A/N: I want to rewrite parts of this, namely the beginning. I reread this often and as I'm converting it into a original duology, I kind of want to do the fanfiction side justice too. Who knows.
Red. That's all there is.
What started as five is now ten, ten now doubling and tripling with every second that they remain stunned, rooted to the ground by shock and fear muddled with disbelief and who the fuck knows what else. Soon there are too many to count, not that trying would really make a difference.
Ochako doesn't know where the undead start, where they end, or just where they came from. They weren't there a moment ago; the only red signatures read were theirs, scattered but systematically close because a less than warranted whim isn't enough to make them stray. If anything, it keeps them closer than a search would have entailed. Attention was paid to every inch of the pixelated screen and she would swear on her life they just appeared from thin air because they just weren't there.
It's a thought that quickly flees because, in the same span of a second, she realizes they still are, still standing in the middle of it all as the circle of teeth and claws close in around them.
Gods, how they should have fled by now.
"Run!"
Shoot, anything! In her plea there is the same fear that plagues them, the same panic that has them frozen until desperation seeps in and they feel it more than it's heard. They are acutely aware of their surroundings and the first bullet flies, countless others follow their path, lost to the sound of rapid fire, curt commands and heavy breathing.
Every single body is filled from bottom to top with a metal barrage, bullets buried deep within flesh for good measure and others through and through onto whatever lies behind. They were dropping, one after the other but were replaced the second they hit the floor. It was endless; every step forward resulted in two steps back, numbers filling the space faster than they could take them down, their path to safety held hostage by ravenous hunger and the instinct to kill.
Panic blossoms in their chests, critical mistakes made as a result. For every clean shot, two were missed, sloppily off center and lodging into background buildings or flying endlessly on. Katsuki searches painstakingly for any sign that they were making it out of this one alive, memories of a situation too similar to this flooding his mind, his trigger pace faltering.
His hands are shaking.
For the second time, he can't get them out—not the way he is and not like this. The ravenous are much too close, the bullets aren't flying fast enough and, as the sun falls and the shadows of the walls rise, their backs are getting much, much closer to it. Fuck, fuck FUCK.
"Cheeks, lead 'em out!"
Katsuki's desperate. It's heard in his voice, the way it sounds and the way it falls in line with his rapid breathing. His weapon vibrates; swaying back and forth, left and right and it has very little to do with the systematic firing that rips through the barrel. It's in his hands, his arms, his body—every nerve on fire, exploding beneath his skin. Every part of him is trembling.
And she's silent.
Why the fuck, of all moments, is she silent now?
And then it hit him, because the last time he forced her to take the lead, the same thing happened. Uncertainty coursed through her, words halted at the tip of her tongue. Complete and utter silence.
Suddenly, he's not a bit surprised; there is a death grip on control that he holds with every part of his might—over his team, over their function, over their next moves and what happens because of them. He is their compass, their direction, their order and he wears his reign proud and with every fight he has left in him. A Leader. No one handles the title better than him.
But there is too much on his mind—the wall and how it crumbles, the fractures that spider against the surface, the undead that inch closer, the numbers that grow and grow. His team. Katsuki can't focus. He can't lead. Not right now.
They won't make it out alive if he were to try.
And their only hope to make it out of this shit show is stunned, silent, unhelpful. Well now is not the fucking time.
"CHEEKS!"
She inhales, shaky and unsure and he wonders just when she last took a breath. "Katsuki, I..." It's painfully clear she is just as scared, just as panicked, just as unsure of their next move as he is. Bullets are still flying, hitting some targets and missing others, their backs dangerously close to embracing the wall. They are in alarm, but then so is she.
I'm not there. In her seat, in the safety of the compound Ochako spirals in her silence, the same silence that keeps Katsuki alert because she's not fucking talking and now is the time that he begs for her sass, her determination, anything. But, in that same thought, it's her fault they're there and she's...
I'm not fucking there.
It's the only thing that runs through her mind, louder than their pleas, than the bullets, than the red that saturates her screen and grows and grows.
All eyes find one another, until they find Katsuki and, with pooled desperation, wait for his word. His mouth opens and there's nothing—no plan of attack, no sure-fire way they'll make it out. It's not like the bank, cornered in its depths and the only need having been to get the fuck out. In that scenario, out in the open was their sure-fire plan No, this is nothing like that because here, it's their downfall.
It's open, they're surrounded. They're fucked.
They don't have time for this self-doubt shit, from either of them. His team is trapped. Her team is trapped. He's going to lose them because he couldn't pull his shit together and lead them as he's so used to doing. She's going to lose them because she couldn't fucking...
"CHEEKS!"
Let it go.
Anger and frustration is muddled with alarm, rugged and coarse as his less than endearing nickname rips through his throat and it's enough to snap her out of her self-induced misery.
"I don't know what the fuck is going on in your head," because Katsuki thinks he knows her well enough by now to know that something is, "but we fucking need you right now!"
I fucking need you right now.
He needed me, too...
The words replay, over and over but it's not as loud, not as damaging as Ochako buries it down deep, scanning the screen over and over. It's more red than black and the numbers have since doubled despite how many they've taken down in the minutes that have passed. It seems hopeless; each shuffle forward is a forced step back. Groans force their way past blind orders and bullets, so very loud in her ears. Reload after reload and she sin't really sure there is a way out of this.
From every corner they tumble over one another, driven by intense hunger and the drive to kill in a race to get to them first. Food fights back in a barrage of metal but still they come. One, two, three bullets. It's no longer enough. They've long since adapted, from a time not a single person can pinpoint. These are a stronger breed, more resistant. Deadlier. There's too many places where the undead can roam, can creep up and attack from.
But there's cover everywhere.
It's in the half standing buildings to their left and right and far beyond, the winding halls that maze inside. This side of the wall hasn't been explored too much, Shouto and his team arguably the first who have in a time frame she cannot recall. It makes sense; Yuuei aims to push forward, never thinking to fall behind, to check their six for what might be hiding there.
There is little to no care of where they came from and the memories that plague them because their only concern is for where they're going and the safety that will come with it. They keep moving, keep fighting. Keep living. A mistake, in hindsight.
What really is buried beneath the rubble upon which they step and have stepped before? What lingers in the shadows, hugging them close, around each and every corner of a building that, against all odds, remains in tact? Who knows what truly lies behind them anymore, in front of them, to their sides, above and below. Who knows what doesn't. Certainly not her.
It's risky, all of it. One miscalculation, one false whim and they're royally fucked (more so than they are). But they have no choice, she decides and her resolve hardens as the command tumbles from her lips. Because she knows what's next.
And what's after that if next doesn't work.
"Duck into the nearest building!"
The chorus of what's are louder than the groans and shrieks, Denki's, Mina's, Hanta's, Eijirous. Every single one. Ochako is thankful that they still exist, despite how her ears ring because of it. Still, she sighs. "Look, I know it's risky—"
"Of course it is?!" It takes her by surprise the sudden anger and confusion in his voice, the sound much more harsh then she could have ever imagined. Eijirou is always, always cheerful. In the face of danger, much less so but never angry and, thus far, never angry with her. She idly muses it's because Mina is in danger that he loses his composure. She can't blame him, really.
"Do you not see the shit storm from the safety of your fucking walls?" From him, however, it is absolutely no surprise.
It's not as if he means for it to sting, hearing the bite in his words after the fact and the silence from her that follows thereafter. She should be used to it, he thinks, because it happens often despite how he didn't actually mean it this time. But she has to understand one crucial fact—she's safe, they aren't. While he is thankful, in silence only, Katsuki can't help but to pin this whole clusterfuck on her.
It was her whim that led them to the back wall, her itch that just needed to be scratched right then and there and sure, it was his whim too, but he would have never gone had she not suggested it.
At least, not now and not with them.
"They're obviously smarter than anyone ever gave them credit for," because it seems everyone forgets they were human, once. Their brains functioned in a way that cultivated ideas, bred ingenuity, followed passions and drives. There was never an obstacle one man or woman couldn't overcome. If there was enough will, enough want, they could overcome anything and everything they set their mind to. Now, they're overrun by instinct, the barest of forms and…
Fuck, okay maybe she's onto something.
Comprehensible thoughts and ideas no longer exist in their minds. Sure, they've adapted; it's painfully clear as a wall of bullets prove to be no match but in the end they answer to only one order, aggressively loud:
Tear it down, everything between them and their food.
Funnel them through." Katsuki catches on, eyes quickly scanning over his shoulder until they land on one structure that's holding on and might work. It's not too far off their left, will take some well coordinated positioning to get them all there (and a fucktonne of luck) without getting pinned, but possible. The message is wordlessly spread in between reloads, a nudge here, a glance there.
They just need a moment; a split second where they can collect themselves, breathe and concentrate. They just need one to trip over the other, send them tumbling, give them that leeway so they can peel to the left. Wishful thinking sure, but he's desperate. They have little working with them and they just need something...
"Find the nearest exit…"
Something more than what they have, because his last mag is thoroughly spent. As he looks to his side, Katsuki realizes he's not the only one.
"And run like hell."
She doesn't have to tell them twice.
