Swift didn't feel safe.
Well, he had never felt safe in this godforsaken organization, but now he felt more unsafe than usual. That's why he had wanted to become boss. To feel safer. He had locked the main door in his living quarters.
The worst part about the places the agents stayed was that there weren't as many cameras. He was exposed. Vulnerable. He was paranoid.
He hardly ate. Hardly slept. He was so scared. Ever since he had 'joined' Targent a few years ago. He had worked hard to get the boss to notice him. If the boss noticed him, he'd be protected. He'd be safe.
He jolted when there was a knock at the door. He grabbed a large survival knife before moving towards the door.
"Who is it?" He asked, making a mental effort to keep his voice steady.
"It's Bronev." The voice was calm; Swift relaxed some. Bronev didn't seem to be a threat to him, however, they were both competing for the boss's position -- and both for entirely different reasons, too. "I just want to talk." Swift placed the knife in the holster on his belt and unlocked the door slowly.
"Wha' about, Bronev?" The man smiled, auburn hair with white streaks beginning to show. His eyes were wide and impossibly red. Swift shuddered slightly. He began to feel extremely uneasy once again, his hand gripping the handle of his knife. Bronev saw the motion and raised an eyebrow.
"Peace, friend. I only came to ask…." Bronev's voice deepened dangerously. "That you do not continue to try and take the Boss's job." Swift bit his lip -- cold sores littered his lips and cheeks from the constant biting.
"Why?" Swift asked in a now slightly trembling voice. Bronev tilted his head, eyes flashing. Swift shuddered again. He had heard of how Bronev had seemed to snap after his wife had died. He had seen the man around, always quiet and observant, but he had never faced him like this, and alone, at that. "If you are trying ta scare me int' no' doin' my best for this organization, you're wrong. I won't stop… I wan' ta make Targent a legitimate organization, one withou' violence." Bronev's smile fell, and only then did Swift realize that maybe he should have worded that differently.
Before he could correct himself, Bronev pushed Swift into his quarters, slamming the door behind him. The man stumbled, paling and sweating as he fumbled for the knife at his side. Boss'd kill him for doing this, but he was protecting himself. This was the only way.
He had managed to free the blade and was raising it to fend himself when there was a sharp, indescribable pain across his face. He dropped the knife, clutching his face and letting out a sharp, pained scream as he stumbled back from Bronev. The pain was nothing he'd ever experienced before, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the blood pouring from the wound on his face. It hurt too much, stars exploding in his vision. He let out a shout when Bronev grabbed him by his collar, red eyes burning into him. His mouth was twisted into a snarl, and he threw Swift to the ground. The man shouted again, using a hand, slick with blood, to try and push himself to his feet again.
He shrieked when Bronev stomped on his hand. The man leaned down as Swift yanked at his hand in an almost animalistic panic. "You aren't going to get that job, capiche? Nothing gets in the way of my goals." When Swift didn't seem to hear him, Bronev's eyes flashed before he took his foot off Swift's hand, instead straddling the man and plunging the knife once, twice, into his shoulder. "Her death will not be in vain, you hear me?!"
Swift shrieked again, voice cracking as he gagged, the blood from the cut on his face all over his face, some of it trickling into his mouth. The smell and taste of metal was overpowering. Bronev used his free hand to punch Swift across the face, hard. Bronev stood afterwards, looking at the writhing man on the floor.
"Please, please stop," Swift cried, gagging on his own blood as he struggled to sit up. "Please, I'm --" Bronev kicked him in the stomach once he had sat up all the way, trying to stave the bleeding with his hands. Swift lurched forward, vomiting up half-digested breakfast and sobbing. The red-eyed man didn't stop there; he kicked at Swift's torso over and over until he felt a rib give way and Swift was reduced to a whimpering, wheezing mess.
Despite the fact that he had already hurt him more than enough to get his point across, Bronev knelt down, vision red as he slashed at Swift's body. The bloody body twitched, the man gasping and letting out quiet pleas.
What Swift wouldn't give for cameras in the hallway he was in as Bronev stood, leaving with a final sneer to the broken man. And just like that, Swift thought he was going to die. Nobody would look for him, and he was in his quarters. Everyone else was out doing things. No one had heard his shrieks of agony. No one had helped him.
His body twitched. Guess this was it. His mind fogged as a figure appeared at the door, which had been left open slightly and had slowly swung open -- thank God that his door did that at this moment. A loud, high-pitched scream, and Swift lost consciousness.
Emmy's body was trembling violently when she reached Owl. The older woman greeted her with a smile, but instantly dropped it when she saw how pale the girl was. Emmy stuttered, pointing with a violently trembling hand to behind her.
"A g-guy -- a guy, he --" Owl felt herself paling. Was it suicide? Did Emmy see the aftermath of a suicide? Emmy continued to stutter out her explanation, tears streaming down her face. "O-Owl -- a guy -- s-s-s-so much blood --" Emmy stepped forward, grabbing one of Owl's hands and pulled her along. The woman shifted the bag on her shoulders, pushing her glasses up her nose.
Emmy stumbled a few times as she weaved through the hallways to Swift's room. Owl noticed the open door right away, and yanked her hand out of Emmy's (she'd apologize later -- her medical instinct was kicking in).
"Stay out here. Don't look in, got it?" Emmy nodded, practically collapsing and hugging her knees to her chest. Owl strode in, and understood why Emmy had been so…. 'upset' wasn't the correct word, but that was the only word she could think of in this situation.
She recognized the man. Swift. Dark red blood pooled under him, his body twitching weakly as spasms shook his chest. She knelt down next to him, not caring if the blood got on her clothing -- oh, my God, so much blood. Her fingers pressed against his throat.
He was still alive. There was so much blood she couldn't begin to identify the source. She yanked her shirt up, wiping furiously at Swift's face.
"Oh, my God --" There was a long cut that stretched across his face, a long, horizontal slash from cheekbone to cheekbone. She ripped the backpack off her, digging through it frantically and pulling out multiple clot rags, pressing them to the wound. They were drenched immediately. She replaced them, monitoring his heart, which was fluttering and pounding weakly. "C'mon, you can make it, just hold on a bit longer." She looked towards the door. "Emmy, can you get a blanket from this man's room? We need to get him back to the hospital wing as soon as possible." Emmy poked her head around the door.
"A-A blanket?"
"Yes, Emmy. We need to carry him back. We don't have time to get a proper stretcher." The girl nodded, racing into the quarters and disappearing into a branching hallway. She turned her attention back to the unconscious man. "We'll get you stitched up soon, Swift."
At first, Swift didn't move at all, skin pale and all forms of trying to get him to answer ineffective -- Swift's eyes had still been open, hazy and clouded. They had slipped shut shortly after they got to the emergency room.
A few hours passed before Swift woke in a feverish haze, sobbing and moaning from the pain -- Owl decided it would be best to give him morphine and watch his vitals.
Emmy was shell-shocked. Owl tried to assure her Swift would be fine, but even she wasn't sure. The attack Swift had suffered had been vicious. Owl couldn't even begin to comprehend who exactly had hurt him to this extent.
A few more sleepless days and nights passed -- making sure Swift got his nutrients, making sure he was still breathing, still alive -- before he actually was coherent enough to recognize Emmy sitting in the chair next to him, working on her homework.
He had stared at her for the better of about ten minutes before she looked up and noticed. Shooting up, she rushed out, face pale. Swift watched her go, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. He knew Bronev was her guardian; was he coming to finish him off?
"Swift?" The man relaxed, closing his eyes. Just Owl. Just her. He was safe. He opened his eyes again, struggling to remember how to speak, mind foggy.
"Owl --" He winced, voice scratchy and hoarse. She shushed him.
"It's okay. You're safe, Emmy found you and got me. You're safe." Swift sighed, limbs heavy as he leaned back, trying to shift.
"Water," he rasped, pain shooting through him as he tried to move. Owl nodded and left for a moment, coming back with a bottle. She adjusted the bed, then carefully helped him take a few sips. The cold water felt like heaven. Owl pulled away after a moment. Swift looked at her wearily, the pain increasing.
"How bad is your pain?"
"Awful." Owl frowned, but nodded, adjusting an IV drip next to him. She looked at Emmy, who was still staring at Swift with wide eyes.
"Come on, Emmy. Let's leave him be until he recovers more." She addressed Swift next. "If you need anything, press the switch next to your right hand." Swift nodded, and the two left.
He fell asleep shortly after.