to the wall with a gesture taken from a romantic movie, but I know that out of the two of us, I am not the prey. But he is.

"I like girls who take initiative. " He says, his words smeared by alcohol and from my little tricks echo in the darkness of the alley. I pull a lazy little smile on my face as I kneel down in front of him, and I’m quick to unfasten his belt and unbutton his pants with my hands. I can almost hear how the air catches in his throat, and when I look up at him and see the stunned look that blooms on his face, I release my laughter. My God. It gets me every time.

"Then it's your lucky day. " I answer, and I feel my voice deepen and get filled with the longing caused by my hunger. He swallows his Adam's apple bobbing as my hands start to pull down the rough fabric of his pants from his narrow hips with excruciating slowness. Goosebumps rise on his skin when I grip the lean muscles of his thighs and I involuntarily lick my lips as the pulsating veins appear before my eyes. I nudge his legs apart and he obediently spreads them wider, and I lean forward to smooth my lips on his now-exposed skin. A shiver runs through him as I follow the line of blood vessels branching under his skin with my tongue, and I mark the place where I plan to eat my meal with a small seductive kiss. I give him another boost with my energy so that he gets even more stunned, and he tilts his head back with his eyes closed, his breathing speeds up desperately, and all the while he doesn't even notice how I make a small incision on his thigh with the small blade I dug out of my pocket. The first drops of blood emerge from under the pale skin, and I, like a thirsty pilgrim left in the desert, throw myself on the small pearls that surface. I press my mouth tightly to the wound, and my teeth tingle painfully as I swallow the first sips, but I know, that even if a stupid bastard like him would discover a bite mark, he could easily put the pieces together and get me caught. So I’m momentarily satisfied with the way the metallic taste of blood fills my taste buds, and my whole body trembles as the familiar heat sweeps along my spine. I sigh with relief, as the hunger gnawing at my insides begins to ease, and the torturous feeling that has been twisting my stomach for days is replaced by the euphoria, which is hard to put into words, that rears its head in my body with each meal. My energy begins to throb excitedly in my veins, and my head is taken over by a daze similar to alcoholic intoxication, which makes my limbs quite light and weightless. Despite this, my fingers grip the thighs of my victim even harder, who stiffens under my hands, groaning in confusion. It must not be a pleasant feeling, but none of them have died yet from the tiny little blood loss I caused. The next day, they are as good as new, and they easily mistake the minute sickness that I cause for the evil aftereffect of a hangover. After all, who doesn't feel like shit after drinking through the night before?

I get lost in my meal, and the intoxicating taste of blood obscures my senses and leads me to a fleeting state of ecstasy, and I know that it is almost time to stop because there is a level of blood loss that can’t be attributed to the fatigue of a hangover. However, before the thought can ripen in my foggy mind, searing pain shoots through my scalp, and I hiss as the unknown force grabs my hair and pulls me away from the subject of my feast. My brain can't get out of its stupor right away, so it is not particularly difficult for me to lose my balance. I arrive on the damp concrete of the alley with a loud thump, and I blink wide-eyed at my assailant from the sudden surprise. The unknown man walks over to the guy slumped on the floor with a worried look, who just as all my victims do, passed out after my little dinner.

"Roy! Roy!" Tries the stranger as he talks to the knocked-out guy, and I pull myself up to my feet. I wipe my mouth glistening with blood with the back of my hand as I watch the potential friend of my dinner trying to breathe some life into the poor kid. When he doesn't succeed, he turns towards me and steps in front of me menacingly, grabbing the collar of my sweater. "What the fuck did you do to him, you bitch?"

"We played a little." I declare easily, and as my eyes focus on the boy sprawled out on the dirty ground, an evil little grin curls on my lips. "And it seems I literally blew his mind with my professional technique."

"Don’t fuck with me! " The guy snarls at me dangerously and shakes me by my clothes, which makes my funny mood disappear almost immediately. Based on how his face gets contorted in anger, it becomes clear that my lip service won’t get me out of this situation, and I'm cursing to myself as I assess the possibilities. Although there are no cameras in this alley, I can guarantee that this bastard will be able to give an accurate description of me if I just let him slip out of here. If I don't do something now, he's going to call the enforcers, which is a literal death sentence for me. Because, even if I lie that I indulged in little more perverted pleasures than necessary, they will immediately suspect that something is wrong. And if they find out what I am... that can't happen.

But before I could create a concrete plan in my mind, the guy loses his patience and raises his hand, preparing to put some sense in me. However, before he could hit me, I target his knee with a firm kick causing it to dislocate with a loud crack, and as he loses his balance, his grip on my clothes loosens too. The roar that erupts from the guy is muffled by my hand fast on his mouth, and taking advantage of the situation, I throw myself at him and knock him off his feet. His head hits the ground with a sickening sound, but that’s not nearly enough to make him unable to attack. It seems that the adrenaline is starting to work in him too, because his hands suddenly slam down on my neck and wrap around it with a vise-like grip. A stifled cough breaks out of me as the pressure of his fingers slowly squeezes my trachea, and then it becomes completely clear what I have to do to get out of the hot water I got myself into.

I press my hands firmly on his head and, while struggling with shortness of breath, I concentrate the energy bubbling in me towards the man. Tears well up in my eyes from the effort, but I can still feel the blood vessels in his brain, and I clench my teeth as I begin to increase the pressure in them. I almost see the image of the tiny, spider web-like system swelling up and getting dangerously close to bursting like an overinflated balloon. The man's grip around my neck loosens, he grabs my wrists now and tries to pry my hands off of him, but he has no chance. Pure desperation takes over his features, his eyes widen and his body begins to jerk wildly underneath me, but that doesn't deter me from finishing what I started. Because if I show even an ounce of mercy, I'll get the short end of the stick. If I don't kill him, I'll be exposed and dragged off to be used like fucking battery for the rest of my life. I’ll lose everything I have, but most of all, my freedom. If I don't end it now, I'll suffer the same fate as the other Healers and I’ll be used by some Hunter until I die. I can't let that happen. I WON’T let it happen.

Rage and anger fill my consciousness, and suddenly a red mist swallows everything in my sight, which makes me focus only on the suffering of the man below me fighting for his life. My fingers claw into his skin, and for a moment the thought runs through my mind about how it would feel to crack his skull and see his bones break under my grip. A painful snoring sound leaves the man's mouth, his mouth fills with bloody foam, red liquid begins to flow from the corner of his eyes drawing vivid lines on his deathly pale skin, and I tensely observe his death throe. A few minutes stretch into an eternity as I watch the last sparks of life disappear from his eyes, and the vague emptiness of death takes their place. Suddenly the man freezes, his limbs going limp under me in surrender, and as a last soft gurgling moan leaves his lips, I know it's over. The frantic rush of his blood ceases under my fingers, and his heart, which until now was hammering restlessly under his ribs, is now silent.

I kneel over the dead body below me panting, and I pause for a moment to look at my "creation". I'm not surprised that I don't feel any remorse, because I left the guilt and shame behind me a long time ago, in that dark little corner of my mind, where there might still be a drop of tenderness left. I can still vaguely remember the panic that came over me the first time I accidentally killed someone. I will never forget the young guy’s face, the freckles dotting his nose, which shone almost sickeningly dark on his skin pale from blood loss. The frightened whimper that left those lips that slowly turned blue forever embedded itself in the tangled webs of my memory. But everyone else who stood in my way looms as vague, unrecognizable spots in the depths of my brain, and it doesn't bother me one bit. A normal person might be affected by so many lives lost in vain, but I learned a long time ago that these are all luxuries that the likes of me cannot afford. That's why I still feel nothing but pure frustration and anger for making such a simple mistake. I didn't pay attention to the friends. You should never target a victim with friends, because after a while they always show up worried. It's understandable, of course, but it's just an unnecessary problem for me.

A strained sigh leaves my lips as I stand up, dusting off my clothes, and I step over the body lying motionless on the ground. My night didn't turn out exactly as I wanted, and as a sharp, migraine-like pain rips through my head, I'm already sure that my dinner tonight was wasted. Small snacks like this are just enough to satiate my hunger, but not enough to pump me up enough to stop me from being cranky after using my powers to such an extent. I should have eaten a lot more for this. Fuck. In a few days, I'll be able to play this whole little charade again to find a fool to drink from. And I can throw away a bunch of credits again to go to one of the clubs and have an alibi drink.

I pull the corner of my mouth in distaste as I remember the poor state of my wallet, and if possible my mood becomes even more gloomy as I realize that unfortunately robbing my victims will not be an option tonight. That way, if I'm lucky, enforcers will see this as nothing more than a tragic consequence of a night out where one of the unfortunate dudes had fun with the wrong stuff, and the other drank just a little bit too much. But if I take their credits now, then robbery and murder will also enter the picture, which would be true, but I have no need for any unnecessary excitement.

So I take one last look at the two guys, straightening my sweater, and I head towards the exit of the alley to enter the street swimming in flickering lights, making my way home. Every muscle in my body screams for sleep, and as the knife-like pain in my head increases, I want nothing more than to rest and forget this miserable night.

⃰

My fingers drum nervously on the table, adding a fast and restless rhythm to the background noise of the machines humming softly in the lab, the whole thing resulting in a symphony that slowly drives me crazy. My eyes are fixed on the radio lying on the counter next to me, and although now the monotonous female voice from the other side is talking about general news affecting the entire colony, I still keep replaying a scrap of information that barely reached two minutes over and over again, as if an old and broke record player had stuck in my head, on which the needle keeps jumping on the same tune.

The previous night, I threw myself into bed with the firm belief that everything was fine and that I had no reason to worry about anyone paying enough attention to the deaths of two insignificant civilians in a party district. One would think that the enforcers have their hands full with monitoring smugglers and petty criminals selling illegal drugs, or supervising food distribution units, but no. Of course, in a city where it is common for someone to disappear or die, where the law-keeping organizations are struggling with a shortage of people, the biggest news is that two random young dudes were found in an alley under questionable circumstances. Out of thousands of similar cases, the wretched news providers just had to pick this one, which was described exactly as desperate and terrifying as it should be to get some clout. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. Similar atrocities happen daily, it's enough if someone doesn't buy from a good dealer and stuffs themself with goods made from all kinds of crap in a basement. Or it's enough if someone has more food stamps than the others, and if someone feels even a tad bit jealous of this, then the unlucky fool will be found on the street the next day knocked out because of those few pieces of paper. And I make one mistake and these hyenas immediately feel the need to overanalyze it under a magnifying glass.

A thousand thoughts run through my head, and in every one of them, I try to figure out why the officials believe that this case is different from the others they encountered until now. Why did the interviewed spokesman emphasize the fact that this case shows such an unusual pattern that they are forced to carry out a thorough investigation? I can theorize a thousand possible mistakes, and I could find a solution to all of them almost immediately, but the doubt that crawls into my brain just can’t seem to leave and I can’t help but feel that this time I really was careless.

There were no cameras in the alley, nor in that shithole of a club, so there was nothing that could have recorded my face. Due to the holiday, there were too many people in the club to give a good personal description of any of us. And my dinner last night was far too drunk and dazed to remember anything substantial about me. They won’t go far with the information that a pretty little girl dragged him away. There are thousands of cases like that in this cursed city. They could have found my DNA or my fingerprints on one of the bodies, and they can find me based on that, but I can bluff that I just wanted a nice little threesome with the guys, and when they offered me some weird substance, I walked away. There is no way to prove that this is the case, nor is there any evidence to the contrary. And they can't bring me in without solid proof. And anyway. Who would believe that a short, weak young woman could knock out two grown men?

Almost instinctively, my tongue wanders to the line of my teeth, and as it runs along the plastic, I clench my fists nervously. They can't possibly suspect anything about who I am. There's no way in hell they'll find out I'm an Extreme. They won't test DNA because it's an expensive procedure, and they won't do any further research for a simple murder case where NOTHING points to an Extreme. They won’t be able to reveal my identity, even if they end up linking me to the case somehow.

I have been hiding my identity since I was thirteen years old, and no one has a chance to see through my disguise, which I have perfected over the years. Although an Extreme would be easy to recognize, because who the hell wouldn't be able to see when a person has vertical pupils and razor-sharp canines? But I have this under control. Cheap contact lenses, and even cheaper removable veneers, and the problem is solved. And the scent of my energy could only be smelled by a professional, high-ranking Hunter, especially what is left of it now. Everything seems ideal, the realistic part of me knows that the chances of me being exposed are small, but the stress hormones working inside me plant the doubt that small enough is still not zero. It will never be zero.

The sudden window that pops up on the computer screen jolts me out of my thoughts, which were moving strongly towards gloomy suspicion and tense fixation, and for the first time in my life, I turn quickly toward a finished result. It's not like I'm careless in my work, after all, to maintain a normal life, you have to be thorough and a good worker bee. But suddenly anything seems like a good distraction, and I honestly thank the fact that I still have six hours of work left, because it may distract me from the chaos raging in my head.

I take one last anxious glance at the radio, which is already playing some melodious song by an unknown band, and then I turn to my computer instead. I don't have to worry. Like all sensations, this will pass in no time. Everything will be fine. Nothing will happen. NOTHING.

⃰

But when I get home a few days later, two strange men are waiting in front of the door of my small apartment, and I already know that nothing will be fine. I quickly assess the two figures, and it immediately becomes obvious that although they are not wearing uniforms, they are clearly enforcers. They turn their heads towards me in unison, and the neon light of the lamp on the ceiling paints the dark expression gliding across their faces in an eery glow. Only two words flash in my mind; They know.

Still, I force a mask of honest surprise on myself, and as I move towards them with slow and deliberate steps, I try to take on the role of a meek, defenseless, and more importantly naive young woman with every movement. It's ridiculously easy because I've been forced to play it all my life, but now I'm analyzing almost every fiber of myself with tense attention, as the two men silently size me up.

"Leona Woods?" Says one of the enforcers, and his hoarse voice echoes hauntingly off the dirty walls. "We hoped we were in the right place."

At first glance, it may seem like the situation about to unfold is completely harmless, but as the taller man pulls his hands out of his pockets, but it does not escape my attention how a metallic glint appears for a fleeting moment under his jacket. They came with weapons, and from that, I can immediately conclude that they did not show up for a simple chit-chat. They won’t be playing a pleasant game of question-and-answer with me as witnesses, but as a suspect, and the recognition creates an unpleasant pressure in my stomach. Calm down. Take it easy. They may be suspicious, but they don't have anything in their hands.

"What can I help you with?" I ask innocently, and I mix just enough incomprehension into my voice to make my little play look authentic. I arrive in front of them with a faint little smile on my lips, every cell radiating I am indeed just a simple civilian. Someone who may have been involved in a very sad misunderstanding, but is in no way capable of killing or even injuring someone.

"We’d like to ask you a few questions." Says one of the men, and as he flashes his official ID card, my eyebrows rise in feigned surprise. "If possible, we'd rather not talk to you here. Could you let us in?" My new guest points towards my front door with his head, and I fish out my keys from my bag accompanied by a cooperative nod. I concentrate on keeping my fingers from shaking with every fiber of my being, as I insert the key into the lock because nothing would give me away faster than them seeing me upset. And it's a difficult task, because with every second the tension raging inside me increases.

"After you." I open the door, and as soon as I turn on the light, the two men march into my small apartment after a quiet "thank you". I hesitate for a minute, but finally, the door closes behind me with a soft click, and after slowly kicking off my shoes, I follow the two enforcers into my modest little living room. The faces of the two strangers do not reveal anything, as they peer into the living room and take a quick, but rather detailed look at the room. And I follow their every movement, like a startled stray dog surrounded by dogcatchers. What an apt analogy.

"Take a seat." I gesture towards the thousand-year-old sofa in the middle of the room, and after giving one last look at the furniture of my modest apartment in search of some kind of clue, they silently take the seat offered to them. I follow their example with measured calmness, and I try to sit down in the armchair opposite them as carelessly as possible, smoothing out the creases in my pants with my hands, so that at least I can reduce the growing restlessness inside me. "What did you want to ask me about? " I ask with sincere curiosity, and I consciously try to banish any doubt, anger, or malice from my voice. It is quite obvious that these two men are not simple enforcement officers, because they behaved like two hounds on a hot scent just waiting for the opportunity to pounce from the get-go.

"Three days ago, two men were found in one of the nightclubs in sector H. Thankfully, one of them only lost consciousness, but unfortunately the other victim was already dead by the time they were found." Begins one of the enforcers, who seems to be the older of the two with his graying hair and crow's feet around his eyes. "We have reason to assume that you might be able to provide us with useful information." He states pointedly, and before I can even think about opening my mouth to speak, his companion pulls out a couple of black and white pictures from his jacket’s pocket.

My gaze lingers on the older man for a moment, so it doesn't become clear to them that I want to look at those pictures so much that every muscle in me goes rigid with desperation. And when I finally turn my eyes to the photos resting on the table, I feel my blood run cold. Until now, I was sure that there is no chance of them connecting me to the case, but even I don't have any ridiculous objections to the way I recognize myself in those goddamn pictures. While there may not have been a security camera in the alley, I must have forgotten that the fucking motel across the street must have one installed for the safety of its clients. And this camera isn't the kind that captures people as blurry, smudged blobs. No, this fucking camera recorded me pulling my pretty little ass out of that dark hole in such sharp detail that it occurs to me for a moment that this coincidence could only have happened in my honor.

"I was there on that night." I confirm the facts shown in the prints, it would be completely unnecessary to deny what is in the photos lying on the worn surface of the table because it's clear as day that I’m the one unlucky idiot on them. "But I'm afraid I can't help you with anything more." I smile faintly, just enough to not seem obviously unfriendly, despite the fact that a burning lump is forming in my throat and the gears in my head are immediately starting to turn, wondering what chances I have to get out of the shit in which I seem to be sinking up to my neck.

"I'm not so sure about that, unfortunately. " Answers the older enforcer, and fishes out his communicator from the pocket inside of his jacket, on which a very interesting hologram image appears after he presses a few buttons. I recognize almost immediately what is written on the investigation document, and I have to hold back the small disgusting smile that wishes to appear on my face with all my might. As I expected, they apparently found my DNA on one of the victims, and thanks to that the lab result which proves the sample found matches my DNA is staring at me in a faint blue light. Calm down, you expected this.

"I met a handsome boy that night, but flirting and having sex is hardly illegal." I remark innocently, and as my eyes fall on the two men, I allow a small, light superiority to creep onto my face. But as the man flicks the hologram lightly with his finger, all my joy disappears like a speck of dust in the wind and is replaced by shock, and I can no longer control my face where genuine terror settles in.

"It isn't, indeed. But hiding a Healer, or rather an Extreme Healer status, and killing people are." The enforcer gets to the point, and his eyebrows furrow grimly on his forehead, as his gaze wanders meaningfully from the hologram to me. A nerve-racking silence settles in the room for a moment, as I try to comprehend the data presented to me, and every brain cell fights against the denial of reality. Because the inscription "Status: EXTREME" appearing in all capital letters on the last page of the lab result cannot be a figment of the imagination. Because all of this would have to be a nightmare, and this situation is clearly real, because my pulse pounding in my ears, the gnawing, visceral dread creeping into my stomach can't just be the work of a dream. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to the headquarters."

This one sentence is enough to make the future immediately appear in my head. They’ll drag me, brand me, and put me on the market like a horse so that whoever is the fastest can take me. I will join some unit with Hunters, and every single day I will charge and heal a different stupid bastard each time until one day I inevitably become useless and they get rid of me. And then, if I'm lucky, I won't vegetate as a houseplant in a research institute, but maybe someone will take me in and turn me into a whore. This is the fate that awaits most Healers, and I am not so delusional as to believe that I will be lucky enough to be one of those rare cases where the Hunter will not treat me like an object. Especially as an Extreme. I'll be the real gourmet meal. They will be able to use me for a long time. If they don't take away my blood supply, like the opportunity to recharge from ordinary Healers, they will be able to leech off me for years and decades. No fucking way.

As if I had suddenly found enlightenment, the fear of death disappears from my face with disturbing speed, and I nod with a careful movement. Standing up, I obediently walk toward them, raising my hands in front of me, and it doesn't escape my attention as their eyes glide over my figure cautiously. It doesn't matter that they are suspicious, they are not prepared for what comes next.

The older man orders his companion with just a silent gesture, and I patiently wait for the guy to stand up and step in front of me with the handcuffs unfastened from his belt. But before my new trendy bracelet could snap on me, I grab the man's arm emerging from under his jacket and send a significant amount of energy into his body, causing him to suddenly sprawl on the carpet with widened eyes and a loud thump. It takes the other enforcer a moment to realize what's happening, but he reaches for his gun too late, because I'm already there in front of him, and my nails are digging into his skin with force as I press my palm into his face, causing his head to drop back, and his body to fall on the cream-colored fabric of the sofa unconsciously.

I don't waste any time, I tear open the door of my apartment and I bolt out almost immediately in desperation. I run along the corridor with the agility of a chased wild animal, and when I reach the staircase, I take the steps two at a time. There's only one thing in my head, that I don't care how, but I'm going to escape from here because there's no way I let myself get caught. I'll break out of this fucking city myself if I have to, and wind my way through the monster-infested red zone until I get to the nearest colony. They won't catch me. NEVER.

The small shards of glass scattered on the pavement sink painfully into my bare feet, as I throw myself onto the street and continue running without any consideration. The pain appears only as a distant, dull pang in the hidden corner of my brain, because now even I have bigger problems at hand than how much damage I'm doing to my leg. The biting night air burns my lungs as I sprint breathlessly through the unusually desolate neighborhood, but I don't waste precious energy trying to figure out why the street is so empty on a weekday evening.

And I don't even have time to think about this any longer, because before I can turn into the side street behind one of the blocks, a sharp, shooting pain rips through my back, and whatever hit me, the force of the impact is enough to make me stagger with a startled squeal, and I fall to the ground like a rag doll. My hands ache excruciatingly as they get stuck under me in an attempt to cushion my landing, and my nose is hit by the familiar smell of blood as the concrete scrapes the skin from my palms. Despite the burning sensation, the narrow object sticking out of my back worries me more as I touch it. It dawns on me that it might be some kind of tranquilizer dart, but by the time I can congratulate myself on my foresight, I can already feel my limbs turning heavy like stones. The image of the street swimming in colorful lights blurs in front of my eyes, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can only whimper softly, as I try to fight with my last strength against the temptation of the darkness that falls on me.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. But you're not goin’ anywhere from here." Someone speaks up not far from me, but I hear the voice muffled as if my head has been submerged under water, and it only travels to my ears as dull and distorted fragments. Halfway to losing consciousness, I catch the sight of booted feet swimming into my field of vision. I want to come up with some kind of witty remark, but before even a sound can leave my mouth, the darkness engulfs me. Fuck.

42 notes · View notes