Nike's eyes snapped open, body stiffened and surging up. Arms raised and biotics flaring as she searched for enemies. The echo of a scream ringing in her ears, the after image of Thomas with the scar across his chest throbbing behind her eyelids.
"Nike?" A thin, scared voice called out. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this?"
She opened her eyes, and blue filled them. Tiny was snared in a cloud of biotics, floating a metre off the ground, his eyes wide and terrified. Her mind flashed back to the last time she saw this exact look on his face. She had just found the Strays' home, and she was threatening to murder him.
She flinched and pulled her biotics back. Arms wide open and she caught him as he fell. She grunted at the sudden weight, body sore and aching.
"Sorry, Tiny. I…" she grimaced, unable to explain her lost of control.
"You were scared. I know, don't worry about it," Tiny said. "You were having a nightmare."
Understanding where none was deserved, she scrubbed her hands over her face. However, she couldn't help but noticed how quickly he distanced himself from her. She sighed and clenched her fists. There was nobody she could blame but the Red Sand.
"Alex told me to make sure you eat," Tiny went on, scurrying to the door, putting his hand on the knob.
"The Firecracker said that, huh?" She rose and proceeded to strip out of the bloodied fight clothes she still had on.
"Yeah, boss says we have to take good care of his investment. Otherwise…" his voice trailed off.
She turned back after pulling on fresh clothes. "Otherwise, you will be out on the streets?" she completed.
Tiny shook his head. "He'll sell us to the Snatchers."
Her eyes hardened, and the boy flinched. Get a fucking grip. She forced a cheery smile that she didn't feel on her face. "Come on," a hand on Tiny's shoulder, realising it felt thinner and bonier than before. "Let's go get some food."
The rest of the day went by in a mess of aching muscles and flashes of the past flickering in her head. Tiny kept close, hovering like a mother hen would albeit a fearful one. "Where's Alex?" she asked once food and shower were squared away.
"Running errands for Tenner and the boss."
She hummed. That meant Alex was as safe as she could be for now. Being useful was a sure way to secure one's place in the Reds after all.
"What's the word on the street?"
Tiny cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
"The Screamers, you've heard haven't you?"
He shook his head. Nike blinked. Frank was keeping everything hush-hush. The back of her mind itched. He was up to something but she couldn't quite see the entire picture. It felt almost reminiscent of the Reds' initial rise.
Nike jerked awake. She had dozed off in the sun. All that was left of the cigarette she was smoking reduced to ashes in her fingers. It was a wonder she didn't burn herself. That situation was quickly rectified with a fresh stick pressed between her lips. A quick flick of her lighter, the stick caught alight. She inhaled, the soothing taste of tobacco and nicotine tasted sweet to her tongue. Tiny was gone, probably bored out of his mind watching her sleep. The others were content to let her have the day off. After the previous day, she rather thought she deserved, if not actually needed, it. Her body ached like her muscles were taxed to the extreme, but it concentrated most especially around her amp. The soreness was mostly bearable. What worried her most was the slight tremble in her hands and the odd gnawing at her guts that no food seemed to fill.
I'm not craving for Red Sand. I'm not. I'm not.
There was only one other person in the Reds who had a hit of that specially formulated Red Sand, but would she get a straight answer from him?
I have no choice but to try.
Nike dusted off her shorts and went in search of Krycek.
She found him where he always was, slinging biotics against one of the abandoned blocks at the back of the base. An intense blue corona engulfed him as an uncontrolled detonation churned up debris and dust. She could barely hear her cycling thoughts through the noise.
Perched on a larger piece of broken off concrete, she watched. Sweat made his bare skin gleam in the sunlight. Her eyes took in his form. Scars both old and new littered his back. His left arm could never quite straighten all the way. That one was her doing. She broke it after they crashed into the ring's barrier. Her lips curled with satisfaction. Maybe that was what sealed his fate with the Dowager's crew, maybe that was why he was always so fucking sour around her. Either way, she figured they were more than even now.
"Hey asshole," Nike shouted.
Krycek ignored her. He took his time lifting broken pieces of bricks and sending them smashing into the much abused wall. The barrage was ear-splittingly loud.
Nike watched. As a fellow biotic, she could admire the sheer power he had, no doubt fuelled by Red Sand, but power was power. Regardless, it was galling to be ignored.
"Asshole!" she shouted, rising to her feet. Her biotics flashed and pulled on the same bricks he was held in his field.
It was an odd sensation. Flutters of electricity pricked against her mind, under her scalp, an itch she couldn't get it. It quickly grew rough and angry, turning more painful than curious. She could feel a vague shape that jolted and jabbed, seeking an opening, but she held firm. She grunted and visualised a stronghold, immovable and secure. Teeth bared, she watched the bricks come to a standstill, trapped between two opposing forces, hanging still in the air, vibrating minutely.
Nike grinned. Krycek's face was twisted in a snarl. Then, the bricks imploded from the pressure. Both of them exhaled as the tension snapped out. He turned, anger colouring his eyes. "What the fuck!"
She stiffened, eyes trained on the scar across his chest. The scar that that looked like a burn mark, running up towards his left shoulder. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as her eyes widened. "It's you."
Krycek frowned, confused at the turn of events. Nike surged forward, hands shoving against his chest. "It's fucking you! You were at the orphanage, you were there with me! You know my name!"
Realisation was a bolt that shot through him. His anger turned to bitter mirth. He laughed, it was vicious and hostile. "You remember now, don't you? I told you Red Sand would do the trick."
"You knew and you couldn't have just told me?"
"Where would the fun be in that?"
Nike pulled at her core, this time with deadly intent. Krycek's gaze sharpened. The air between them sizzled and shimmered like a heat mirage.
"Krycek," a voice called out. Nike jerked her eyes over and found Tiny looking at them. The kid flinched.
"What is it, kid?" Krycek growled. "I'm a little busy."
Nike gritted her teeth, hoping Tiny would just go. She didn't want him to get involve in this.
"Frank's looking for you. He say something about a private fight," Tiny went on, shrinking further back into himself. "He wants you now."
Krycek's gaze met hers. There was an understanding that passed between them in that single look. Nike inhaled and forced her biotics away. He did the same. This wasn't a truce, it was merely a timeout. "Take me to Frank," he said, placing his hand on Tiny's shoulders deliberately. "Let's go, kid."
He chuckled, making sure she had a good view as they left. Her worry over her trembling hands forgotten. Fresh new questions buzzed in her head, chasing their own tails, finding no answers and even less peace. She growled low in her throat. It was a scream of frustration held in, the pressure threatened to spill over in a biotic flare.
"I'll fucking kill Krycek, Thomas, whatever the fuck his name is."
"Nike," Scars called.
She looked up from her position on the floor. She ended up sitting in the middle of the rubble Krycek had made, waiting for his return but not really expecting it.
"What the fuck do you want?" she glared at him.
He stiffened for a second but reached into his pocket and pulled that hateful vial out. "Fight day, Champion."
She couldn't help but grimaced at the sight of it. Scars sniggered. "Not so great anymore are you? Maybe if you begged I'll skip dosing you."
Nike rose to her feet. Scars, despite being taller and having filled out since they first met, took a couple of steps back. He maintained an arm's distance between them. Like it's going to help.
"Let's go," she tossed over her shoulder, shoving her trembling hands into her pocket as she walked away.
The Underbelly was filled with eyes. Eyes that stared, curiously, angrily and admiringly. Nike felt it all even through the obscuring hood over her head. Her skin prickled with rage from some of those eyes. A good chunk of the crowd had lost credits on her last fight. She was after all always a good bet to make credits on.
The crowd grew thick and the murmurs loud. Nike stopped. The way was barred. Scars shouted, "Get the fuck out of the way!"
The crowd pressed closer. "Give me back my credits! You're supposed to win! You must have been bribed to lose!"
Scars took a step back and bumped into Nike. She put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside. Head lifted, the hood fell back, her red hair on full display. She glared at them. The crowd's complaints subsided into faint mutterings.
"Get out of the way!" Scars shouted from behind her as he tried to shove his way through. He was met with a wall of flesh that shoved him right back. Stumbling he fell onto his butt, his hand went for his pistol. The crowd bristled like a single organism threatened, weapons were being drawn.
Nike sighed, already tired. "I'm just fucking here to fight," she muttered under her breath. All it took was a flare, all lights and no real power. The crowd flinched as one. "Anyone wants one of these," she asked almost lazily, raising a hand sheathed in biotics above her head.
That was all it took. The crowd parted reluctantly, but she didn't need them to be happy about it.
They were late reaching the prep room. Usually Nike had at least a good 30 minutes or so sitting by herself, getting into the head space. The Thomas revelation had messed with her harder than she would admit. Her hands still shook in her pockets. With every step Scars took, the vial clinked against the syringe. The dread returned in full force.
Nike stripped down. The wound had mostly healed, now a shiny red line across her mid-section. There was nothing more to hide. The only real hole resided in the landscape of her heart and nobody needed to know about that one.
"Time for your dose," Scars said in a sing-song voice, the vial and syringe in his hand.
Her brow furrowed but she quickly smoothed away. "Doesn't take much for your pride to recover huh? After that fucking humiliating spill," she snorted.
Scars snarled, quickly filling the syringe. He advanced with it leading the way. "You're not touching me," she snapped. "Give it to me."
"No, Frank—."
"Oh fucking boohoo, Scars. Go run and tell Frank, see if I care. He's not here, you are. What does it matter if I win?"
Scars licked his lips, he stared at her chest openly. One hand holding onto the syringe, the other tugging at his crotch. Again with his horny little boy shit, Nike's temper snapped.
"Don't make me take it from you," she warned, one fist broke out in blue flames. Her eyes flicked between his crotch and his face. "I can take both your balls, you don't need them anyway."
Scars' face darkened, but he placed the syringe onto the bench and slid it over. "I'm watching you do this."
Fuck.
Nike had hoped to intimidate the fuck out of Scars and skip the fucking Red Sand. It was a long shot. She snatched the syringe up. Eyeing it, she squirted half out at Scars. He flinched back almost as if the content was poison. Well, it is poison. His mouth opened, words on his tongue before clamping shut when she gestured threateningly with the syringe.
Nike deliberately took the time to pull her hair into a short stubby ponytail. It was part ritual getting ready for the fight, part delay from the distasteful task. Her breath quickened as she picked the syringe up again, her hand shook. Scars grinned but her focus was only on the needle wavering in her vision. Fingers reaching back, finding the ragged scar at the back of her neck, finding the bump where her amp lay under her skin. She inhaled, sharp and fast as the needle entered skin. She depressed the plunger.
A red haze took over her. The syringe clattered to the floor. She blinked rapidly, her vision sharpening. Everything was so clear, so detailed. Shutting her eyes, her ears picked up Scars' breathing. It was quick and shallow, verging on panic. The constant buzz of biotics under her skin turned tingly like ants were trying to crawl through.
It was too much.
When her eyes snapped open again, Scars staggered a couple of steps back. Fear, real fear, coloured his eyes. She snorted, lips curling into a smile wider than normal.
"What are you waiting for, Scars?" she chuckled. "We have a fight to win."
Nike straightened, her hands had stopped shaking as she strode out. Biotics danced along her skin. She felt good. She felt invincible. The rational part of her mind was screaming but she didn't care.
Nike danced. It wasn't like the first time on Red Sand where everything was too loud, too near, too in her face. Today she was the feather that floated on the wind. Everything was effortless. A swing of her arm and the biotic force swept out sending her opponent slamming against the cage. The barrier shimmered and buzzed from the impact.
Even the crowd felt it. Surprised gasps were all quickly silenced. She stood boldly with her arms on her hips, back to her opponent. She laughed. It rang loud in the ring. "I'm the fucking Champion, remember that!"
Something slammed into her back, she stumbled forward. Whirling around, she bared her teeth at her opponent. "That's all you got?"
Nike had never met any biotic that, hadn't starved and begged for food or shelter. She had faced them all in the ring. They were products of their dog eat dog world. Outside the ring, one could run. Inside, surrender was a quick way out of the gang and back onto the streets.
Her opponent's only response was another quick shot of biotic energy flung in her direction. Nike raised an arm, a blue barrier shimmered to life. A loud snap and her barrier fell but it did its job.
"My turn," she smiled, teeth bared.
Nike braced herself, knees bent, shoulders set. All it took was mere thought. The cage blurred as the world re-arranged itself around her. One moment she was at one end of the cage, the next she was hurtling through time and space. Her fist leading the way as she slammed into her opponent.
The crowd roared and cheered as she stood. The skull of her opponent cracked and broken, spilling lifeblood onto the ring. At the back of her mind, she knew she should be worried, she should be afraid, but these gnat-like thoughts were silenced in the rush of adorations from the crowd.
"Nike! Champion! Nike!"
Nike's mouth was dry. Her tongue was sandpaper scrapping against the inside of her mouth. No amount of energy drinks she poured into her mouth helped. She needed more. There was more back at the base so she trudged out of the Underbelly. The bass pulsed against her temples as a band of tightness squeezed her skull.
Spilled blood, broken skull, dead biotic opponent. Nike grunted and scrubbed her face. The image faded quickly. The crowd was pleased by the blood she provided. Her opponent's gang not so much. A biotic wasn't something easily replaced.
All the more reason to fucking hustle.
Her hands refused to stop shaking. It was all the more fucking irritating when she tried to get the straw to her mouth and keep it there. Angrily she tossed the empty bottle and shoved her hands into her pockets and kept walking. "At least this time I don't need one of the others dragging me back," she muttered under her breath.
Scars hadn't waited around. He claimed the winnings and was gone. As much as she wanted to think Red Sand wasn't affecting her, there was a bone deep weariness hanging on her shoulders like an anchor she was dragging around. "I just need rest and more food. That's all," she said. The words were smoke, disappearing into the dark night like her convictions. "It's just the come down. I'm not addicted, I'm fine."
The hair at the back of her neck rose. She couldn't help but glance around. Everything was quiet. There wasn't anyone loitering around, no Nightwalkers, no kids, nobody. It was too fucking quiet. Her back was cold without Burger watching it. She quickened her pace, ignoring the aches and pain, hand gripping her pistol tight.
The base was just around the corner and straight ahead. The lights would be killed by this time. There was no point in advertising the Reds' headquarters to everyone.
Come on, it's not far. Maybe I can try a little jog.
The scrap of shoes against concrete decided it for her. It didn't matter how tired she felt, she was not going to take on the whole fucking gang on her own. It seemed there was nothing she could get right. Not since making that stupid decision to kill Hickory, Dickory and Dock, not since Burger, Ross and Emma. Her hands shook harder as frustration boiled to the surface. Nike channeled it to her legs, picking up into a slow jog and then a run.
As soon as she started running she could hear shouts behind her. "She's getting away!"
Nike glanced behind her. She was expecting the Wraiths hot on her heels. She had just killed their biotic in a most spectacular fashion. However instead of the hollow-eyed skull marking them Wraiths, she spotted the grinning masks of the Screamers. Her memory of that day was fuzzy at best, but one thing was for sure, she was not sticking around to figure out what was up.
Raising the pistol above her head, she fired. That should get the lookouts at the gate to rouse the others. She whipped around and levelled the pistol at the Screamers. Eyes counting those she could see in the dim light. "Get away if you don't want to join the rest of your people."
There was no reply other than a shot fired in her direction. Nike ducked, a paper thin barrier shot up reflexively. Torn between fleeing and fighting, she heard gunfire erupting behind her.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she shouted.
It was a blur as the Reds clashed with the Screamers. The Screamers would lose. They were foolhardy to try and attack so close to base. Nike's pistol ran out quickly. She resorted to her biotics, flinging them without care as her amp seared her skin.
Don't glitch, don't glitch.
The litany ran non-stop in her head even as she defended and maimed with equal measure. Her blade tight in her hand as she darted in to slash as a stray arm. She was rewarded a yelp. Teeth gritted, she swung a biotic powered fist into another's face. Bone crumpled under her knuckles. Feet shuffled to duck under a wild fist. Breathing was getting hard as her vision swarm.
A high pitched battle cry caught her attention, she swung around, blade first only to pull up short. It was Alex, rushing in with a blade in her hand.
"What the fuck?" Nike cried. "Who the hell allowed you here?"
Alex ignored her and rammed her blade into a Screamer's gut. She grinned at her success, but where one fell, there was always another to take their place. Fear sunk into Alex's face, her eyes widened, her nostrils flared. A pistol lifted, muzzle aimed right at Alex. Nike acted. She charged without care who or what she barrelled into. The bullet went wide as she slammed into the Screamer. Nike finished them with a quick upward angled stab of her blade into their chest. They shuddered, and she left them gasping for air that wouldn't come.
A scream yanked her attention back to Alex. Her arm was bleeding, a long slice running down her forearm. A Screamer loomed over her. Nike was too far to do anything. Her biotics spluttered and died. "Alex! Stab the asshole!" she shouted as she forced her legs to move. All other thoughts ceased.
It was the jolt Alex needed. She yelled a wordless cry and swung. The Screamer flinched back, taking Alex for an easy target, but the kid was nimble and fast. The blade found home just Nike drove her fist into the Screamer's gut on the other side. The Screamer crumpled.
Nike scooped Alex up and unleashed a flare. The force swept everyone around her off their feet. It didn't matter if they were friend or foe. "What are you doing?" Alex screamed. "Put me down! The fight is not done."
"You're done," she retorted. "What the fuck do you think you're doing rushing in like this? What the hell is Tiny? Did he join too?"
Alex struggled, "Do you think I'm stupid? No!"
Nike couldn't help but glance at the battlefield she was leaving. She prayed Tiny had listened and not joined the fray. Neither of them were trained, Alex had the ferocity to go with her personality but Tiny didn't. Fear ebbed and flowed in waves. She had tightened her hands unconsciously. Alex hissed in pain through clenched teeth, "What the fuck?"
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath and relaxed her grip. She had been holding onto Alex's wound. "You got to get this cut tended to now."
Alex unleashed a string of vulgarities that showed plainly how she felt, but Nike wasn't about to let the girl go despite feeling ready to collapse at any moment.
The fight was dyin. The Screamers were mostly decimated. Their foolish attack had saved Frank the trouble hunting them down one by one across the Slums. It seemed whatever plans Frank had put into motion, it involved these private fights turned massacre. As yet, the news was contained, but it wouldn't be for long. Nike couldn't be bothered, her heart was stuttering in her chest at the sight of the cut on Alex's arm. I can't fail again, not Alex, not Tiny.
By the time Nike dragged Alex back to base, she wasn't struggling any more but just being stubborn. Running the wound under water, she realised it didn't look at bad as it seemed at first. Alex asked, when she got out the suture kit, "Do you think it will scar?" Excitement colouring her voice.
Nike clenched her fists, they couldn't stop shaking. Alex looked at her. She realised she hadn't answered. "Yeah, I think it will."
Tiny spotted them and came over. "Alex, you got hurt!"
"I'll get a cool scar too!" Alex's eyes shone with pride. "Just like Nike."
Nike's brow furrowed. When did that happened? When did she turned into someone to aspire towards? "Scars are not a thing you should want," she replied gruffly. Threading the needle was impossible, not with her hands, not with her pounding head. Tiny snatched the needle and thread from her hands and threaded them easily, instead of taking it from him, she called out, "Cutter!"
Cutter lumbered over, a self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. "A good fight! What's up?"
Nike gestured towards Alex, and Cutter frowned. "Firecracker, what the hell did I teach you? You're supposed to duck, not get cut."
"But I'll get a cool scar!" Alex bounced happily.
Cutter sighed and placed a hand on Nike's shoulder. His eyes met hers. His mouth grew pinched as he took in her blood stained clothes, her inability to stand properly without bracing against something else. "Go take care of yourself. I'll handle this."
Shame burnt her face, but she was in no shape to help anyone else, not as fucked up as she was. "Thanks, Cutter," she muttered, turning to go.
Judging by the excited rise and fall of Alex's voice and Tiny's accompanying laugh through the opened door of her room, an embellished account of the battle was being told, possibly reenacted. She scrubbed her hands over her face, angry that they shook and were still shaking.
Nike never felt more like a failure.