Pain bright and keen slammed into her cheek reaching through flesh, hitting bone. Her eyes snapped open but shadows kept crawling back.
"Wake up!" The voice was far away, too easily ignored.
At the back of Nike's mind there was an urgency to sit up, to scream and shout, but it was too intangible to hold on. Like smoke from a stick of cigarette drifting away, aimlessly and unmoored, her eyelids sagged shut.
Another bright spike of pain broke out over her other cheek. Her eyes felt like lead shutters, too heavy to move. Willpower was sand trickling through her fingers. She rolled onto her side, head sore, eyes mere slits. Groaning, her fingers scratched at the ground as she tried to lever herself up.
"Fuck," the voice shouted, too far away for her to care. "You fucking lost!"
Awareness returned in drips and drabs. Though her head pounded like the entire Underbelly had taken up residence in there, she managed to sit up. Her gorge rose and she gagged, but there was nothing to throw up. She hadn't had the time to eat before she left the base.
Nike had walked out onto the stage, hurt and hungry. Expecting to win was just playing with fire. She lost, of course she lost. Krycek had made sure of it.
Nike couldn't straighten as she trailed after Scars towards the stage. The roar of the crowd reminded her how she couldn't lose, how she couldn't afford to. Krycek's snigger rang in her ears, but she couldn't retaliate. She had to save her strength for the fight. Just making her way onto the stage, pretending she was fine took all her effort. Her side was a stripe of fire, threatening to burn her from the inside out.
"Presenting the Champion!" The crowd screamed.
She raised an arm half-heartedly, her jaw locked tight. The arena rocked with the sheer noise. her opponent was a girl with hair as red as hers but spiked up in a Mohawk.
"Will the pretender win?" Boos rang out. "Or will the Champion reign once more?"
Nike didn't recognise her opponent, but she knew the Dowager's emblem tattooed into her arm anywhere. The Dowager's biotic grinned and stripped out of her jacket, dressed in standard sports bra and compression shorts. Nike kept hers on. She could ill afford revealing her wound. Her jacket was stuck to her skin, wet. Something was trickling down her thigh. She wiped her hand over it. The red wraps absorbed whatever it was easily enough.
When they bowed to the Dowager, her vision went white. Straightening after was also a whole other adventure. Her jacket was completely stuck to her back, sweat beaded across her forehead. She widened her stance so she didn't seem so unsteady on her feet.
"Are the combatants ready?" The crowd screamed for blood.
Nike raised her arms, beckoning at her biotics. It came like it always did, but this time it brought along a lancing jolt through her flank. The graze had probably widened after whatever Krycek did. Busting her stitches probably didn't help either. Her shoulders stiff, her stance rigid, she readied herself.
Everything after was a blur. Her memories were hazy at best, but one thing stood out. Her jacket was immediately honed in on by her opponent. It was an easy target to wrap one's hand around. The moment it came loose, Nike knew the game was up. Defence wasn't the best offence in this case.
The crowd went from booing as she kept mere inches away from her opponent attacks, to outright shouting for her death. Never had the crowd turned that quickly, that viciously.
She got only one good look at her wound, what was a finger width groove craved into her flank, travelling from belly to her ribs, was now a fissure that threatened to split her in two. At least, it felt that way. She pressed her hand against it only to flinch away at the fire it woke.
Her opponent grinned and Nike's fate was sealed.
"We lost?" Nike asked, cotton in her mouth. They were still at the ring. That meant she hadn't blacked out for very long.
"You," Scars snarled. "You fucking lost!"
Now that she was more conscious than not, he stalked off. Probably eager to claim credit for Krycek's win. When her thoughts turned to her fellow biotic, it ignited a fury she didn't thought possible, but she hurt too much to contemplate revenge.
The slow walk from the Underbelly back to the base was thankfully done under the cover of night. Nobody need to see the now ex-Champion of the ring limping back like a dog with her tail between her legs. She snorted, shuffling along the empty street, desperately craving for a cig.
Her chest ached again. She was desperately cold. Her back was unguarded, her flank was empty. She missed the extra pair of eyes that ranged ahead of her. She missed the brush of bristly fur against her leg. She missed the clicking of claws against the concrete following her. She missed Burger intensely.
Tears were shed, unashamedly as she lifted her head to look at the sky. There were no stars, not in the slums anyway. This place was thrown down a hole so deep no brightness could reach. Her lower lip trembling despite how she trapped it between her teeth. She couldn't hold it back any longer. Sob after sob tore through her throat, her hand stuffed into her mouth to muffle it. The gloom of the slums hidden her sorrow from everyone else. A warm breeze chased her all the way back to the base, limping and staggering like the fucked up human she was. Her face was dry by the time she stumbled into the base. The lookouts averted their gaze when she approached.
All the better, I guess. Fallen Champion and all.
Her vision was blurring again, her hands were trembling. Vaguely she remembered she hadn't eaten a single thing in more than 24 hours, but the thought of eating turned her stomach. Torn between just heading to her room to sleep this fugue state off and heading into the common room to grab something to eat, she hesitated. Snorts and snores of people sleeping without a care in the world filled the air. Quick steps approaching, it caught her attention, for a moment her heart leapt.
Burger?
Nike turned gingerly. It was a foolish hope when reality literally slammed into her. She hissed, almost doubled over in pain. "What happened to you?" the voice growled, small hands gripped her arm.
Oh, it's just the Firecracker.
"I…" Words wouldn't come. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.
"You're shaking," Alex hissed. "Come on!"
Nike didn't know how she made it, but this time she sank into her bed and not slam head first onto the floor. She sighed. The thin mattress provided relief she didn't know she was seeking. Eyes too heavy to keep open, they started to sag shut.
"Don't let her sleep, I'm going to get food for her," Alex said. "See if you can get her to drink this."
The door opened and shut, all of it was inconsequential. Nike barely had the capacity of mind to care. All she wanted to do was sleep and never wake up. Burger was gone. She lost. Frank's threat rang in her ears, loud and menacingly.
Small hands shoved a straw into her lips. "Drink!" Tiny instructed frantically. "Drink! Alex will get mad if you don't."
Fear seized her heart. Nike's hands rose to bat the straw and whatever it was attached to away. "No, no Red Sand. I don't want it."
"No, no it's not Red Sand. This is just an energy drink."
Her eyes peeled open. The blurry figure was resolving into Tiny's anxious face. Tears were standing in his eyes as he shoved the straw back into her mouth.
"I don't know what's happening, but you just got to drink. Please!" his voice broke at the last word.
The ache in Nike's chest intensified. She found it easier to comply than to meet Tiny's eyes. All she saw was her guilt made manifest. He was suffering the consequences for her stupid decisions. Killing had led to this. Her fists, her pistol, her biotics couldn't solve everything, they didn't fix anything. She had been stupid, she still was.
"I can't lose you too. You're all I have left, other than Alex," he whimpered, hands tightening around the energy drink he held up for her, he buried his face into her chest.
Nike grunted. Though it tugged at her wound, she reached over and petted Tiny's head. Something slid into place inside her. She couldn't lie to herself any longer. Alex and Tiny were her responsibility. For better or worse, she was no longer just fighting for herself and her place in the Reds. She had something, someone to protect.
The door swung open. she flinched, turning to look, hand already reaching for a pistol that wasn't there. Did she lose it? Did she go to the Underbelly with it? She couldn't remember.
Shit.
Fear ran down her spine, it seized her heart and squeezed.
No, no, no.
Her lungs shuddered as she pulled at her core. Her biotic spluttered and flickered. There was nothing more to give.
Please, not Frank, not the fucking Red Sand.
In walked Alex with Cutter in tow. Nike gasped audibly with relief, tremors ran through her body uncontrollably. Tears pricked at her eyes. Deep down, she knew she was merely delaying the inevitable. Frank always followed through with his promises, always.
"Help her," Alex demanded.
Cutter looked at Nike, a frown etched into his brow. He strode in and quickly gave Alex and Tiny instructions. When they scurried out to retrieve the stuff he wanted, he stared flatly at Nike. "What the fuck happened to you? You're supposed to win, what the fuck have you done to yourself?"
She opened her mouth to explain, but the words refused come. What was she supposed to say? Confess about her glitches? Uncontrollable spells where she lost consciousness if she pushed her biotics over some invisible line. These started not long after getting her implant and amp. How much was it just because she was too fucked up to use her biotics properly, how much was it because of Stitches' botched surgery? She couldn't say, she had nothing to go on.
Was she supposed to tell Cutter how badly she had fucked up with the Strays? Killing random rival gang members because they were fucking with the Strays. She was naive enough to think she could protect them. Time had proven how wrong she was. She couldn't even win a bloody fight. How could she ever thought she could keep anyone safe?
Tears threatened to spill again, her nose wrinkled, her eyes squeezed shut as she took a shuddering breath.
"Fucking hell Nike. No tears, you don't get to cry over this. You lost, you cost the Reds credits. You cost me my cut," he spat.
She fought to hold back the tears, but her body refused to listen and they leaked from the squeezed shut eyelids. Cutter rolled her onto her side. She cried at the sudden motion. In the minutes she laid on her bed, the tacky blood dried and her mattress was stuck to the wound. The roll had tore the wound open again.
A low growl rumbled from Cutter's chest. His hands were rough but perfunctory. He never spoke another word, working silently through grunts and gestures when Alex and Tiny returned. He put needle and thread through skin and flesh, closing the wound that no doubt had gotten worse after the fight.
Nike's strength was ebbing despite Tiny's repeated attempts to make her eat, she could stomach nothing but the sugary sweet energy drinks. She was only vaguely aware of Cutter leaving the room when the door latched. Alex wedged a chair against the door, making sure it was tight as best she could. Nike, half her face smushed against the mattress, opened one half-lidded eye and nodded in approval. Alex had good instincts. Maybe they didn't need her. After all who could she protect? She failed Burger, the only thing that ever mattered to her.
Her body was no longer on the edge of complete shut down but she was tired, her soul weary. "Come on," she whispered, throat all sticky with sugary drinks.
Tiny didn't need any coaxing. He climbed into the bed, curling himself into as small as a ball as he could make himself, fitting himself into the space between her stomach and legs. Alex's lips twisted, starring balefully at her.
"I'm doing my best," she rasped. "It will get better…"
Nike prayed she wasn't making another promise that she was going to break later. Alex sighed and made a big show of trudging over to the bed. The bed was small, it wouldn't have fit all three of them but somehow they made it work.
As Nike surrendered to sleep, she swore she felt a warm furry back pressed against her bare skin.
Nike felt like she was walking on eggshells. Frank didn't even called her to his office, she barely saw him the first 48 hours after the news swept through the Slums that she had lost. Alex and Tiny for their part seemed to be accepted into the Reds without trouble. Alex was constantly around, taking on duties that Nike used to do, delivering messages, goods or whatever else. Tiny stuck close to Alex, tagging along on all errands she ran.
Nike sat sullenly outside the base, back against the low wall where once she had a tug of war with Burger using a bag of fries. She waved as Alex headed out with Tiny. Her cigarette traced an arc through the air, smoking trailing behind it. Alex ignored her. This she had expected. As long as it wasn't pure fury over their circumstances, Nike felt she was making progress with Firecracker. Tiny returned her wave before jogging to keep up with Alex. Gone was the boy that wouldn't shut up. Gone was the boy who was quick to smile and poke fun at her.
"Another victim to my stupidity," she muttered under her breath, turning her gaze away.
She wasn't wanted or needed. She couldn't train, she didn't dare call on her biotics. All she could do now was heal. The hot noon sun beat down on her, the air humid and muggy, the kind that made her feel she was breathing water rather than air, but she didn't move. She took a long pull on the cig, bitterness filled her mouth. Sweat rolled down her back and brow, soaking through cloth, leaving a stain against the wall she leaned. She exhaled, the smoke escaped, eager to flee. Music played softly from her omni-tool as she turned her face away from the sun. She didn't deserve it.
In my defence all my intentions were good
And heaven holds a place somewhere for the misunderstood
You know I'd give you blood if it'd be enough
The ache in her chest grew, it was a steel band that tightened and squeezed in intervals. Relenting only allowing her to draw breath before twisting tight again. It refused to budge no matter all the reasons she told herself how things weren't entirely her fault. Those brown eyes of Burger's always appeared when she closed hers. Those eyes begged for a kindness she refused because she was selfish.
Devils on my doorstep since the day I was born
It's hard to find a sunset in the eye of a storm
But I'm a dreamer by design and I know in time we'll put this behind
A scrape of a foot against loose gravel made her eyes snapped open. Nike wasn't sure of her position in the Reds any longer. She could ill afford to be complacent. The cig tossed carelessly to the ground as she went for her pistol.
"Scared much?"
It was Krycek. Her lips curled as she forced herself to stand. Her wound protested at the motion. "Fuck off."
He chuckled. "Not so great now huh, Champion," he dragged the last word out, a taunt and threat rolled in one.
"What the fuck do you want?" she growled, her pistol aimed to the ground, but she refused to holster it.
"Just checking in on you," he replied easily. "I was a little concerned about your wound."
Nike snarled. "You fucking cost me the fight!"
"No, you cost yourself the fight. You weren't ever going to win anyway. I just…" he smirked, "made sure."
"Fuck you."
"Don't worry, you'll thank me later. The hit is fucking awesome. When you get your dose you'll know what I'm talking about," he said. "You'll remember. You will fucking remember what you've done."
She bared her teeth, pistol rising, hand shaking with how hard she was gripping it. The desire, no the need to just shoot that fucking smirk off Krycek's face rose in her gut. How she wanted to send her biotics slamming into him. No, you're in a fuck ton of trouble, you're not going to make things worse for yourself. You're not alone anymore. Taking a deep breath through her clenched teeth, she lowered her pistol but still not holstering it.
Krycek's grin widened. "Anyway, Frank says he wants to see you."
Just like that, with a single sentence, fear came crashing back down. Her jaw tightened. "Now?"
"What do you think?"
Nike walked back into the base. Krycek had been pushed out of her mind. She was already cycling through all perfectly good reasons why she lost, but it wouldn't change a single thing. She knew that in her bones. Her feet dragged as she approached the back room. That steel reinforced door never felt so ominous. Her heart threw itself against her ribs as she lifted her hand to knock.
Tenner opened the door. Before she could enter, he pressed close, hand grabbing her arm, mouth against her ear. "I could get you out of trouble if you lie with me," he whispered.
Nike flinched back. She reacted before she could give his offer any serious thought. Biotics blazed to life as she shoved him back, lightly by her standards. He stumbled and fell on his ass. Fury and fear flickered across his eyes in equal measure.
"Bitch, you don't know a good thing even if it bites your fucking ass. Frank is going to skin you alive," he snapped. "And I'll fuck your broken ass then."
Blue flames rippled up her arms and engulfed her. The blade she kept in her shoe, shot right into her open palm. It was a simple flick and the keen edge was deployed. Her eyes hardened as she growled, "That's provided you have a fucking dick to fuck me with, Tenner."
The threat was clear enough. He scrambled back on his feet and fled without another word of retort. Nike took a shuddering breath and slid the blade back into her shoe. She squared her shoulders and walked into the lion's maw.
Frank looked up. His grey eyes flat, flinty and altogether displeased at the sight of her. The vial sat on his desk, next to a syringe. Nike's footsteps faltered. She froze and kept to the far wall, eyes trained on the vial. The terminal on his desk was filled with data and documents, maps and blueprints. Normally, Nike would be curious but not today.
"What took you so long?" The question was a slap in her face.
She jerked her eyes to meet Frank's. "Krycek—"
"No matter," he interrupted. "Here is a credit chit." This, he tossed onto the ground. "Go over to Transit Hub, meet my contact and hand him that."
"But couldn't you just—"
Frank didn't speak, his hand went to the vial and touched it. Words dried up in her mouth. She swallowed. Carefully, with her eyes on him, she picked the credit chit up.
"Pick up the package he has for me."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak anymore. Turning to go, hoping against hope this was the end of it, but as she was half way across the threshold, Frank spoke. "Bring it back to me."
She stiffened and turned back. Green eyes finding grey ones, if anger could be made physical, he had succeeded. Rocking back on her heels, she waited as he spat, "No detours, no fucking running off to that cinema. Do not think I do not know what the fuck you get up to out there, Nike. You're here at my tolerance."
She nodded meekly and left.
The walk to the Transit Hub was supposed to be simple, but it wasn't. Nike stopped at the crossroads and looked at the pile of cardboards. She stared. Jaw twitching, eyes turning hot as a lump formed at her throat. She couldn't stay, but she couldn't leave either. Memories of Burger with his tongue lolling out, panting at her, tail wagging lazily in the air at the sight of her, flickered before her eyes.
Her jaw ached, her chest hurt. A fresh stick of nicotine clamped tight between her fingers, she wrenched her gaze away, managing to look at the ground instead. Eyes were on her, rival gang members, kids that belonged to no gang stared and looked. She wasn't safe as whispers drifted towards her.
"Look, it's Nike. She used to be the Champion."
"She lost I heard."
"But she was hurt before the fight."
"That's just what she wanted you to think. She lost, cause she's a girl. Girls are never meant to be champions."
Nike stiffened. The fight she lost wasn't a big deal, not in the face of all the deaths. Their names would stick in her mind forever, people she had let down, lives she had burnt because she was rash.
She moved on auto-pilot, her feet taking her to the Transit Hub without any conscious thought. She was distracted. If she wasn't, she would have realised she was being followed. Eyes, not the curious kind, were tracking her movements.
Midtown was still polished, people were still busy getting from one place or another. Here, nobody cared about her. Here, there were no memories and she was safe. It was tempting to lose herself among them, stow away on one of the ships departing Earth. It would have been so easy. But… Tiny and Alex, she couldn't just leave, not after everything.
She turned towards the meeting spot, a cafe right smack in the middle of the Transit Hub, crammed back with weary travelers and wearier staff. She found Frank's contact cramped in a corner, out of sight from most of the patrons.
Nike frowned at the load she was saddled with. It was a long case, almost as long as a guitar case, but this was very obviously not one. It was heavy as fuck. "What is it?" she asked as she unlatched the case.
Inside was a shotgun but one she had never seen before. All matte black, elegantly curved frame cradling a smooth steel barrel. The muzzle was wide, the under grip and handle were comfortable and solid. Nike pulled it from the case and hefted it in her hand. It was heavier than she liked, but she was used pistols and not much else.
Frank's contact didn't speak. He merely loomed over her, arms folded across his chest. Claws rapped against his armour as he waited for her less than capable inspection of the shotgun. "Runt, just pay me and I'm on my way," the krogan rumbled.
Nike frowned and stubbornly scanned it with her omni-tool. It beeped a negative on its search of the extra-net.
He chuckled. It sounded like rocks rattling inside his chest. "Look," he said, yanking the shotgun out of her hands and expertly racking the barrel and dry firing it, "this is a highly illegal shotgun." The thunk of the hammer hitting home was formidable even if it wasn't loaded. "You shouldn't even be waving it around here," he admonished as he pushed the shotgun back into the foam cut outs inside the case.
Nike glanced over her shoulder. Outside, alien visitors to Earth were busy trying to cramp themselves into the tram that was taking them down to the Earth International flights terminal. Humans on the other hand were waiting for the tram going in the opposite direction. The one that was going to take them up to the Space terminal. For a while her eyes lingered on the trams, but she reminded herself why she was doing what she was doing.
"Nobody is watching."
"Nobody that you see," the krogan retorted.
She grunted, acknowledging the point. "But what is it?"
He leaned forward, his chin almost brushing against her head. He ran his claws over the case as if caressing the shotgun through it. "This is a Spectre grade shotgun, and it cost your boss a fuck ton of credits."
Nike hummed.
"Runt, hand over that credit chit and run along back to your boss now."
She lifted her eyes to meet the blood red ones of the red humped krogan. "My name is not runt, it's Nike."
He snorted, his breath blew back her hair. She wrinkled her nose. "Runt, I like your attitude. Name's Urdnot Wrex. Remember it," he growled.
Nike didn't flinched. She was numbed by everything that had happened. A krogan wasn't scary. Besides, he wasn't trying to intimidate her. His weapons were, after all, still holstered. She slid the credit chit over and waited for him to check. At his nod, she stood and lifted the case. It was really fucking heavy.
"Need a hand to get it out the door?" Wrex asked, probably expecting her to drop the case five minutes into her journey back.
She shook her head and tugged at her core. The case was encased in her biotics and it eased the strain on her arm and shoulder. "I've got this," she smirked, enjoying that little moment of victory when Wrex's brow lifted.
The lightness in her chest was gone by the time the base came into view. Never had she hated to returning home before.
Home? Is it a home? What the fuck is a home?
She sighed, attempting to force the tightness from her chest. It just squeezed harder. Hopefully with this job done, she could slowly crawl back into Frank's good graces. She glanced about and caught a glimpse of Scars ordering Alex about. Tiny was also kept busy fetching and retrieving things for him. Nike scowled. What could she say that wouldn't turn them into a target? Nothing.
So she headed straight to Frank like he instructed, no detours, no side trips. Tenner was nowhere to be seen, probably still too afraid to look at her. Frank was at his terminal when dropped the case on his desk with a thunk. He frowned.
Nike didn't wait and turned to leave. Her job was done.
But Frank called out. "You have a fight tomorrow."
She stiffened. "Fight night is not till Friday," she said, her voice surprisingly calm under the circumstances.
Their eyes met. "It's a private fight." Frank grinned. "You know what that means."
The chill that ran over her spine, one that reached her bones and refused to leave, not even hours later, while she lay in her bed, sandwiched between Alex and Tiny, praying the morning never dawned.
Lyrics taken from For What's It's Worth by Liam Gallagher
