Day 1: Holding hands
John remembered when this wall went up, though he was in middle school at the time and far more concerned with his junior football team and obtaining the coolest tablet computer to really consider the political and societal ramifications of forsaking an entire section of the city. He did remember his mother crying a lot, worrying that they ought to move, and staying up at night until his father was home from work. He would sit up with her some nights, or try to, falling asleep on her thigh while she ran nervous fingers gently through his thick hair. He could still hear her breathy sigh when they'd hear his key in the door. "Oh, thank God," she'd whisper just before kissing his weary father.
Now, right now, really wasn't the time to be thinking these things. Dorian was in front of him as they ran along the flat top of the wall from one outpost to the next. John's chest was heaving with adrenaline and exertion. A droid whizzed by uncomfortably close, attempting to find the source of the breach.
A whole new kind of android was entering the city from the other side of the wall. It was an aggressive creature, tall and alien. Dr. Vaughn truly outdid himself with this one. They reached the other outpost and saw the door hanging from the hinges.
"Stay back, John," Dorian insisted, holding one arm out, the other holding his firearm up and ready. John would have none of that, following into the building behind his husband with both hands on his gun, elbows bent slightly, ready for anything. As he entered, an unearthly screech erupted from the robotic monster waiting inside as it leapt forward into both men. John fired off two rounds, one of them hitting its shoulder. Dorian tried to get a good shot as the thing bowled John over, rolling him past and over the edge of the wall.
The DRN felt like he had been stabbed in the stomach as the hideous synthetic beast leapt from the wall and across to the roof of a building more than thirty feet away. He ran to the edge and felt a wash of relief to see John holding on for dear life, his fingers coiled but slipping over the lip at the edge of the hulking barrier. His legs and body dangled over a tremendous straight drop.
Dorian dropped to his chest, his head over the edge. John was grunting, his sweaty fingers slipping slowly and his arm shaking in resistance. Just as his fingers lost their gripping power, Dorian swung his arm down and caught John's wrist.
John shouted in brief terror and then looked up at Dorian. Sweat poured off John's face and his entire body prickled with fear. He was bleeding down his chest from where the claws of Vaughn's robo-monstrosity had ripped across his flesh.
"You got me," he said, exhaust and gratitude making his voice throaty and strained.
"I got you," Dorian confirmed, pulling John up easily onto the concrete platform. John lay on his back on the flat top of the wall, panting. Dorian lay beside him, recovering from the emotional trauma. His hand moved down from the iron grip on John's wrist, invading the man's aching palm. Their fingers laced.
Another minute of this and they'd have to get up. John needed medical attention and this war was just beginning.