Back with chapter 2! Finally! Sorry for the wait...

First off, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Dance Elle Dance, Little Pink Neko, and Berry's Ambitions, you gals made me sooo happy with your sweet positive reviews!

This chapter is rated T for violence and language. Well, on with it, I guess! Enjoy!

A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used, to utter fully human speech as possible. Powerlessness and silence go together.


I was sharpening my cleaver, slipping the silver edge across a granite wheel and showering sparks all along the ground, when I heard the screams stop. Their absence gave the mines an almost unsettling quiet. I took my foot off the wheel's peddle, cocking my head. I wondered if they would pick up again, like had been for an hour now. Nothing, but my blood pulsing in my ears could be heard for a few moments, then a few mintues. It was over.

I turned back to my wheel, laying the flat of blade against it once more and, rhythmically pressing down on the peddle, continued working. My cleaver had been looking a little dull recently and it was just not doing its job anymore. A dull blade could do nothing to flesh and bone; it could maybe saw through a layer or two, but definitely not what it needed to be doing. The steel-on-granite hissing filled the room and took my mind off of the screaming, or lack thereof. I lost myself in the task, dragging the blade down and over the wheel. The movement was so bred into my muscles that I didn't even have to focus. My mind wandered back to the absent shrieking and I couldn't help but feel curious about the poor girl who they came from.


I remember the raid well.

Just a day before, Letch had noticed them. The small camp only had 5 people in it: 3 men and 2 women. They were young, happy and carefree, therefore stupid and unaware. Letch had scoped it out earlier that day and I accompanied him that night. We crept up and picked them off one by one. They were too easy. The first two men went down easily, swinging at me with no idea what they were doing. Slit throat and crushed windpipe and they were done. The third man ran like a bitch, leaving the two girls behind. That man, if he could be called that, ran straight to his doom, straight to Letch. His shrieking echoed through the night. The girls, left alone by the campfire, began to panic. One of them, a long-legged thing with a sturdy build, stood up and yelled into the darkness. The words were those of challenge and a grin snuck onto my face. She was brave and breaking the brave ones was the best.

Letch had moved to my side while I watched and took out a long stick from his satchel. I knew it to be a blow gun, one that utilized small darts. Each of the darts had been dipped in a paralyzing poison of his own making. Slipping one of the small green things into one end, he put his mouth to the other. A deep inhale filled his chest and then, with a small snap, he exhaled ever so slightly. In the camp, one of the girls, the one who still knelt shaking on the ground, slapped a hand to her neck as if swatting a fly. Her friend, the brave one, turned her head to look at her. The kneeling girl rubbed at her face and shook her head for a second before falling forward. The brave one screamed and dropped to her knees, lifting the other girl and shaking her, no doubt trying to rouse her. Another snap and she fell as well.

We moved forward quickly, each of us grabbing on of the two girls. Letch grabbed the nervous one while I grabbed the brave one. She was the heftier of the two, but it didn't bother me as I flung her over my shoulder, holding her by her legs. Letch choose to drag his by her feet, not caring as her back and head bounced and bumped against the rocks. We walked maybe 10 feet when Letch's catch started to cough. He stopped and glanced at her, a bored expression on his face. I stopped as well, watching. The coughs ended as she began to choke and wheeze and her whole body began to shake. I recognized the seizure almost instantly and I dropped my girl as I moved to her side. I angrily asked Letch what he had put on the darts as I set one arm against the girl's shoulders and held her head still with my free hand. Letch growled at me and said it was the same as always. I grew frustrated and turned back to the thrashing girl below me. Her choking had gone silent, but I could see her chest convulsing as she tried to breathe. Then, it hit me. She was having an asthma attack. I knew that there was nothing I could do at that point, no way for me to get air into her lungs. I sighed and stood, watching as the girl's shaking started to cease. After another moment, the movement stopped entirely.

I knelt again, to check her pulse, but knew already that I would find none. Standing, I went and picked up the brave one. Letch snarled and threw up his hands, turning and stomping off into the darkness. I followed behind him, knowing full well why he was upset. His father was going to be furious at us.

My train of thought was cut off as one of the little red sparks leapt from my wheel and hit my pant leg, burning through it. It burnt my skin slightly, causing enough pain to be irritating and cause me to drop my cleaver to slap at it. The blade hit the floor with a metallic clang and at the same time, a knock sounded at my door.

The tapping was insistent and quick, just three rapid fire raps on the wood. I looked over my shoulder at the door, which opened although no entrance had been permitted. A bald head poked in and glanced around for a moment before finding me. Chameleon, a younger mutant than I but just as tall, nodded to me before entering all the way into the room. He stood, hunched slightly, and looked at me. His clear blue eyes found mine and I saw an urgency in them. I stood as well, smoothing my hair with one hand.

"Wha' is it, Chameleon?" I asked, curious and a little worried at his sudden appearence. I never saw him, at least not around my area of the mines. He usually stuck to himself and took care of his girl. Our business was never each other's business, so this came as a surprise. The other mutant straightened a little bit before speaking,

"Papa wants you. He's lookin' for ya. Says it's important." His voice was soft and deep and undertoned with a finality that made sure I wouldn't argue. I nodded once. Chameleon bobbed his head in return and waited patiently for me to follow him.

We slipped out the door and jogged down a tunnel that led downwards, deeper into the mines. Chameleon was much more agile than I, moving quickly and without any wasted movement. I kept up without too much trouble and we came to a small burrow lined with doors within minutes. We stopped at the second door, a rickety old thing barely on its hinges. I steeled myself and knocked once. A second passed, then two, then a gruff 'come' reached my ears. I pushed the door open and ducked my head as I entered.

The room was dark, only a single silver shaft of light peeking through a barricaded wall. It slanted across the room and rested on a small cot in the corner of the room. I walked a few steps in, moving cautiously, then I was stopped by a large figure, looming nearby. I knew it was Hades; no one else could have taken up that much space and no one could be THAT intimidating just by standing there. I dropped my gaze to my boots and waited for him to speak. Waiting for Hades to speak was like waiting for thunder to clap. You were never prepared for it.

"Stabber." My name came out more like a curse then a name and I ventured a look at him.

"Yea'?" I answered, unsure, thinking I was in trouble.

"Girl is hurt. May have broken her good. Fix her."

"Alrigh'." I ducked my head as he passed by me, not wanting to get hit for staring. I heard the door slam behind him and then I was alone. Well, with the girl.

I turned back to the cot, assuming that was where she was placed. I walked forward and stopped at the foot of the bed. Now that I was closer, I noticed that there was, in fact, a girl on the bed, barely covered in rags that might have been her clothes at one point. Her stomach, lower ribs, and most of her thighs were exposed and littered with bruises. She was unconscious, laying slightly on her side, with her arms tied behind her. A rope was also about her neck, resting just above her collarbones, to keep her from moving too much. I went to the side of the bed and knelt over her, looking her over.

I placed two fingers on her throat, counting the beats of her pulse like I had read in the books we took from the soldiers. The beats were slow and few and far between. Not a good sign. I removed my fingers and examined the bruise on her neck. It was large, covering almost all of her throat and was already a dark black and blue. I slipped my hands underneath her head and lifted it gently, worried about making the damage to that area worse. I let my fingers knead ever so slightly at her spine and work their way out, testing for injury beyond the bruising. As I did this, I saw the girl's jaw muscles tighten at, what I assumed, was the pain. I mumbled an apology to her as I laid her head back down.

At this point, I realized that Chameleon had come into the room and was standing nearby. I glanced up at him, almost angry that he would just be watching. He scratched behind his head and mumbled somthing I couldn't make out. I asked him to repeat himself.

"I wanted ta watch you work. I mean, maybe I could learn a thin' or two." I understood and leaned back down to my work. I told him that her neck wasn't broken, so he could follow what I was doing. If he wanted to learn, I might as well be accomodating.

I touched the girl's ribcage, feeling for any breaks or cracks. I pressed down on each rib quickly, tallying each break, when the girl hissed a sharp intake of breath. I pulled away, not wanting to hurt her any further and waited. She breathed heavily for a moment and, as I watched, I finally saw who she was.

The brave girl, from the raid, was laying before me, beaten and broken. I almost winced at the differance between that spunky girl and this half-dead piece of flesh. Putting my hands back on her chest, I felt her breathe. The action felt shallow and tortured and I turned to talk to Chameleon again. I explained that her ribs were broken and that her lungs were possibly bruised. He looked confused so I described the bruising in lungs, the way it affects breathing and oxygen transfer and how we could fix it. He nodded in understanding and stepped closer to watch.

I decided that I was going to need some supplies to better work on the girl, the brave one. For a moment, I fought the urge to pet her, but in the end, I gave in. I laid my hand on her forehead and slowly petted her hair. I could feel the blood in it and I brushed a few flakes from the strands. While I did this, the brave girl seemed to relax, even letting out a soft sigh. At this, I stood and left the room, with Chameleon in tow. He asked me what we were going to do. A feeling warmed me, the moment she sighed, one that I was unfamiliar with. It was a gentle tug at my chest, almost like guilt, but closer to nausea than that. I battled with this, even as Chameleon asked me again. I snapped out of my thoughts, and looked at him.

"I'm gonna fix her."


Done! Whew...loooong! Sorry if it was too boring or anything. This chapter was so unlike the first...I hope it wasn't awful! Don't kill me if it was!

Oh, so a point I should make is that I see Stabber as a medic of sorts. If you watch the special features for HHE 2, you can see him aiding the birth of the baby at the beginning. So, yeah. Kinda doctor like...

Review if you liked! xoxo