Chapter 7- Time to Attack

The thing about being shot is that the effects are almost instantaneous. You won't have time to clutch your wound as you dramatically fall to the ground. There is no lag time when you could feasibly stand on both your legs and attempt some misguided try at heroics or martyrdom. When you get shot, your brain freezes up. It can't process your desirable need for revenge because it's too busy trying to save your bleeding body. You are going through shock.

You are going to die.

Watching Danny fall to the ground was strangely morose for Kwan. He didn't understand why he felt that way- he knew it had to be done. One might have thought that Kwan would have sympathized with Danny's plight and perhaps try to convince him to live. In another reality, maybe Jazz would have felt something amiss and arrive just in time to save him from his untimely death. An alternative timeline would have shown Daniel changing his mind at the last minute. In fact, if Kwan had hesitated a little longer, Valerie and Dash would have noticed their exchange on their way through a parallel shortcut. There were multiple possibilities and fates that could have and had been.

This is a happy story; Danny somehow gets to live. He didn't have much time left under his belt, but he agreed to wait it out. It was painful, yes. But their time allowed his family time to accept the inevitable. And when it was time, Danny would die. He would die surrounded by people that love and cared about him. The end.

This is an unhappy story; Kwan watched his first human kill fall to the ground. He numbly realized that this made him a murderer. Of course, considering Danny's unfortunate choice in occupation, it wasn't as if that his first murder was completely innocent either. But two wrongs didn't make one right, and Kwan didn't intend to mask his sin behind the reasoning that he killed another murderer just like him. This was an honor killing. And he would accept it as such.

Danny breathed laboriously on the ground. He saw the smoke from the barrel rise and felt his blood wetting the edges of his toes. His hand shook furiously, like a leaf scrambling to fight against the monsoon winds. He could see the mist from his breath and concentrated on the disappearing fog, trying his best to the smell the distinct scent of death. Danny was in pain, but it didn't bother him too much anymore. He didn't have time to think or consider what his sister would have said. There was no flashing backstory, no final regrets from the living. It was over.

It is only near the last moments of his life; Danny felt a cold grip around his heart. He realized that he was actually scared of death. It was amazing what a person could do when he or she had adrenaline running in their veins at full speed. It was gone now, and Danny was horrified because he didn't know what came next. The unknown was always terrifying, and Danny was no exception.

Danny died, his heart full of primordial fear. He didn't know why or what he was scared of, but he did anyways. He died to the sound of crunching gravel and the faint glow of the tundra moonlight. He wanted to say something important as a parting farewell, but felt that it would be a waste of time. After all, the blood already did a fantastic job for him.


Valerie heard a loud gunshot in the distance. She considered going to investigate it, but decided that it wasn't her business. Firefights between residents were a common everyday fixture in Site 83. It wasn't odd for perfectly healthy people to end up dead on the streets because they pissed off the wrong company. Law had been lax since the end of the world, and it was really up to anyone if they wanted to play the CSI card. But people were too busy living their own lives to care about old rules and morals anymore. It was an unspoken rule that everyone did their own thing and forgot the people around then. You leave me alone and I will leave you alone, so to speak.

Dash still high on anesthetics stumbled on a rock, throwing Valerie off balance. She cursed, gripping him under his armpit tighter. Her eyes darkened. Honestly, if Dash had minded his own business, he wouldn't be stupid enough to take that shot for her. Valerie knew when she made a mistake. She was prepared to get hurt from messing up. There was no need for Dash to play the knight in shining armor.

Valerie concluded that Dash was way too cocky for his own good. He knew better than to put a cape around his neck and pretend to be the hero. And now it was her job to get him home in one piece. Where was the justice in that?

As Valerie was trying to drag deadweight on her feet, Dash was noticeably agitated. He stared pointedly towards the source of gunfire, dragging Valerie's shoulder along with him.

"Damn it, Dash!" she growled, "Keep still"

If he heard her speak, he didn't show any sign of noticing it, "Say Val, did you just hear a gunshot?"

"Yes idiot" she scowled, "I'm not deaf, you know"

For the first time since they left the clinic, Dash looked sober enough to walk.

"We should check it out"

Valerie looked incredulously at Dash, "Why would you want to do that?" she poked him none too gently on his chest, "In case you haven't noticed, you've just been shot full of ectoplasm. We didn't even bring guns"

He shot a meaningful look at her.

"Kwan has his dinner there every night. I don't know why he enjoys eating at someone's backdoor, but I'm sure as hell not leaving him behind if he got shot."

This makes so much sense then. How a Russian dude managed to make friends with an Asian guy that can only speak in Chinese though, is beyond her.

"Okay then. But don't blow yourself up because I'm not dragging you back to the clinic again"

He waved dispassionately, "I won't"

They raced through the alley, occasionally stumbling on loose stones and melted snow. It was bad timing for Dash. He heaved under each wave of nausea threatening to tip him over. But he didn't falter because if he did, Valerie might come to her senses and force him to retreat. Valerie was running on pure instincts right now. He won't have a second chance if he messed this up.

Dash snorted. If he's being this intense, then those drugs must be pretty awesome. Kwan can take care of himself. Push comes to shove; it's more likely that Kwan would be the one causing damage instead of receiving it.

"What the-"

Valerie stopped in her tracks, and with growing horror, realized what she was looking at. Dash was a bit slow on the uptake, and didn't even stop to look until Valerie forced him to stop via a strong tug on his shoulder. He bristled, ready to start another row with his favorite gypsy- that was until he saw it.

Dash wasn't even sure what it was until it started roaring.


"Jazz, do you know where Danny went off to?"

"I think he's spending the night with Tucker" Jazz mentioned in passing remark as she reached for the mayonnaise bowl.

"That Foley kid?" Maddie shook her head, "Then he should have told us that he's staying over"

"Eh, don't worry Maddikins! I'm sure he's just too busy showing off his new scar to all his palbuddies"

"Honey, I think you mean his friends"

"Whatever you say Maddie" he winked jovially before returning to ripping his ham into pieces.

"Tucker is only one person, Jack"

"You know I'm poor in Math" he replied, nonplussed.

Jazz knew that she had miscalculated when Danny didn't come home after 8. She was worried that Danny would do something stupid. Scratch that. She knew that he was going to do something stupid. But, she figured that he would at least grant her the courtesy of coming home for dinner. What was he going to eat in frozen tundra conditions? Dust bunnies?

She wanted to run after him with another brick. But she felt that he had enough psychoanalyzing for one day. Anymore, she would be a nuisance.

She only hoped that he would come to his senses and come home. Preferably before Dad stopped pretending to be bad at math and decided that distraction isn't going to be enough to calm down Mom.


His hair. He remembered that it was supposed to be black. The paradox of two contradicting facts confused him to the point that he had to feel it for himself to make sure that they were real. Bringing a delicate finger to his scalp, he tugged at the stark white strands, utterly fascinated by the twisted wisps of alabaster that flew off into the air. He gave another experimental tug, satisfied by the colorless glow that it gave off. And when he finally had enough, he watched the strands hesitate for a moment- as if it was deciding whether to comply to the laws of gravity or not. It was strangely relieving when they finally made the unanimous decision to fall back down instead of hanging permanently in the air.

He had a name. He would remember it eventually. But for now, he didn't even know what a name even meant to him in the first place. All he understood at the moment was there was something that moved by his feet. It had things jutting out at awkward angles, an odd, grey face and shiny eyes. He remembered that it used to move a lot more than just a steady rhythm of up and down. He used to have a rhythm on his chest too, a long time ago He almost wanted to touch him, just to test his waters, but his brain gave an immediate warning. It is dangerous, his mind supplied helpfully. Don't touch it or it will kill you again.

Again?

Was he killed before?

He hissed. He didn't like to be killed.

There was a lot of sticky red stuff around his feet. He disliked the smell, scrunching his nose in obvious distaste. He wanted it gone. All of it. He noticed that the thing by his leg had the red stuff inside of him too. That definitely has to go away as well.

Then he heard something move. It was terribly noisy, and he had to clap his hand around his ears to dull the sound. He decided that he didn't like the sound, and when they came closer, he knew that they had that red stuff in them as well. He growled. He wanted that gone too.

So when the taller thing came closer, he roared. He wanted them all gone.