#shara in desperate need of a xanax and a REST

[monocytogenes]

A Calculated Risk - read on ao3

Injured and traumatized after taking down Ardun Kothe, Cipher Nine flees from Imperial Intelligence and calls upon the only friend he has left. Vector asks him to reconsider his choices.

Excerpt:

He wiped at his nose, searching for words. “You ever had sleep paralysis? Where you wake up partially and you’re seeing things going on around you, and you can’t move?” “We know of this, yes.” “That, but you’re fully awake. They tell you to stay, and you’re frozen. They tell you to go, and—” He swallowed. “You’re trapped in your head watching it happen. Can’t even scream.” He looked towards the wall. “SIS got the trigger word. I don’t know how—one of them’s on the lam, they’re saying he’s got some other allegiance—but frankly, I don’t give a kark. For my part, I’ve fixed it; I took a hit of the chemicals and rewired my own brain because I had no other choice. And no amount of begging on Keeper’s part is going to change the fact that the people whom I trusted, the people whose job it was to be my lifeline, to be there for me whilst I’m running about hostile territory, doing what they don’t even have the guts to do, put me in that position.” His voice caught; he motioned frenetically at himself. “I gave them six years, Vector. Six years of my life! I was loyal, I was good, I saved thousands of people, and this—this is how they repay me. Fine work, Cipher, you piece of rubbish. None of that meant anything at all.” He let his hand drop, breathing unsteadily, his chest heaving. Vector touched his arm, leaned into the choppy sea of his aura. “You know it did. As do we. Those lives, those songs rescued—the universe sings all the more beautifully because of you.” Nine’s features contorted with grief. “Fuck.”