"Weapons - what can I use?" Pheist demanded of Hywnn after releasing the magcuff securing Zihrait's right hand. Unlike the doctor, he needed no prompting. He tore his remaining limbs free from the restraints and got up, appearing much more steady on his feet than Pheist felt.
"I don't know, there's really not much in here - it's a precaution," Hwynn answered with a detectable tremor to her voice. She had backed herself as far from both the door and Zihrait as possible and her bronze complexion had paled considerably.
Disgusted, Pheist stopped to snatch up the dropped jet injector. The sedative was dosed for a Yautja, at the very least. She pivoted towards the doorway just as a thud shook the warped barrier. The plasmacaster had fallen silent, but not so the blaring alarm. It droned at intervals, not quite in time with the strobe of the emergency lighting.
Zihrait, she noted, was fortunately facing the correct direction. From the corner of her eye, she could see his mandibles were flexing in what she presumed was an indication of agitation. They flared abruptly a moment before something slammed into the doors, ripping one clear off its track and sending it careening into the room.
Throwing herself down behind one of the examination tables, Pheist winced at the resulting crash as the heavy alloy crashed into some of the medical equipment behind her. She shot back to her feet in time to gape at the size of the Hunter stepping within. He brandished no weapon, but the milky fluid dripping from his curled digits left no questions as to whether he was at least partly responsible for the chaos. Thick tubules hung over his shoulders and down about his torso, but did nothing to disguise his bulk. The few scarred and dented armor pieces he wore spoke to numerous engagements.
Beside her, Zihrait had stiffened visibly, a less than reassuring reaction to what she'd hoped might prove a comrade of his. But of course the palpable malice which glowed within the blazing white eye slits of the newcomer's biomask wasn't merely a figment of her imagination. There was no way Zihrait stood a chance against this titan, but to his credit he let loose an impressively derisive snarl as he stood facing down the other much larger male.
In answer the giant stalked forward, each step deliberate and unhurried, until all that stood between him and them was the examination table. With the toppled medical equipment and mangled door hemming them in from behind there was nowhere really to go. Before Pheist could do more than ease a little to the side, the Hunter lifted one powerful leg and shunted the table directly into them with force enough to snap the maglocks which had been holding it to the floor. The impact drove the air from her lungs and sent her sprawling backwards.
Zihrait had stumbled as well, but regained his balance quickly enough to prevent the heavy table from pinning them against the debris at their backs. He gripped the edge as she once more scrambled up, having just managed to hold onto the injector, and leapt over the table with a precision which spoke to the efficiency of his remaining senses, landing with lithe grace a few paces in front of his opponent.
Instead of rushing him, the white eyed Yautja waited in silence, the glare of the red strobe glinting off the curves of his battered and unadorned armor.
Ribs screaming still from their jarring meeting with the examination table, Pheist took in careful breaths while attempting to decipher the strange standoff she was witnessing. Zihrait paced in a small semicircle, his normally fluid movements jerky and filled with tension, his mandibles gnashing the air while the other male looked on. This lasted only a few moments before the large Hunter's focus suddenly shifted away as though entirely dismissing Zihrait as a threat.
It fell instead onto her.
Shit.
She'd trained against Riot plenty of times, but never empty handed. Her strategy was always to use an extended combistick, to keep outside of his reach, to make her own attacks fleeting and to use her smaller stature to her advantage. The jet injector could prove useful providing she let him get close enough to actually shoot him full of the - god willingly - super fast acting sedative inside. And didn't wind up decapitated in the process. Her heart rattled in a less than confident appraisal of that plan but she squared herself up so as to be able to react with efficiency nonetheless.
The air hummed with suspense.
Pure malevolence rolled off the massive Hunter as he closed in on her with intent.
Every tendon and muscle in her body tautened in anticipation of his attack.
Zihrait sprang into his larger counterpart almost faster than her eyes could track, and just as suddenly was cast off as though of no more concern than a flea. Pheist prevented herself from turning her head to check into what he'd been launched only barely, but the audible crunch of metal assured it hadn't been anything soft. She nearly lost her opportunity to skitter away from the flash of the other Yautja's talons as his arm shot forward. Diving beneath the hand, she whipped the jet injector up as she slid to his left, knowing she had probably just this one chance.
Pain exploded through her previously abused ribs. The ground rushed up to greet her violently.
Dry heaving where she lay, everything blurred. Not a good time to pass out. However, attempting to coax air past her throat wasn't fruitful. The overwhelming instinct to roll, to move, to do something other than curl up in the fetal position and wait for death managed to marshal her limbs into action.
Where was she in relation to her enemy? It felt like she'd been pistoned into a brick wall. Was he looming above her, preparing to crush her skull beneath his foot? Squinting, she tried to see past the haze of tears. Something was happening close by, she could hear it - the meaty thud of flesh meeting flesh was broken up by the droning alarm and clipped growls.
Zihrait. Great, she already owed him for saving Riot's ass and now this.
Two forms resolved in her once more clouded vision. She sucked in tiny gulps of air as her tightened sternum allowed and fought her arms and legs back under control, shoving herself up onto all fours. From there she groped to the nearest sturdy feeling object - an as yet unscathed piece of medical equipment most likely - and was beginning to haul herself up when something rudely collided with it, knocking her onto her rear.
The knifing jolt which shot through her side seemed like a good indication one or more ribs was broken.
Snarling renewed in volume as the something which had nearly smashed into her got up. Vibrant blood spattered the floor when Zihrait gave voice to his frustration.
The other Hunter, conversely, made no sound while he once more stood waiting. He either wasn't possessed of any conviction to actually fight Zihrait because he didn't consider the other worthy due to his impairment or he was toying with the smaller male. She couldn't understand which it was. Neither did it matter as much as where the jet injector had wound up. Without it, she was toast.
Gaze sliding around the room with urgency, she slid back further from Zihrait so as to not get caught up in the middle of another clash. She needed to find that sedative before the big guy lost interest in Zihrait again and took another run at her. She wouldn't survive another hit like that last one.
The two began to advance on one another almost in unison.
Then, much to her astonishment, Zihrait sank down onto a knee and lowered his head.
Pheist nearly choked. He was not just surrendering - there was no way! Before she could do anything as idiotic as kick the kneeling Yautja for his in all likelihood sensible submission, a second figure filled the doorway behind the strange giant male. The lighting wasn't the best, but she thought she glimpsed mottling on the other's dark hide which might identify him as Vechaath. His size seemed right, but as with the white eyed biomask wearing Hunter, this new Yautja wore armor.
Though she had no doubt he was perfectly aware of the new male at his back, the white eyed Hunter stared over Zihrait's kneeling form at her for a long moment before he spared a glance to the other Yautja.
He would kill her given the chance. There wasn't a question in her mind, even if his behaviour towards Zihrait had been apathetic at worst.
The new Yautja considered the tableau they presented, his head turning minutely to take in the room, his more familiarly red eye slits giving away nothing. Unlike the white eyed Hunter's, his armor possessed etchings of symbols and a deep shine which spoke to a certain level of care. Pheist had only ever seen Vechaath out of armor, but she found herself vehemently willing this to be him. He hadn't proven antagonistic towards her before, even if he'd never precisely proven amicable either.
Raising an arm, his gauntlet slid apart to reveal an energy flechette which he blithely aimed and fired up into the ceiling in the span of time it took for her to blink. Silence fell as the alarm cut off mid-wail.
At least constant blaring wouldn't be the last thing she heard.
Zihrait continued to submit with bowed head, his mandibles now drawn together. She tried to reason it made sense for him not to challenge his mentor, that this was evidence it must be Vechaath, but realized in that case she might be anything but safe. Zihrait had disregarded their belief system when he'd helped her and Riot escape the cruiser instead of leaving Riot to perish. Vechaath might be furious with him - with all of them.
The new male approached Zihrait, his wrist device disengaging and sealing itself, and the white eyed Hunter gave way to allow him through. He reached towards the moss green Yautja, talons extended, and Pheist found herself unable to do more than stare with sickening apprehension, convinced she was about to watch Zihrait be executed. Instead, one of his dreads was captured and a single abrupt jerk tore the bead which had been clasped around it free. The rigid tension held in every line of every muscle visible in his body was proof what the action had lacked in physical violence, it made up for psychologically. A faint shudder coursed through him, but he remained otherwise still and quiet. Obviously removal of the bead was a huge symbolic punishment, but the exact meaning went far beyond her knowledge of Yautja customs.
Lola would have known…
"Your presence, unruly female, has sown much discord within the clan," a rumbling baritone sounded, the unexpectedness of it stealing her ability to comprehend what was happening for a moment.
The red eye slits shifted towards her.