WARNING: SUICIDE IDEATION, GENERAL HORRIBLE THINGS HAPPENING
Emma's eyes were what decided it. A pair of pale blue eyes, made watery by tears. Nike's jaw clenched as she gingerly laid Ross on the table. Stitches giving slurred orders left and right as he blearily rubbed sleep from his eyes. His breath stank of alcohol. She didn't like Ross' chances before and with Stitches grumbling under his breath about waking him up for a street rat, it didn't rise any higher. It took Nike's growled threats and an ill advised flare to kick Stitches' butt into gear.
Scent of burning flesh tugged at her mind, flashing images of burning buildings and falling white dust flickered behind her eyelids. She shook her head furiously to stay present. Burger needed her.
Stitches threw them out as he worked on Ross. Emma didn't move till Nike pulled her away. "He is in good hands now," she whispered. The lie tasted like ashes in her mouth.
Pushing Emma into the bathroom, mis-aimed piss and spilled booze crawled up her nostrils and made her gag, but it was the only one here. "Go clean yourself up. If you think you're up for it, I'll set your nose."
Emma nodded woodenly and closed the door behind her. Nike collapsed onto the floor. Burger huffed as she patted him. She had slathered all available medi-gel over his wounds. The bleeding had stopped for the most part, but his tongue was turning purple. His chest rose and fell as he laboured to draw breath. Her lips quivering as she laced her fingers through his fur, but what else could she do?
"I'm sorry, boy," she whispered. "I don't know what else to do. Just hang on, ok? Stitches will fix you up."
She was utterly drained and weary. Her amp was hotter than before. All signs pointed to an imminent glitch, but she didn't really care. Burger shifted his paw and rest it on her leg. The weight was a comfort. "You're a good boy. You protected me. You will always be my good boy."
Burger struggled to rise, but his body failed him. His breaths came out wheezing and wet. Nike gritted her teeth and pulled as much of him onto her lap. Her apologies were an endless litany. The lump in her throat refused to budge. Arms wrapped around Burger, she buried her face into his fur. His tongue, cooler than it usually was, licked her face, his whines and whimpers pierced her chest like a million needles.
Nike was the Champion, the ring was her court and she was queen there. She earned credits, had a pistol, killed for a living. She was feared, revered and hated in the same breath. For all that, she could do nothing for Burger. He was suffering. He was in agony. And she was fucking helpless.
Burger prodded her with his nose. She rested her hand on his forehead, scratching his ears. Her fingers marvelling at the softness of his ears, the way the pointed one pivoted and moved as she whispered. She breathed in his scent, the earthy smell of an animal who enjoyed food and fun in equal measure. Her fingers shied away from the blood matted fur. A cold nose poked at her again. She grunted and sat up, her side protested loudly.
Her green eyes found Burger's brown ones. Though he was a dog, he couldn't speak, he never failed to make his wishes known. It didn't matter if it was a nudge with his nose for pets, rolling on his back for belly rubs, or a snarl to warn her, Nike could tell what he wanted. Burger's eyes shifted and bored into hers. She ground her teeth together.
Burger was asking now.
"No, don't ask me to do this," she begged burying her face into fur, refusing to meet his eyes.
Burger whined, high and hoarse. His chest rose and fell stutteringly. Blood oozed from some spots. The medi-gel weren't enough. His feet shuffled weakly in an attempt to paw at her. Nike straightened. His brown eyes never wavered from hers. The plea was clear in his pain glazed eyes.
Burger was begging now.
She trapped her trembling lips between her teeth, shakily she reached for her pistol. Almost reflexively, she popped the spent heat sink. It clinked, hitting the floor. Her motions slow as dread clawed up her throat, her chest constricted with every breath. Her eyes blurred as the tears came in earnest.
"Please," she pleaded. "Don't make me this do."
Burger huffed, never taking his eyes away. His too welled up with tears. Nike reached out and brushed them away.
"It hurts, I know it hurts. You don't think you can hold on but you can," she said, "You're strong. You can hold on. Please just hold on."
Despite her pleas, Nike knew the right thing to do was to put Burger out of his misery even if it broke her doing it. He had protected her with his life, the least she could do was to make sure he didn't suffer. But he was the one constant in her life since she started living on the streets. Two kindred souls sharing food, warmth and company, sleeping together back to back. Even now, Nike couldn't sleep without a solid wall against her back, if she slept without him.
Burger didn't hesitate jumping in front of her enemies, but now she was letting him down. He had provided her with the one thing she needed so much - a solid warm body to lean against. What had she given him? Nothing but pain and suffering.
Fucking selfish! You're just thinking of yourself. How you will hurt, how you can't do it. You, you, you!
Her hands shook as she pulled a fresh heat sink from her pocket. The same hands that look life effortlessly now faltered in the face of the one that mattered the most. The heat sink slid into place and her pistol clicked. It beeped, indicating it was ready to fire, maim and kill once more.
Burger lifted his head and licked her hand. Nike squeezed her eyes shut. Salt mingling with iron in her mouth. Her teeth had punched a series of holes into her lip. She flinched, waking the bullet wound at her side. If this hurt, Burger must be in utter agony. And she was refusing him mercy.
Selfish, selfish, selfish.
Nike gingerly slid Burger back onto the floor. He whimpered, but his tail twitched in a weak attempt of a wag. Her lungs seized, air hollowing out of them. Furiously, she dashed away the tears and knelt before him. It was as much a posture to honour him as it was penance for her sins. She sank to her haunches and pressed her lips on his head. His tongue licked away her tears.
Time ceased to have meaning. Nike was a throbbing mess of hurt, physical and emotional. She ached, her emotions flayed raw and naked, her body spent and exhausted. Guilt was the only thing left in abundance, tarring her soul.
The pistol felt heavy. Her finger brushed against the trigger before flinching away like it burnt her. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."
Burger huffed, his breath warm but weak. Nike lifted her head and straightened. Her jaw tightened, trying to keep her lips from trembling. She pressed the pistol against Burger's chest. He sighed. Relief merely a pull of the trigger away. His tongue lolled out in a smile.
Her finger curled against the trigger. A piece of metal she had pulled again and again, uncaring how each bullet impacted flesh and bone, it now weighed a ton. Her finger refused to pull it any further. Shuddering breath after breath she took, trying to steady her hand.
Don't be selfish.
Burger's tail twitched hopefully, his eyes bored into hers.
Do it.
The trigger creaked as she applied more pressure.
Do it!
Her breath hitched as she blinked the tears away. She had to watch this with clear vision.
DO IT!
Nike screamed and flung her pistol away. "I can't!"
Burger licked her tears away as she bent over him again. Forgiveness where none was deserved. Absolution where anger was earned. Friendship where hostility was justified.
"I don't deserve you," she whispered.
A scream rocked Stitches' office. The voice was decidedly female. Nike straightened, pain flared anew again. Emma!
She had forgotten all about the younger girl. How long had she been in the bathroom? Minutes? Hours? She had completely lost track of time. The lack of sleep, the gunshot wound, cuts and bruises and the fight from the day before had taken a toll. She was hovering on the precipice of a full on glitch.
Nike shook her head, trying to rid herself of the wave of vertigo as she stood. Taking one more look at Burger, she turned to the bathroom. "Emma," she called, rapping her knuckles against the door.
There was no answer, but sobs were coming from inside. "Emma, let me in," she barked, finding the door locked.
Still, there was no response. Nike's patience had frayed. She eyed the door critically. The lock was easy enough to pick, but her hands lacked the dexterity. It was shaking too much. Vaguely she reminded herself to eat before she crashed from low blood sugar. The door was a flimsy excuse of one. Raising a leg, she kicked. It shook but held. Sighing, she retrieved her pistol. It made her glance at Burger again. He lifted his head from the floor hopefully. She turned her back resolutely on him.
"Emma, if you're not going to open it. I'm going to shoot the lock off."
Nike counted 30 seconds before declaring. "Stand back. I'm coming in."
This time, she pulled the trigger with ease and shouldered the door open. The younger girl was sitting on the floor, sobbing. Her fingers cupped over her broken nose, fresh blood pouring from it.
"What did you do?" Nike demanded, holstering the gun before rushing over.
"Ross is dead, isn't he?" Emma sobbed.
"What? No! Stitches is still in there with him."
"Don't lie." Emma let her hands fall, lifting her head to stare at her.
If Nike was brittle, Emma was completely broken. Inside her blue eyes were the shattered remains of a girl too gentle for the streets. The precious shred of innocence she held were got smashed to pieces since Nike came into her life.
I'm toxic. I'm fucking poisonous.
"Ross won't make it. I know it," Emma whispered. "I can see it in your eyes. You're just trying to give me hope. Don't lie to me."
Nike looked away and nodded.
"If Ross dies, I can't do it on my own. I don't want to spread my legs to earn credits. I can't do it. I won't."
"You don't have to."
"Really?" The word came out with such vehemence it made Nike stiffened, ready for an attack. "I'm not that naive. Don't coddle me."
Emma's chest heaved as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her grief and fear came out in a high pitched whine. Nike approached but was afraid to touch Emma, a single touch would shatter her. There was only so much a person could take.
Taking a deep breath, Nike reached out, fingers brushing against Emma's white knuckles. The barest contact was like a shock to Emma's body. She flung herself at Nike and clung on, body trembling, soul quivering as she sobbed. They sat huddled together, one limp as a noodle, the other stiff as a board. All Nike could do was be the buoy in the raging sea of violence and grief.
"Promise me," Emma whispered hoarsely. "Promise me everything will be ok."
Nike clamped her mouth shut.
"Promise me."
The lies were tantalisingly on the tip of her tongue. The easy answer was just there, within reach.
"Everything will be fine…" She took a shuddering breath and sighed. "Everything will work out, I promise."
Liar.
It settled something in Emma despite the bitter taste on Nike's tongue. Gingerly, Nike guided her to lie on the floor and proceeded to set her nose. She cried, there was more blood but she breathed a lot better after. Nike stripped out of her jacket and Emma snuggled into it and promptly succumbing to her exhaustion.
Sometimes it took pain to set the hurts right. Sometimes it took a lie to sooth the ache. Sometimes it took going the wrong way to know the right thing to do.
Shakily, Nike stood, looking at her side for the first time since she was shot. The blood had dried, her shirt was glued to her side. Wincing, she shoved her hand into her mouth as she pulled her shirt up. Right under her breast, over her ribs, there was a deep furrow that had parted her skin and flesh. Pulling her shirt away had made it bleed again. Looking at the wound intensified the pain. Whimpers escaped her throat unbidden as she groped for more medi-gel. There was no more to be had. Whatever was left in Stitches' clinic was best left to Ross.
Nike shuffled towards Burger. He huffed at her as she lay down on the ground, putting her back against his. The warmth leeched into her skin, reminding her she was alive, he was alive. There was still hope. Her eyelids slid shut, bone deep exhaustion dragging her into a fitful sleep. Burger's cool tongue licked her hand soothingly.
"Wake up."
The voice was strange and unfamiliar. It was gruff but gentle. Nike rubbed her eyes. Looking around she realised she wasn't at Stitches anymore. Instead, she was lying in her cardboard hovel. The one that she had never needed to sleep in again after joining the Reds. Catching her reflection against a shard of mirror, she realised she didn't have red hair. It was her original black one.
"What's going on?" she whispered.
"Come out."
Nike frowned. She remembered joining the Reds, she remembered the ring, she remembered being the Champion. Everything.
"What the fuck is going on? Was it all a dream?"
"Come out," the voice repeated.
She sighed and crawled out, stomach rumbling and demanding for attention. Once outside, she saw Burger but he was younger, hovering between adulthood and puppyhood. Limbs too long for his body, gangly and awkward. He was sitting on his haunches, tongue lolling out in a laugh.
"Breakfast?" she asked.
Burger barked and jumped on her. She giggled amidst the copious amount of licks he slobbered on her. Laughter so bright, it echoed down the alley. Excited barks and playful nips prompted Nike to ruffle Burger's fur roughly. In that moment, they played without a thought for later, without an urgency for food, safety or shelter.
Nike was happy. The dog she remembered from her dream, the one begging with his eyes, was quickly forgotten. Burger was hale and healthy, happy and here. She panted, trying to catch her breath. Her checks ached from the ear to ear grins. Burger sat down on his haunches again. His eyes bored into hers.
"Thank you."
Nike blinked. His mouth didn't move, but she heard the words clearly. Before she could speak, Burger stood up and ran down the alley towards the open road. She sped after him, feet pounding on the pavement, arms pumping. The urgency, the panic, the fear was a coiled snake around her throat.
"Come back!" she shouted.
Burger stopped at the mouth of the alley. He looked back, tongue hanging out his mouth. His pointed ear twitched. Then, he turned back to the open road and loped off.
"Wake up!"
Nike jolted upright. Her eyes flew open. The motion sent a flash of pain across her ribs. She gasped as she tried to breathe through the pain. Stitches was shaking her.
"What happened to you?" he asked, frowning at her. "Anyway, you've got to come. I'll take a look at your wound after this. You fucking kids give me no end of trouble."
The retort that Reds paid him for his troubles hovered on Nike's tongue but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She staggered after Stitches as he grumbled under his breath. Waking up to realise this was reality was a slap in the face. She was happy for a brief moment with Burger. Stealing a glance behind her, her steps faltered. Burger was lying on the ground where she had left him. Stitches sighed and pulled her along.
"Will you look at Burger later?" she asked.
"Who? Some fourth person you've dragged in with you?"
"Burger, my dog." The glare she levelled at him was enough to stop any further comments from him.
Stitches frowned but nodded curtly in the end. "Just go talk to your guy in there. He is demanding for you."
Nike gripped his arm and tugged, forcing him to stop. Her green eyes searched his. "Do something for Burger, don't just patronise me."
Stitches wrenched his arm from her grip and massaged the spot. "I will. Now go. I'll tend to your fucking dog."
As he turned to go, she could hear him muttering, "What a fucking name for a dog. Burger. Why do people keep naming dogs after food? I'll never understand."
Nike sighed and pushed the door open. She stepped into what she learnt since was Stitches' makeshift operating theatre. There were few places in the Slums to seek medical treatment. And it was only for people who could afford it. The Reds were Stitches' landlord, protector and client all rolled in one. It was via a mixture of alliances and trade agreements between gangs that allowed them to seek treatment here. All arranged by Tenner and it helped fund Frank's ambitions. That meant Stitches would treat any Red that walked through his door. But this also meant all activities get reported back to Tenner and Frank eventually.
I'll deal with it when the time comes.
Ross was lying on the table, a sheet drawn up to his waist. His face pale like the sheet covering his body. Tubes and IVs were leading to his body, attached to his arms, snaking under the sheet. His chest was swathed in thick bandages. There were spots where blood was already seeping through.
"That you, Nike?" Ross asked, his voice hoarse and dry. A sensation Nike remembered from her own time on that table.
"Yeah it's me," she said as she approached. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been run over by a truck multiple times."
"You looked like it too."
Ross chuckled before wincing. "Is Emma ok?"
"As well as can be expected," Nike replied.
He sighed, his breath wet and wheezing. Like Burger's. She pushed the thought from her mind. "Yeah, it will be hard in the future. Emma got to step up more, earn some credits and shit. Alex and Tiny might have to try their hand at begging at the Transit hub."
Nike nodded along. Her mind was still foggy from sleep and the nap didn't do anything for her weariness.
"You've got to look out for them. I know this is just too much to ask. After all, you don't owe us anything. But I don't think Emma can do it on her own. I don't know how you're going to get it done, but I have faith in you."
She frowned, Ross' words finally registering. "Why are you telling me this? Stitches fixed you up. You will be back on your feet in no time."
Ross sighed and grimaced. "No, I'm not going to make it."
She straightened. "You're alive, you're speaking to me. You have made it."
He grunted, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. "No, he just stitched me up to keep me from bleeding out. But I am dying, I am still dying He told me my liver is completely trashed. I am merely dying slowly now."
"No." The rejection was vehement and adamant, Nike's shoulders stiff and her brow tight. She didn't try so hard to have him fall now. "No, Stitches can do something."
The door creaked open and Stitches entered. "I can't work miracles, girl."
"But—"
"Unless you have a spare liver lying around."
Her eyes darted between the patient and the doctor. "What about mine?"
"No," Stitches spoke up immediately. "I'm not stupid enough to take your liver to give this street rat. You still are the Champion, do you think Frank is going to let it go if I did that?"
Nike gritted her teeth. The title followed her around like a spectre, never doing her any good. "What about cloned tissue?"
"Do you have the credits?"
"But-"
Ross groaned. "I need more painkillers, please."
"I can't spare more for you," Stitches declared, he eyed Nike. "I assume you don't want this to go into the books."
"If you can manage it," she replied tightly, feeling cornered.
"Then, I assume I'll be adequately compensated for services rendered?"
"Yes."
"Please, it hurts," Ross begged, his body trembling.
Stitches stared at her, unmoving. She snarled, a sound of frustration and anger. She rummaged through her pockets and tossed a credit chip at Stitches. He made sure to check the balance before measuring out a syringe and injecting into Ross' IV port. The moment the painkiller entered his bloodstream, he relaxed and breathed a little easier.
"That's not going to last long. And that credit chit doesn't begin to cover what this is going to cost you," Stitches declared. "You have very few options. You can take him and let him die in agony over the next couple of days. That's the cheapest option. Or you can pay me and I'll administer a fatal dose of Red Sand. He can go out on a high and be very happy while dying. That's the most expensive option."
"Get out, Stitches. Just go before I smash your face in," she spat, her hands clenched into fists. "Fucking leech."
But you are one of those leeches. Her brain helpfully supplied. You're one of the selfish asshole that took and took and took. What the hell did you do? Kill and trampled everything in sight. Nike took a deep breath and shoved the voice into the deepest, darkest corner of her head.
"Nike."
She looked up, rearranging her face into one that didn't looked quite so pissed off.
"Don't let me die like a dog."
Nike suppressed a shiver, her heart longed to check on Burger but she had a duty to Ross. "I know. What do you need? I don't have enough cre—"
"No. I know. Just shoot me. The pain is unbearable without the painkillers. I don't want to feel that again."
Her heart stuttered. What she couldn't do for Burger, Ross was asking of her. Her hand groped for her pistol and she rested her hand on the cold metal barrel.
"You don't know what you're asking," she said, her voice shaking.
"I know what I don't want," he said, struggling to sit up, his face went near white from the effort.
His eyes met her. Brown eyes that reminded her of Burger's, eyes pain glazed and begging. "Please, I can't be brave. It hurts so damn much. Please." His voice broke at the last word.
Her jaw clenched so tight, it was giving her a headache and eventually she nodded.
Silence hung in the room, heavy and suffocating.