Nike eyed the comings and goings. A cigarette in her finger, smoke trailing from her mouth. Something was up. Everyone could feel it, from the lowliest of the lows to the inner circle. But Nike wasn't in the know. Neither were Cutter or Scars. Frank was either holed up with Tenner running numbers or out with either herself or Krycek. She grimaced, burning her lips on the short stub of a cig. Her hands shook as she fished for a fresh stick.
What was the purpose of these fights? Gangs were one by one being decimated and reduced. Word had spread. The Reds were expanding, again. The Dowager allowed Frank no new members, but her reach was dimnishing as the raids continued. It wasn't private fights any longer but outright raids in broad daylight. With that came more ambushes, it was no longer safe to walk the streets as a Red. Meg's cinema wasn't healthy to visit any longer, not unless you want to return to base with a stab wound.
Between the fights at the Underbelly and the raids Frank conducted, Nike spent days in a Red Sand induced haze. Coming off one to start another right after. She swung between two states like a pendulum: fully energised, eyes keen, unable to be still or complete exhaustion, hands shaking like an addict.
Like an addict. The thought ground on well worn grooves in her mind.
Her glitches were thankfully accepted as Red Sand crashes. Nike was in no condition to hide them any longer. After every battle, Nike would walk under her own power, if she was able, back to base only to collapse into bed. Alex and Tiny knew what they needed to do, alternatingly coaxing energy drinks into her, placing wet towels over her overheating amp. Vaguely, she wondered if Krycek was suffering similarly or not.
Nike tried to peel her eyes open, but they were glued shut by dried tears. She groaned, throwing the now dry towel onto the floor and rolled onto her back. Hands rubbing at her eyes, she blinked to clear her vision. Her yellowing and cracked ceiling came into focus. Muscles so sore, that they throbbed in time to her pulse.
The door creaked open. Light footsteps shuffled into the room. She sighed but kept her eyes on the ceiling. "What is it? Another raid later?" she asked, her voice raspy and hoarse, her throat raw.
Have I been screaming all day yesterday? She couldn't remember. Echoes of cries and gunfire rang out in her head, flashes of red and black flickered in her mind's eye, the scent of iron and sick filled her nose, but when she grasped for it, the sensations slipped through her fingers like hopes and wishes. They weren't things for her.
"No raids," Tiny replied.
"A fight?"
"Nope," he popped the P.
"Nothing?" she levered herself up onto her elbows.
"Scars didn't say there was one," he replied, shoving the energy drink packet into her face.
Nike grimaced. It seemed it was all she was subsisting on these days, energy drink and ration bars. Her stomach churned at the sight of it, but she reached for it anyway, glaring at her shaking hands. I'll be better once I've eaten.
Tiny hurried her to the showers, making impatient noises and complaining that she stank. Nike sniffed at herself and agreed. Between all the blood, both hers and her enemies, and sweat from all her exertions, she smell more like something the dog dragged in. The Burger shaped hole was still there, but the ache in her chest had lessened. Maybe she was numbed by Red Sand, maybe it was time that did the trick. But she felt guilty for not thinking about Burger or the others as often. I must keep them alive in me. That's the only way I won't make the same mistakes again.
"Shower!" Tiny insisted.
Nike sighed and handed the empty pack to him. "Where's the Firecracker?"
He shrugged. "Frank got her running some errands."
"Heard anything about all these raids? What is the street saying?"
"It's dangerous out there now wearing Reds' colours."
She nodded. Tiny crushed the empty pack in his hands. "Word came in via messenger last night. It's from the Dowager."
One brow rose.
"Sounds like she is summoning Frank to the Underbelly."
"When?"
"I don't know," he hissed. "I wasn't supposed to be listening in."
"Hey, hey, you did good. If you hear anything, let me know. Frank is planning something, and it's fucking dangerous. These raids are not the end of it. I think he is gunning for the Dowager."
Tiny frowned at her. "Shower! Now!"
Nike chuckled and rose to her feet, bracing against the wall as her legs protested. I'll feel better after a shower.
Music played softly from her omni-tool, echoing across the space. Water sluiced down her back. It followed the grooves and furrows of weary muscles, finding every single open cut along the way. The water was ice cold, and it wasn't helping loosening up the stiffness across her shoulders. Nike bent over, hissing at the pull of her back. Her hand found the bar of soap. She worked it up into a lather and ran it all over her hair and body. Her hands shook, and the soap slipped from her grip.
"Fuck."
Eyes opening only to feel a sharp stab of pain pierced her eyes when soap got into them. All she could managed was a wordless cry of frustration as she lifted her face towards the shower head. Cold water poured down. It was a vain attempt to wash out the soap and drown the anger directed at herself. It only did one of those things well. Her hands sought out the shower knob a couple of times before her fingers could grip it. They shook too damn much. Every slip just made her angrier. Rivulets of water trickled her skin, down her spine, between her breasts, dripping off the thatch of black hair between her legs.
There was a gnawing in her stomach that no amount of energy drinks or rations bars could quench. She knew what it was, but she didn't want to say it outloud. I'm not addicted, I'm not a Red Sand fiend. Her thoughts sounded hollow even to her.
Catching sight of herself in a stained mirror, she could see how much she had changed. Her hair was no longer a shiny red. Must have been from the water. It'll be fine after it's dry. Her cheeks were craters like someone had reached into her face and pulled all flesh from it, leaving only skin and bone. Dark rings circled her eyes, made all the more stark against her ashen skin. I'll just have to eat and sleep better. It's the pace of fights that's the problem. She grimaced, she wouldn't have recognised the face in the mirror if the reflection didn't move when she did.
Sighing, she towelled herself off. Before she could get completely dry, she heard a familiar voice speaking. "Heard they scraped her off the ground yesterday. Frank gave her a double dose again."
Scars, fucking Scars. Never knowing when to shut his fucking mouth. She sighed, ressumed what she was doing. Then, a snort, loud and derisive, echoed against the tiled walls. "You'd never find me that way," another replied. "I'm the better biotic anyway."
She stiffened, her ire rose instantly. Fucking Krycek…
"Shame, she's such a bitch. I bet she can do things with those biotics of hers," Scars went on.
A chuckle, this time closer, and a slightly laboured pant. Clothes were shrugged off and feet padded on wet tiles towards her. "You want to her?" Incredulity dripping from every word.
"A pussy is a pussy," Scars pointed out. He rounded the wall that blocked the showers from view from the rest of the base. His head tilted back to look at Krycek who was limping behind him. It was only at Krycek's reaction at the sight of her that Scars realised she was there.
Fear flickered across his eyes. He was probably reminded of the last time he tried to say something of this sort to her. The blue flames that ran up her left arm probably drove the point home. The grin that split his mouth was brittle at best.
Nike's attention however was on Krycek. "Just the asshole I was looking for," she growled, her eyes pinned on fucking Thomas or Krycek, whatever he wanted to go by.
Krycek frowned, his gaunt look matched her own. She recognised Stitches' handiwork across his back and arms. The way he held himself stiffly, it was obvious every step hurt. She knew that pain well.
"Hey Nike, fancy seeing you here," Scars said.
Her eyes darted over to Scars. "I wasn't talking to you."
"You can't offer a man such a tease and say that, Nike girl." Scars approached, one hand rubbing at his crotch.
Her biotics flared brighter. Her eyes flicked over to Scars. Krycek chuckled and leaned against the wall, content to watch this play out. "Scars, I suggest you fuck off now," she growled, low and dangerous.
"That just makes me hotter," he glanced over his shoulder and Krycek lifted a hand, biotics whipped up in a flash. The towel she was holding loosely in front of herself was yanked from her hands before she realised what was happening.
Nike sighed, more annoyed than embarrassed or afraid with having her naked form on display. Scars' grin widened, one hand gripped the towel around his waist tightly, while the other was still busy with his crotch. His eyes bulged so far she feared it was going to get stuck that way. Scars' leering gaze was something she was familiar with. She rested her palms on her hips, uncaring how she was standing naked in front of them. Krycek met her gaze evenly, ignoring all she had on display.
"Scars, I'm not repeating myself."
"Come on, I'll make you see the stars," Scars coaxed, reaching out towards her chest.
Anger flashed right to its boiling point. She reached out and grabbed Scars' arm. He had no chance to pull back or retreat. She twisted and pivoted, flipping Scars over her shoulder. He slammed onto the floor, water splashing up. Air rushed out of his lungs as he groaned. She looked at Krycek, "You're going to help your buddy here?"
"Not my buddy."
"Not? You helped him with my towel," she pointed out.
"Thought it'll be fun."
"Was it?" she spat, her biotics flared. Scars yelped, scrambling back on his butt, losing his towel along the way. "Fuck off Scars," this she growled without looking at him. "My business here is with Krycek."
As Scars took off sans towel, butt naked, it was only then Krycek peeled himself off the wall. His biotics whooshed to life. "Shall we continue our little conversation the last time?"
"Why not?"
A voice rasped from her omni-tool, a song thumped with a solid beat as rapid fire words spewed forth like an assault rifle.
I like it when trouble brews, I won't dare change
I like it when there's turbulence on my airplanes
She was tied to Krycek in a way she wasn't with anyone else. She couldn't remember anything beyond life on the streets. It was all she knew.
I like it when I sense things I can't see yet
Swimmin' with sharks when they ain't feed yet
Anything before was shrouded in a mystery of haze and half formed nightmares. How much of her Red Sand fuelled memories could she trust?
'Cause I like high chances that I might lose
I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy
There was much she was uncertain about but she knew fire, she knew pain, she knew the blonde hair boy, Thomas Krycek, was there. He held the key to memories she had lost.
I like tall buildings so I can leap off of 'em
I go hard wit' it no matter how dark it is
"What's your beef with me?" Nike asked. "We were in the same fucking home, and somehow now you hate me. Why?"
"Home?" Krycek laughed. The sound tasted bitter. "That was no fucking home, that was a place where unwanted kids were abadoned. What did you think it was? Some happy place you play games all day long? It's a hell hole. We're kept in barracks, forced to listen tyrants masquerading as teachers that kept us trapped there."
Nike frowned. Was it that bad? Is that why I don't remember? Did I block it all out?
"You don't believe me," he snorted. "Look at you, you don't remember shit and still you don't believe me."
"I don't care about your hurt feelings. We're obviously done with the place. We're here with the Reds. We survived that place. I'm asking why are you angry with me? What have I done?"
"Other than got me kicked out from the Guardians? Other than fucking up my arm?" he spat, gesturing with his badly healed arm. "I might be a biotic, but the Dowager got loads of other biotics lining up to fight for her. You fucked me over!"
Nike clenched her jaw. "That came with the fucking job! These are risks I take too."
He snorted, the noise short and sharp. "You were the one who ditched me in a burning building. You escaped without me. You left me alone." Each sentence was punctuated with a flare, each larger than the previous. Tiles shattered and the pieces were caught in a field around him.
She blinked. That was it? He was pissed because of that? Her biotics wrapped around her in a barrier. Anger ran straight to her head. Frustration and fear made her lash out. "I fucking fell! I hope you fucking remember that part!" With a jerk of her hand, she sent a lance made of pure biotic will towards Krycek.
He staggered, back slamming against the wall as the lance smashed into his field. His hands went wide, dropping his towel to keep his balance. Blood rushed to his face as he covered his crotch with one hand. Nike laughed, the anger pulsing against her temples. How stupid they must looked, two people facing off in the showers, naked as the day they were born. One of the pipes was busted and water was being sprayed into the air. The sunlight streaming in from the row of tiny half length windows. The light hit the water just right and a rainbow sprang to life between them.
"That's it, we'll settle it now!" Krycek shouted, his face darkening. He launched himself into a charge. Blue engulfed him as he hurtled through space towards her. She gritted her teeth and strengthened her barrier. Her amp flaring to life. Her biotics leapt eagerly into action. As if the back to back fights and raids hadn't fed its hunger, and it was eager for more blood.
As their fields slammed against each other, the prickling at the back of her mind roared, and turning into a vice wrapped over her temples. It squeezed and squeezed, a pressure mounting from within and without. Krycek's teeth were bared, sweat beading across his brow. Nike let a cry of frustration ripped from her throat.
Hands gripped arms, and they wrapped themselves in a wrestling match. Neither was gaining an upper hand in this battle. Fists found flesh, knees found ribs. Their blows hit harder and faster than a regular human's. They were biotics, trained by the streets, honed in the ring. They weren't just dangerous, they were deadly. This was a fight neither was going to just walk away from. Pride was at stake, a connection between them that stretched years tied them together.
With a field of broken tiles as their battlefield, they clashed over and over again. Fists and biotics flung; blood, spit and sweat splattered across the shattered ceremics. Krycek's fist found its home in her stomach. Air rushed out of her lungs as she doubled over. Nike kept a tight grip on her biotics and Pulled on him. He was jerked off balance, head slamming against the floor. Hands reached for his neck as she tried to choke him out but a biotic push forced her off. She rolled to lessen the impact. He rose, bits of tiles stuck to his face, slicing cuts into his skin. Black fury radiated from him. She panted, amp throbbing and searing in turns. Her old concerns of glitching were long abandoned. It was mere minutes since the fight broke out but Nike could feel fatigue weighing down on her limbs. This confrontation might be ill-advised, but she was beyond such concerns.
"The Reds isn't big enough for the both of us," Krycek snapped.
"There is only one Champion here," Nike retorted, "and that's not you."
Perspiration rolled down her body, finding all the cuts she had picked up. Krycek's initial embarrassment of being naked forgotten, he raised his arms and got into a fighting stance. His penis hung limp between his legs, just as her breasts heaved with every breath she took. They were just two people ejected into the streets too young. They were in a head on collision course for a long time; Nike with the fuzzy memories of her early years, Krycek with scars and memories that marked him.
Twin cries from the biotics of the Reds rang out as they charged, all bared teeth and feral fury. Biotics lashed out like whips, they yanked and pushed. Fists flew and grunts of pain were forced through clenched teeth.
"Stop!" Someone was shouting at them. "Krycek! Nike! Fucking stop this now!" A voice roared their names over and over.
Nike couldn't spare the gathering crowd a glance. This was life or death. She had no intention to leave until this was settled one way or another. The voices grew louder, but nobody was foolish enough to come between them.
A loud boom pierced through her haze of anger, as one they jerked their heads towards the source. It was Frank, his Spectre-grade shotgun was pointed up at the ceiling. Smoking wisps floated from the muzzle. It was the opening it seemed he was looking for. Scars tackled Krycek to the ground, Cutter pushed her into the wall. "What the fuck!" she roared, bucking against the weight that kept her face smushed against the wall.
Krycek was putting up a similar struggle on the other side. Scars being lighter than Krycek was having a hard time keeping him down.
"What the hell are you thinking?" Cutter hissed into her ear. "The whole operation is coming to fruition and you're picking a fight with Krycek? Why are you jeopardising everything?"
"What the hell are you talking about? I did no such thing. He started it!"
"Scars says otherwise. You're on the fucking brink here."
"Whose side are you on anyway?" Nike growled, the fight going out of her as Cutter compressed her chest against the wall. She barely had breath to speak.
"Firecracker, get her fucking clothes here."
She couldn't see, but she heard a pair of smaller feet racing away and coming back. Meanwhile, Krycek was roaring in fury. "Hold him down!" Scars shouted. Krycek's voice was getting muffled as more people piled onto him.
"Here!" Alex panted.
There was a ruffle of fabric and then Cutter pushed away from her. Nike could breathe again. "Put some fucking clothes on."
She wrenched the clothes from his grip and roughly pulled them on. Cutter was the only one she trusted not to be constantly undressing her in his mind. He was always respectful, no matter who they were.
"Are you going to be stupid again?" he growled, one hand gripping her shoulder.
"No," she replied sullenly. The crash as adrenaline drained from her limbs was harsh. Her hands trembled uncontrollably and she stuffed them into her pockets.
Alex snorted. 'No' she mouthed mockingly, rolling her eyes at Nike.
Frank fired his shotgun again. The sound was deafening, Nike couldn't help but flinched. "Stop this now!" he roared, this time levelling the shotgun at Krycek.
It took Krycek a second to recognise what was happening and he too gave in. Scars hauled him to his feet. He wasn't given the courtesy of clothes. Frank glared at Krycek. Nike noticed Frank's lingering eyes on Krycek's privates. He cleared his throat and turned his gaze to her.
"I don't care what the fuck is going on between you two. You're both with me or against me," he shouted.
There was only one correct answer. The shotgun's muzzle swung from Krycek to herself and back again. Nike shot Alex a look and she shuffled out of the direct line of fire from the shotgun. Nobody spoke. The splatter as water from hit the tiled floor filled the silence.
"Our accession is at hand, do not fuck it up for us," he warned before stalking off.
Cutter all but dragged her out of the showers. She had no choice in the matter. Hot, sweaty and sticky, she stumbled along behind Cutter, keeping a watchful eye on Krycek as she went. He met her gaze. The look they exchanged only promised violence postponed.
Lyrics taken from What's Up Danger by Blackway & Black Caviar