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umbrasnow · 11 days ago

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In Headlights

In which a routine stop at a roadstop spacestation goes horribly awry, and things best left in the dark step back into light. • Event fic featuring @broken-lovestreak 's Zero!! This beast is. 9.5k, it got just a little bit away from me while writing. I've posted it to Ao3 too for easier reading if you want !!

CWs for: Attempted kidnapping, Graphic Violence, Minor Character Death(s), Mutilation, Paralysis, and some truly excessive amounts of blood o7 I'll tag further if I figure out any more that apply ᓚᘏᗢ

Thus far, the way was open.

Another spaceport opened out before them, as Khione stepped out of the disappointing commissary and left its questionable sandwiches behind. A brief glance around confirmed; no particular attention paid to them by the present security, and no more attention on them from the swirling masses than the customary awed second-glances. Good. It made their lives easier when they were just another amidst the crowd; albeit far better dressed than the rabble. It was a point of pride, to never step out looking any less than one's best. Besides, it was rather nice to look a matched set with their dear travelling companion. The heavy coat he wore was a common touch for him, but inspired nonetheless, pale fur accentuating the blue tone of his skin. An aesthetically pleasant contrast. As always, he knew what he was doing.

The cold glitter of pupilless eyes swept across their surroundings at the thought of him, checking once again for anything amiss, anything that spoke to a danger they couldn’t quite convince themself wouldn’t be there. They… Khione trusted Zero. It was an alien experience to trust, but if they were to attribute that rare bond to anyone, it would be him. If he said that the bounty they had discovered was nothing to worry about? Then, despite their knowing that he was lying, they would not worry about it. Or- at the very least, they would have the decency to be subtle about it. It wasn’t particularly hard to divert attention from their tension, regardless. As he stepped out alongside them and the two made their way out across the floor, the chatter started up again; it was nice. Part of how they fit together so well lay in how Zero could quite happily fill their silence with friendly banter, a back and forth that only occasionally demanded that words from their own lips join the crowded hum. They liked that. Speaking aloud was oft more discomfort than it was worth, to their treacherous throat. There were ways around that problem yes but… they didn’t like it. They didn’t like the quality their voice took on, when they fell to the register they used on coms. It was nicer, to speak infrequently and quiet, and let him fill the air they didn’t. It was nice to listen to him.

Oh, but they were getting distracted. Another darting scan of their surroundings, before their gaze alighted once more on their dear travelling companion, a few inches down from eye level. What was it, he was speaking of again-

Ra below, right. The two had been discussing the recently discovered fanfictions again, had they not? Khione could hardly be expected to suppress the eye-roll that rose to their features at the subject, memories of the truly god-awful characterisation of both him and the prominently-featured Booker playing out in their mind, a gently indignant sigh brushing past their lips. Well, at least this has become something more akin to amusement now. Another glance about the surrounded crowds, as the thought rolled idly around their head. Neither of them bore discomfort with a particular grace, preferring to confine that particular emotion to dark recesses where it could not easily be seen. But they knew him. The first fiction had taken him off guard, to some degree. It did them good, to see him laugh about it now.

Though perhaps, they could have taken or left the rambling twist their conversation took as their journey through the commerce floor pressed on. Khione was not prone to expressions of embarrassment, but they felt how their face grew warm as the discussion of awful live-readings and enough wine to soldier through the process bled into a reminiscing over the past few weeks, over the visit they’d paid to a certain darling mechanic. Pleasant company, Vissily made. Awfully strong spirits, though. Stronger perhaps, than they’d been expecting. There was a distinctly hazy spot in their memory in the direct aftermath of some of that moonshine.

Another sweep of the surrounding crowds. Nothing more interesting than a handful of shouting drunkards cheering along to some good news or another, a successful sporting event of some kind. Nothing unusual. So why was there a chill crawling through their spine…

No. Clear it out of their mind, like so much snow on a doorstep. It was likely paranoia, after recent events; they were hardly immune to overcaution, a fact they were all too familiar with. Especially when it came to the safety of the man before them, smiling ear to ear as he gently ribbed them over their state of inebriation during the aforementioned housecall. Zero was awful, anyone would tell you that. Rakish, even. A man so fond of trouble they had never met, before or since he was placed into their life by the whims of fate. And he was their friend. The only friend they had ever been able to stomach. They would not see him hurt, by something out of his control. Not if they could help it.

Zero hardly needed their concern; he could fend for himself, as he was leagues beyond competent. But, still. It was a kind of comfort, to know they had his back. Regardless of necessity.

They did rather wish they could move on from discussing the drunk waltz they had wound up leading him through while under the influence though. One lapse in judgement, and it was all anyone could seemingly talk about, honestly. It was most undignified to pout. They did so, regardless- just for a few moments. An indulgence of a kind. They didn’t really mind, not quite that much. But it was something akin to fun, to play along with him. With the weight of concern draped over their shoulders? It was nice. He made them smile, often when they didn’t much feel like it. Indignity chafed less, when in his company.

… The chill remained, though. Lodged in their spine, a few vertebrae from the small of their back. Cold, glittering eyes darted around the crowds once more, again finding nothing, but when they returned to their companion they could see that he had felt it too. Not in any faltering of his quick tongue, no frown creased his brow, no such overt signs. The both of them knew better than to spell out their realisation. It was more akin to a tension around the eyes, how his shoulders flexed beneath the bulk of his coat, gaze flickering back to where theirs had been a moment before. Searching.

It was no figment of their imagination, then. Something was amiss.

The haze of the noise and crowd snapped into a chill clarity as suspicion became certainty, as they observed his expression from the corner of their eye. No change, as his attention flicked back to them- he hadn’t been able to identify whatever tail they’d picked up, either. Not ideal. Professionals then. The kind that would notice should their necks begin to crane, and their surveillance of their surroundings became more obvious. Quietly, it would have to be. No need for discussion, regarding the way forward; they had done this countless times before, and would do so countless times after. A meeting of eyes, a glance toward where the crowds grew thin, back into the swirling mass of bodies that occupied the commerce floor; that was enough to lay their thoughts bare to him. They turned by a fraction toward the stores lining the extremities of the open-skied corridor, allowing the distance between their duo to grow, slowly. Organically. It would have been near impossible to distinguish this from a natural parting of ways, common when two went shopping together.

A terse countdown was ticking in their head, as they watched him grow smaller in the fabriglass of a shop window. Not too soon. Give the tails time to put them out of mind, before beginning the hunt in earnest.

The considerations behind division tactics were simple, but sound. Only a few weeks prior, Khione had made the discovery that weighed on their mind, while searching for further work; an active bounty, attached to Zero’s face. Another name, but- from the initial posting date, it had originated a lifetime ago. What had worried them was less the strange information, rather the status. Still active.

Still a target.

Their tail was on him. It was obvious. Unfortunate for those who would seek a prize of blood, he was far from alone amidst the cold stars these days; Faux ceramic plates crushed themselves into a fist as slowly, Khione took a breath, held, and released it. No harm would come to him, from an unwelcome past. Not while they stood. Not that he needed their protection, but… was that not what it meant, for someone to be important to you? That you would protect them? Bare teeth on their behalf?

Certainly, to them.

Enough musing, enough waiting. It was time to get to work.

Zero walked ahead as though not a care weighed upon him, the heavy fur coat wrapped around his shoulders and tail arcing behind making him easy enough to pick out in the crowd; a useful trait, for their purposes. The possibility they would lose him amidst the crush of people was not so heavy a concern, when he was so identifiable even amidst hundreds. Keep the distance thin. Should things go wrong, they had to be able to reach him. His lilting gait turned on his hoof, shaping his path toward a backstreet that tapered off from the wide open space, somewhere the hum of people would dim as crowds dispersed. It would be easier to find who didn’t fit, with the pool of suspects narrowed. Another glance around. Another failure.

Frustration was starting to burn in the small of their throat, another slow breath taken and released. Patience. It was not a matter of if they would locate the insufferable source of the chill through their spine, but when. Had they not proven themself an effective hunter, time and time again? Their quarry would be revealed in time. Follow. Watch. Have his back.

The crowds began to thin, as their surroundings began to rust. While not explicitly off limits, it was clear this part of the station was not intended to see the masses in the same gleaming light as the well-polished floor had been. Here were ladders and mislaid tools, flickering flights that would need servicing soon lest they blow entirely, a handful that had already burned themselves out into nothing. The people were fewer here; a handful of shadier stalls, the sort that weren’t officially registered with permits, but that station authorities would look away from provided the correct taxes were still paid. A handful of maintenance workers. Pilots searching for off-license parts, salvaged in local space. These people belonged. None invited the telltale prick of falsehood scraping the back of their skull, none drew their eye as out of place- none were the tails.

The frustration was starting to shift into something that sat less comfortably in the curve of their throat, as they swallowed past it. Fear. What were they not seeing. What could they have missed? Their eyes flicked from head to head, their quiet footsteps slowing to a halt, lips pressed tight against each other. Of course Zero drew heads, but none whose gaze lingered in the way they were searching for, and yet that crawling sense that something was not right would not leave them. There was danger here, still. But where?

Then, came the sound of something scraping against the metal floors sounded behind them- close behind them. The fear blossomed outward as realisation slammed itself through their body, too late all too late. All this fussing, and they hadn’t even considered that perhaps the tail wasn’t on his heels.

No. It was on theirs.

A hair trigger instinct flashed hot through their nerves as something behind them reached forward, as they felt the brush of strangers hands past their hair- they did not flinch away quite fast enough. The firm grasp of another settled over their thin shoulder. Their spine bent at its insistent tug backwards, complaint rising to their lips; there was warm breath against the shell of their ear in seconds, carrying with it a soft voice that spoke in quiet words. For them alone.

“Found you. Cut strings, Odette.”

In an instant, their heart was ice in their chest, frost tendrils lancing through grasping veins. That name. None should know that name, not here. Not anymore. Panic began to bleed through them, a violent impulse that ripped free of the spreading cold demanded they turn to face this interloper and tear the secret from his flesh- Their body did not respond to their instinct to whirl around, to bring that malice to bear against any who would make them that thing again.

No, their body did not respond to them at all.

The words he’d spoken sank through them as lead through flesh, driving the breath from their lungs, and then… it was hard to describe, how it felt. To feel one's limbs go inert without growing numb, feel ones knees crumble and give at the spoken words. It was as though their mind had been plucked from their flesh, confined to the smallest corner of their skull as their body stumbled and fell into the waiting arms of the stranger who somehow, somehow had done this to them. Khione did not like to feel afraid. At that moment, it did not matter. It overwhelmed them. It was strange, how they could still feel how panic surged through their body, how their blood began to hum and heart stuttered into thumping beats, how their stranger turned captor gripped them by the waist with a firm enough grasp to bruise beneath his fingers- and yet, no matter their desperate attempts to rip themself away, there wasn’t so much as a twitch through their muscles, a ragdoll in his grip. Helpless. For the first time in years, they were helpless.

Terror was too mild a word.

Not even their eyes would move as they strained to look up, to find their companion, Zero- did he know? Had he seen them fall? No use. Their lifeless gaze remained in place, a glasslike stare fixed upon the rusting station floor. Part of them ached to call his name. Another made a silent prayer that he had not looked back, that he at least would be safe from whatever had found them anew. Whatever could do this to them, with only a sparse few words.

Neither thought lasted long though; their conscious mind began to splinter into razor shards as the floor began to move beneath them and the world span, as fingers pressed tight into ribs and they were lifted sharply, over someone’s shoulder-

A flash of feathered fur and off-cream white flashed in front of their eyes, and then they were falling.

There he was.

Unable to move, their landing was a tangle of limbs and impact; shoulder first, skull soon to follow, the sudden acquaintance with the station floor driving what little breath they had drawn out of their lungs with the ache of metal meeting flesh. Through vision that swam with the force of collision and a veil of hair that fell across their face, they saw a flicker of blue and white drag who they could only assume to be their captor into melee, watched the flash of metal appear in his hand-

Now they could see behind the two shapes, three in the same colours as the one who had done this to them. Again, they felt their heart rise in their throat. It was beyond them, to swallow it back down.

The one who had dropped them stumbled forward, their only friend crashing into him with blade drawn, the coat that had been slipped from over his shoulders now wrapped about the man's head to wrench him into the knife with force enough to bury it between his ribs. And then again, then again- thrice in quick succession the weapon found its mark, all before any could react to the onslaught. A flick of the wrist was enough to twist the knife with a grinding crunch that choked a pained gasp out of him,enough to draw it back alongside the heavy fabric. His coat, they knew from experience, was weighted at the ends for situations just like this; a cudgel in its own right.

Seconds had passed. From where their body lay inert on the cold metal floor, they watched how his eyes widened as the shock set in before reality, how his hand rose startled to the blooming stain of red now soaking through his clothing. Third and fourth rib. It would be mere seconds before the last ghost left him, as lifeblood spilt across the floor. He crumpled, half landing over their… legs? They couldn’t see. But they felt the weight land, felt warmth and wet soaking into their skirt and crawling over their skin. He couldn’t hurt them anymore. But those who remained still could. Worse, they could hurt him. Zero had put himself between them and the assailants, hooves planted between the three that remained and the now-two inert bodies in a heap. They could see how his grip on the coat in his hand had rendered his knuckles white, as he flicked drops of blood from the knife in his other, see how the rigid tension settled into his stance.

“One chance. Leave.”

HIs tone brooked no argument, and yet as the startle wore off their assailant’s faces it was replaced not with hesitation, but annoyance. A broad woman toward the back shook out her sleeve and caught the folding sickle that fell into her hand; another figure in the group plucked a similar knife to Zero’s from a sheath hidden beneath intricate folds of fabric. The last to arm himself simply picked at the gloves over his hands, pulling them off over spiked knuckle dusters with a petulant sigh.

“You got lucky. That fortune is running out fast, you know.”

Zero did not give the group long to posture. Before the last word had broken away from the man’s lips he was hurtling forward, tail lashing behind him to counterweight his movement- he ducked the first strike out toward him with practised grace, driving his own knuckles wrapped around the pommel of his dagger into the browbone of the forward man. The momentum carried his coat forward, a lashing motion with the hand wound through it sending the weighted end hurtling forward into the throat of the figure behind, a shout of alarm as the heavy fur pricked at the eyes before dropping over their head.

There was an odd familiarity to how they’d spoken to him. An overconfidence that brought details of the past few days into sharp clarity in their panic-addled mind, watching the violence begin to unfold. It was as if they knew him, as if they were still expecting a level of skill from a man perhaps 13 years younger- it was him, wasn’t it? Him they were pursuing, him they knew. The same enemies as a decade ago. Then… fuck. Fuck what did that mean for them? How did those chasing Zero know the name their husband had given them?

Their head was spinning. The bloodshed unfolded before them in an uncaring tableau, dissociated from their realisations. None of this could matter yet. They were still in danger, and he was still in danger and well he knew it because despite his skill, here he was outnumbered- three to one. But for now, Zero had the advantage. Twas a fool's error, to underestimate him. It would seem that today, he squared off with fools.

The man with the knuckle-dusters stumbled back as the blunt impact driven into the brow half-blinded him, weight crashing into his ally; she kept her balance by force of will, but it closed her window of attack with a resounding thud. The thick leather-and-pelt of his fur coat had wound tight around the knife-bearing figure’s head and shoulders; facing three at once, he couldn’t focus this one down the same way as the soon to be corpse wheezing its last over their legs. He didn’t have to. Snapping his arm back in a whiplike motion was enough to drag their body directly into his knuckles with the full momentum he could drive through his body foot-to-fist, tail swinging to keep his balance. All it took to capitalise on that driving forward rush was a leg raised, bodyweight pulling back to deliver a gut kick that sent the knife-wielder hurtling into the wall with a crash that made their teeth ache in instinctive sympathy. Hoofs into ribs, he would be feeling that one. Good.

It was fast setting in just how frustrating it was, that even their eyes would not move at their will; Khione could see the flickers of movement as the two still standing righted themselves and parted, circled to flank their friend, but they could not focus on that movement. All they could track was the blurring motion and glint of metal in hands, all they could keep in focus was him in the center of it all, eyes flickering back and forth, fingers sank tight into the pile of his coat, watching. Watching-

Absently, they could feel how their hair was beginning to pull heavier at their scalp as blood from the dying one soaked through pristine white curls. There was a particular kind of heavy only the dead could truly manage, a kind of lifelessness that made them so deeply unwieldy. That weight would have pinned their legs quite firmly now, had they been able to move. Hell on earth, why couldn’t they move? What had he done to them? How? Why? It was strange, to feel that tightness coil around their chest in a way that would suggest panic, and yet to feel how their breath refused to quicken. Were… were they even breathing?

There wasn’t a chance to dwell on the low burning in their lungs, as one of the indistinct shadows lunged out, hook silhouetted in the alley lights- the woman, then, was to his fore. Flashing metal tried to hook its way around the wrist clutching his coat, closing over nothing as he darted back but, there was the man, hands outstretched to grasp at- Oh it was so very fun, to see that trick bear fruit.

His assailant's hand closed tight over the long flickering braid at his back, the man’s shoulders already twisting to drag him backward by it before pain registered through the shock and he flinched back, hard. Even through the maddening blur of their periphery they could see how the crimson stain began to soak into his cuffs as the barbs woven through their partner’s hair cut through skin and fabric alike, more than sufficient distraction to tear out an opening in the fight. At the tug and cry of pain, they watched Zero whirl again on nimble hoof to exploit the careless acts of his assailant and crack the pomel of his knife across the man’s jaw, fluid motion and distilled violence. It connected; the hair-trigger snap of motion more than enough force to send him staggering back, stumbling under the following slash by a mere flinch. Close, he was so close to finishing that one-

Before he could press his advantage the woman had lurched forward, the curve of her sickle now finding purchase in the mass of heavy fabric clutched tight in his hands, feet planted wide as she yanked back with evident strength; he couldn’t have seen it about to happen, couldn’t watch his own back. That was their place. Fucking damnit they needed to help him, needed to move why couldn’t they move why were they stuck here, practically a functional corpse pinned down under the dead weight and its death rattles-

Whatever. He was fighting without them, in part for them, and he was being yanked stumbling backwards in some petty attempt to unbalance him- one that worked, if only for a second, maybe two. Small mercies, that she didn’t move fast enough to exploit the opening she had created; but it was time enough for her ally to dart back out and away, closer now to them, close enough they could see how his legs stuttered as he hit the floor with a roll to evade the swinging knife that flashed out at the sudden burst of movement. From this angle they could barely see how his fists raised again, defensive this time. That surety was bleeding from him, and from her- something vicious curled in their gut as they watched hesitance cast a pall over the two attackers. Pride, maybe. He was more than they could have ever imagined.

Into tattered shreds, my heart.

But that surge of fanged exuberance died as fast as it had sparked. Caution would level the fight, and it was already against his favor. The figure he had sent careening into the wall had yet to rise but there was no way to tell if they were truly downed and out; certainly the two still standing were closing ranks now, trading wary glances as Zero regained his footing with a sharp exhalation of breath. There were no good angles to approach him from, knife-arm hovering at waist-high ready to lash out at any sudden move, the gash left through the pelt of his coat fluttering gently as the fabric swayed with him. Ready, at any moment to strike out, to make it hurt. The woman’s foot inched back, shifting the weight of her weapon back and forth as consideration read clear through her body; then in full, she stepped back. What was she- no time to consider it too closely, the man was moving forward again with flickering speed, ducking under the lash of cream-coloured fur that went for the throat, fist striking out with the side of his palm-

Their field of view was blotted out by the scuffed leather of well-worn boots, an irritable hiss under the woman’s breath as she dropped to a knee over them. Panic thrummed through their body, confusion, the instinct to flinch back produced nothing useful as their body remained severed from the mind within it; more than saw, they felt how her fingers raked through their hair, gathered it into her fist. What was she doing. What was- In one motion, inexorable as the tide she dragged them out from under the weight of her unfortunate ally, weight dangling from the hank of bloodsoaked white now enclosed in her vice grip as again. Once more, she turned to the fight.

It was hard to think. It hurt. It hurt and worse, there was nothing they could do to rip through the hurt, nothing to distract from the shuddering ache as their body hung limp, unresponsive, goddamned useless even still and it hurt. They did not weigh very much, this they knew, but even their minimal weight hanging from their scalp was enough to send shocks of aching pain through their nerves, shocks that tried to jerk pained gasps from their throat that got stuck and lodged behind their teeth. At least they could see more, now.

In the time it’d taken for them to be dragged into the air, Zero had darted backward and the man’s strike had swung wide; now that arm was wound up in the mass of pale fur and their friend was striking out with the point of his blade, trying to remove one more problem from play. Before the blow could land they caught the harried cursing from their right, felt how her grip dropped from their hair to their bodice and- Everything blurred as she hurled their body forward, crashing into Zero’s side. They did not weigh much, but it was enough in combination with the shock to knock him near-over, only his tail saving him from falling. Barely, they could see the surprise break over his face, a single terse moment of panic before the man stepped into the advantage his ally had forced open, a blow of the knuckles connecting with their friend’s brow with a ricocheting crack and sharp wince.

Again, they hit the ground with enough force to shake their ribs, but they did not remain on the cold metal for long. No, it was mere hazy seconds before the man darted back from Zero to grip them tight by the upper arm, drag them forward- it was hard to think through the vertigo but a sickening spark of realisation began to form, as they saw how their friend faltered mid-lunge at the realisation they were now held between him and his prey. Their stomach dropped, and as they watched his eyes flicker rapidly, trying to find an opening that would not endanger them, they wanted to scream. Hurt them, if that was what it took! This was an obvious ploy, a weight to drag down his speed so his assailants could land their blows, and their heart stuttered uselessly in their chest as they could see it working in real time. In his search for a way through he didn’t see the woman circle around to snatch at his coat and yank it back, his grip tightening in protest but it was clear who had the upper hand in raw strength; she threw it out to the side as the man digging bruises into their arm darted forward to try and land another blow, this one mercifully too sloppy, their friend swerving out of its path. They couldn’t focus on him but, they could feel how his eyes flickered from the danger, to them, back and forth and back- Ra below. If they could have trembled, they were almost certain they would be at that moment in time. He was going to get hurt. He was going to get hurt, badly, because he didn’t want to put them in harm's way. Nausea roiled in their gut at the very thought. Still, their breath refused to quicken, still their body denied them a hand in this fight for their lives. The dull ache of bruising that was likely blooming beneath their skin was little more than an afterthought in the wake of the raw, unfiltered terror the scene playing out in front of them evoked.

Their friend however, was not to be counted out yet. Unfair odds or no, he had always thrived in the midst of an open fight in ways they couldn’t match. So his coat had been hurled away from him; In a flicker of motion they’d have struggled to catch even with their full faculties, his second blade filled his empty hand, and again he was moving. Before the woman could fully turn back to him, glimmers of light that could only be sharp metal flashed in their periphery and they could just barely see how he slashed out at her, the well of red and sharp yell of alarm confirming to their vicious joy that he had connected, and it had hurt. The man’s grip on them shifted, from arm to the back of the neck as his stance pivoted to follow the path of Zero’s violence; now they could see the full extent of it. A gash mark across her stomach, and one blade buried to the hilt through her shoulder. It did not remain there for long, of course. She staggered back from the source of her agony with a defensive kick outward at him, and the weapon was plucked back from her flesh as he darted back to evade the blow.

Good, good. Not lethal, but she would think twice before trying to disarm him a second time, and the well of blood streaming from between her fingers where she clutched at the wound would serve as ample distraction. Blood, so much blood across the metal of the floor, soaking through their hair, across their skin- they could feel it now, how the ragged torn skin of the man’s palm and fingers were staining warm across their nape. His fingertips found purchase in the divots where skull met spine, the force of his grip dragging the rest of their body behind his. That hurt. There wasn’t long to dwell on it, something they would hesitate to call a mercy considering the circumstances. While his quarry was focussed on the other assailant, the man lunged forward; as Zero whirled to meet the blur of motion, blades flashing in the half-light, they were forced to watch how panic flared to life across his harried face as their lifeless body was shoved forward. It was by providence alone that he jerked aside in time to keep his weapons from catching on their limbs, as they fell forward without anything to keep them upright, again the floor met them with a shuddering crash and- christ wept, that one hurt like none of the others had. Maybe it was a kind of mercy that they couldn’t cry out, at this moment. The sound that would have torn past their lips would have been pathetic. As it was, the sunburst of beating red and white behind their eyes at the impact was a private matter- and one they could not afford to focus on for too long.

Sight was functionally useless with the way they had been dropped. Frankly it hurt to keep their eyes open with how close the floor had suddenly become, unable to focus on any part of the blurry metal and rust that dominated their sightline; they had no choice in the matter. Their eyelids would obey them no more than the rest of them. For now, they would have to rely on senses beyond the obvious to try and track the fight.

Sound would serve best, with sight eliminated, but it was maddeningly difficult to pick out where individual dull thuds and clatters of both light and heavy footsteps originated from. Focus, focus- the lightest ones with a gentle ringing of metal to the edges, that had to be Zero no? His cloven hooves struck metal with a cadence unlike boots heavy or light- so then heavy were likely those of the staggering woman currently bleeding like a stuck pig, lighter boots probably those of the man. Even with that tenuous rubric, it was difficult to parse what might be happening in their broad blindspot. The crashing of weight into metal, tempered growls and shouts of violence bled together into a muddy hue, a cacophony, a stabbing paranoia crawling through their organs that something was going to go wrong because they could not see it.

Their gut was lying to them, he would be alright, he could protect himself. It was difficult to convince themself of that, with nerves frayed beyond saving and frustration scraping their innards raw. Nausea bolted through them as the unmistakable wince of their friend shot through the air in the wake of a dull crack, think, think what could that have been- knuckles into flesh? Maybe, but they couldn’t rule out the worst either, what if-

Another sound, something crashing into the ground, anger ringing out heavy in the air as someone with weight to throw around went clean through unfilled crates, the crackling of wood splintering and pained grasping filling in the blank spots of their minds eye; masculine sounding voice, the man again then. It wouldn’t surprise them if he’d lunged for Zero and been punished for the overexertion. Good, that was a good sign, if he was still so light on his feet, the earlier pain lacing his voice couldn’t have been lethal. Maybe if they thought it hard enough, they could silence the doubt. A startled yelp, in his voice; before their spiralling anxiety could descend an further, white-hot pain blinded them anew as the sound of two bodies impacting snagged on the edge of their senses, and someone’s feet caught on their injured arm, stumbling over them to crash into the floor in the very edge of their periphery. Flashing white and blue, breaking his fall with a roll- fuck their heart sank at his expression, the bleeding edge of fear starting to work its way through the ragged edges of his flat, steeled focus. His gaze caught on their face for only a few seconds, all he could afford-

Don’t look at me like that. Even their thoughts came to them ragged, at this point, panic settled like cold bile in the back of their throat. Don’t worry for me, with blades at your own throat.

-they felt rough leather hook beneath their body and kick them onto their back, weight pressing a boot into the flesh above their cybernetic arm to pin them to the floor; a useless gesture given their lifeless state, serving only as an intimidation tactic. One that it seemed would backfire on her, spectacularly. From the very corner of their vision they saw Zero’s expression collapse into a single-point rage before his body went terse, coiled and lunged like a loaded weapon; the woman he rammed his full bodyweight into had opened her mouth to speak, but all that left those bloodied lips were stuttering gasps of pain as his blade found its home in a flurry of unrelenting violence. To the hilt, once, twice, thrice- a blur of movement and blood that spattered back far enough to fleck against their face, adding to the myriad stains- wait, had their nose been bleeding? Their face felt wet, too warm, the scent of iron clogging their senses. Shit. Must have started when they hit the ground face-down. It didn’t matter, right now.

At last, the woman’s grip on her weapon loosened and it fell to the floor, overwhelming relief flooding their useless body as a last gurgling noise jerked from her throat, as bloodloss and bodily trauma scrubbed another problem off the board. Their friend was panting by now, breath coming unsteady and sharp, his shoulders bearing a tension that spoke of injury, but he was standing. One left, by their count. Where- Fuck.

Behind him. Behind him, and they couldn’t so much as raise their voice to warn him as the man slipped closer in silence, a fury of his own writ clear as Zero made sure his kill had stuck, he was distracted, he was-

All they could do was watch in a nauseating horror as the attacker wrapped arms around their only friend from behind, one snaking around his throat to drag him backward, the other… they didn’t want to watch this. Silently they begged for any passing mercy, that they might find the strength to stand again, that he might struggle free before what was about to come to pass, but when had mercy ever been offered? To either of them, by any hand or force beyond the pale? Never.

Helpless, they watched as the man’s grip closed around their Heart’s tail prosthetic, and methodically began to tear it from his body. This wasn’t the tool he wore on their work, neither had expected life-or-death during their pitstop; all that kept malicious actors from its delicate inner workings were porcelain plates. He’d opted for it as a stylistic choice years ago now, matching their own cybernetic limbs; at the time, it had been a gesture that near made their heart stop, that invited an aching in their throat and eyes that was oddly welcome.

Now, that aching was something quite else. It might actually kill them, being forced to listen to him strangle back a breaking agony.

The arm around his neck he could rake at, dig teeth into the hand trying to cover his mouth, slash blade through the fabric of his attacker’s sleeve, but the damage to his tail was done before he could fight his way free of the larger man’s grasp; by the time he drove a cloven hoof into the man’s knee, forcing his assailant to drop him with a sharp yelp, the feathered fur end was clattering to the floor in a shower of shattered plates and torn-out mechanics.

They felt sick. It was difficult to tell whether the vertigo of being thrown around like a fucking pinball was catching up to them, or if it was the singular horror of watching their only friend brutalised while they could do nothing to help. Nothing to protect him.

Ever coiled to strike, he did not waste the momentum- his feet hit the ground as his attacker stumbled back, and instantly he was turning, driving his closed fist into the falling man’s temple with a crack that ricocheted through the metal alleyway. But even with how their vision blurred, they could see how the shredded mechanical stump was throwing him off; without the counterweight his momentum carried too far, forcing him scrambling back to compensate for what could have become a stumble, could have become a fall-

Fucking hell, it felt as though their lungs might collapse in on themselves. Their heart was racing, a beating drum in their ears, but their breath stubbornly refused to hasten with it; they had only enough air to keep them conscious. Barely.

But, he was standing; the man conversely was a smear of colour and motion in the corner of their vision, a hunched shuddering mass, from what they could see he was still struggling to regain his feet. Dark red staining through the long sleeves of his garment, exhaustion hanging heavy in his panting breath, he couldn’t last much longer, could he? Now, Zero was between him and them, now he was watching carefully as what remained of his tail twitched and swung. Something else was moving, the far corner- all they could see was the motion of it, how Zero’s head began to turn as it caught his eye too, before a sharp click sounded and their blood ran cold. Metallic. A sound they were intimately familiar with, an arming mechanism. It was unmistakable, to them both; immediately his head jerked back to the half-broken mass on the floor, already moving, blades in the air- too late.

Whatever was in their attackers hands flew through the air, hit the ground once, twice, rolling into view enough that its cylindrical shape and empty pin-slot came into clarity. Grenade- no, shit, flashbang.

They realised just a second before detonation, but what could they have done? Their eyes wouldn’t close, their voice wouldn't rise above the silence to shout a warning, what could they possibly do but stare in frozen terror as the light of the sun seared off the shadows of the alleyway. It lasted mere seconds, but that was plenty; even with the antiphoton lens of their artificial eyes, the light lanced through their head as physical pain and blinded them for an agonising stretch of seconds. There was no chance he had escaped the sunburst unscathed; in the blind moments that followed they heard a pained hiss through teeth and stumbling hooves against the floor, quickly drowned out by heavier boots drumming into that same metal. A cry of pain and impact against flesh, breathless gasping and the crack of knuckles against bone- skull. There was a distinctive sound that came with an impact shocking the jaw open, and there it was amidst the medley.

Motion was the first thing to return to their vision. Then colour, a furious dart of blue colliding full-bodied and blind with a mass that had been trying to drag it upright, from what little they could make out. Zero wouldn’t be able to see yet, didn’t have the benefit of their artificial eyes, but his assailant had made the mistake of indicating his position to the sightless man. Clarity began to bleed through the tableaux, the glint of metal held at an angle in his fists as he lashed out; too risky to stab in the dark. Too easy to hit metal, blunt or break the honed edge. More efficient to ram fists closed around the weighted pommels into the downed man, a furious string of blows that did not slow until the man beneath him stopped fighting. Even when he stood, slow and tottering, a cloven hoof kicked out against their assailant's chest. For good measure.

…quiet. For the first time since their body had severed from their mind, Khione felt the tension begin to slacken. There was a moment now for him to breath, to slip one knife away beneath folds of clothing and rub at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Their chest tightened into an ache, watching him. Ordinarily he held himself with a grace it was difficult to match, but with his tail ripped into mechanical pieces strewn across the floor-

Something was moving.

Nothing should be moving, every target in pursuit had been eliminated; their first assailant lay a corpse on the floor, the woman a crumpled heap. The man was not dead or at least, they didn’t believe so, but he was unmoving and groaning in the kind of pain that would not allow him to rise for a good while yet. And the other, the one who had drawn a blade, that one was still…

No. No, the stain trailing down the wall led to an empty patch of floor notably lacking in the final pursuant. Their heart fluttered in their chest as they searched their narrow field for the flickering movement they had seen, trying to trace its path, trying to find the final unaccounted for threat. But they couldn’t see anything moving, nothing but their friend turning toward them, nothing but his eyes going wide in- fear?

Before they could put the scattered pieces together, a firm grip dug its fingers in beneath their jaw. Their body was dragged sharply upward, pinned against someone’s chest, unsteady breath hot against their ear. Cold metal scraped at the rise of their throat, just beneath the feverish warmth of a cornered animal. They could see how Zero’s body coiled, a whip about to crack, but at the dig of the knife into their skin he faltered, eyes fixed on the hand that threatened them.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?”

The sting of split skin was barely a ripple through their rising nausea, through the throbbing ache lacing through their arm, but they saw in him the near imperceptible flinch as a bead of warmth rolled down their skin. A biting frost clawed its way through their innards, a desperate and useless instinct to demand he not listen to a word of this, aching behind their lips. Zero could not be allowed to put their pale reflection of life above his own, they couldn't allow it- they did not have a say in the matter.

Just something to fight over. To threaten to take away, if someone who mattered misbehaved. It always came back to Odette, didn’t it?

The grip on his weapon shifted as his stare fixed on the assailant holding them as leverage. The chest at their back rose, then fell in a tense breath.

“You’ve grown competent, that much is obvious. But you will disarm yourself, and surrender. It is still alive for now, but I can take it from you. For good.”

…that was a lie. The instinct in the base of their skull snagged and ground on the words, even as the knife dug in further in a display of conviction. The attacker’s actions claimed they were unimportant except as leverage, that they could be killed to punish disobedience. But they knew. The assailant was lying. Then, they were needed alive. The raw terror that ripped through them would have wrenched the air from their lungs, had they command of their body. What it meant, if they were needed alive-

No time for fear. Zero didn’t know the threat was empty.

Consideration played out on his face, behind the veil of pure anger. The grip on his weapon shifted again, hesitant, his eyes darting back and forth. Then he lifted it slowly, making a display of tossing it to the side. An exhalation brushed past their ears, from behind them.

“Good boy. Now-”

The second their assailant's eyes left him to follow the flash of metal, Zero was moving; too distracted to see him draw its twin in a single flickering act. In dull echoes, Khione felt the knife at their throat split through further skin before their captor shoved their body aside in a panic. Then, he fell upon them, too fast to fend off, and then- What happened next was beyond their sight, crumbling once more to hit the metal floor with a thud that reverberated through their body, with a shock of pain that burst behind the eyes. But they were intimately familiar, with the sound of unrepentant violence. Warm iron hung heavy in the air soon enough, blood spattering across their skin from his backswing, screaming silenced with metal into flesh. Good. Good.

The noise died down eventually, melted away to nothing but a single, panting breath. This time, it really was over. None of their attackers remained who could move, no more threats upon the field, they were… safe?

No they weren’t. The freezing still that claimed their body held them in a vice, their only friend was barely able to drag himself to his feet as he began to move again, and whoever had done this knew them both. Not of them- knew them. Something that should not have been possible.

Neither was safe, and they would not be until whoever sent these fucking bastards was dead and buried.

The wash of violent anger drained slowly from their mind as they felt gentle hands slip around their face, and they realised that Zero had staggered over to where their body lay, knelt by their side as best he could with his deerlike legs. Fingers probed fearfully against the scarlet line across their throat, his face over theirs as he searched their face for any sign of life… Ra. It tore bloody furrows into their heart, to see him so deeply afraid.

Having confirmed the wound was shallow, his shaking fingers pressed gently into the underside of their jaw, tense and unmoving before finding the flicker of their pulse. For seemingly the first time since the violence began he breathed out, slow, measured and shuddering.

Ra below, he might have thought them dead. They couldn’t have faulted him that; they had not so much as blinked in some time now, barely drawing enough breath to maintain consciousness. At least their pulse was a telltale beat beneath their skin. At least he would not believe them gone, beyond his reaching.

A trail of blood was rolling down his face from the split skin over his brow. Now he was leant over them, he was all they could bring themself to see; his shoulder stiff and moved with care, squinting still from the aftermath of the flashbang, his sleeve ripped at the edges as be brought it to their face and dabbed at the blood still seeping from their nose.

A familiar burn behind the eyes began to ache, watching him try and fail to swallow the panic behind a wary smile.

“They have left you in quite a state, haven’t they my dear?” The words were a poor attempt at his usual humour, laced through with a crackling tremor that betrayed him. It felt as though their heart might beat out of their chest, trying to get to him, trying in vain to tell him that they were alright. Silence remained around them, a tight wrapped shroud. The smile wavered, further still.

“... are you still in there? Please, Khione-” the words came to an abrupt stop, the line of his mouth pressed into a grimace. What they wouldn’t have given in that moment, to speak even a single word.

No such bargain could be made. They were trapped behind their own eyes, watching on as silent audience to the wash of dread creeping through his attempt at resolve. He could hide his face, but they saw the tension his body still held. The cautious flick of his ears, the anxious swaying of what remained of his tail.

They were scaring him. The thought alone felt as though it might kill them.

They felt more so than saw his hands move from their pulse, shaking, as though at loath to abandon the scrap of evidence that their body was not a corpse. But, they would be unable to move of their own accord like this. And neither of them were safe- not here, not in the wake of violence that would surely draw attention, not now they knew without a shadow of a doubt that something was hunting them. Though, only they knew that unnamed hunter was grasping at them both.

It was not as though he had the time to ponder this now, gently lifting their body into his arms with a gentle wince. It was difficult to tell, what provoked the sound; it could have been his own injury, even their peculiar lack of mass enough to draw complaint. It could have simply been that rising to his feet was an endeavor all its own, without his tail, with the added burden of dead weight. His head flicked back and forth, a final scan of the area before he began to move- they felt how his whole body flinched at a pained groan from behind them, where the man he had beaten within an inch of his life was crumpled on the floor.

A moments hesitation, before he turned to hurry away; no time to scrub out the last attacker, not when there could be more inbound. Not when they were lifeless in his grasp.

… christ alive their head was swimming. It had been for a while, but the lilting step of his biomod legs was blurring their vision at the edges, a pulsing vertigo beating red behind the eyes. It was hard to think. Perhaps that was a mercy.

Absently, they heard his muttering beneath his breath. Something or another about having liked that coat, about exacting its price from the hide of whatever fool pursued them next. That… that at least, set their heart a little at ease. He was complaining again. That was good. The instinct to take a slow breath in itched at their throat, the urge toward relief still functioning even if their body wouldn’t heed it. If he was complaining, he wasn’t panicking outright that very second, at least.

It might only be because he could not afford to, but they would take what they could get in this state.

The station was far too bright they were realising, its poor attempt at naturalistic sunlight stabbing at their unblinking eyes. He carried them carefully through the station backways, steadying himself every so often. It would likely be hours before his sight returned to him in full, after a point blank flashbang. Even their synthetic eyes were still straining, the colours and shapes before them barely comprehensible to their aching head. By this point, they were half glad their body had removed itself from their mind; they thought they might have been sick, were they able to.

It took them too long to realise he was speaking again, speaking to them. When did it get so difficult to parse his words? Something, something- “...somewhere safe, my dear. I’ll get us there. Just hold fast, you can do that no? Hold on. Wherever you are, I’ve got you.”

Somewhere safe. That… that sounded nice. They needed him to be safe. They couldn’t protect him, like this.

It was oddly cold, considering the climate control. Shouldn’t his warmth at least, be bleeding through them? Unless- oh, but of course. A sudden drop in adrenaline would explain much of this, a fact they considered with a detached kind of clarity.

Being unable to think straight, or to parse the words of their heart as he carried them somewhere, somewhere… well, they didn’t really know. But they trusted him. They did.

They were going to pass out, weren’t they.

A thin shred of fear spilt through them, at the realisation. There was naught they could have done to protect him from the inbound threat surely on their heels, but to be unable to even watch- it scared them. A pattering heart picked up its tempo as their vision became nothing but colours and shapes, and then the shapes began to blur as well. They fought against the encroaching dark, the heaviness in their unresponsive limbs, that familiar burn behind the eyes threatening tears they knew would not spill-

They did not want to leave him alone.

But still, the last shred of their conscious mind bled away. It was out of their hands.

Be safe. Please.

#▸ tales of umbra #▸ words of winter #lancer rp #cw Attempted kidnapping #cw Graphic Violence #cw Minor Character Death(s)#cw Mutilation #cw Paralysis #cw blood

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