The stench of bodily fluids permeated the air of the station despite its state of the art recirc system. Hwynn was accustomed to such aromas, fortunately, but it didn't make the trip from the ship to her lab any less grotesque.
It had taken days for her to even realize she'd been transferred to a smaller craft, one different to where she'd initially been housed in her cage, and only then because she'd recovered enough of her faculties to note the minute navigational adjustments. Whatever vessel she had been held on previously had been so large as to make such movements indistinguishable. But she'd only had a few hours to ponder the meaning of the change in transportation before they'd docked at what she had eventually discovered to be her former work site.
He'd obviously systematically slaughtered the UAA troops which had had the misfortune of being assigned to investigate and secure the research facility following the attack the Yautja had launched before coming back to fetch her. Their corpses - or sometimes merely fragments of them - littered the hallways, forcing her to overstep puddles of blood and internal organs alike. It didn't make her nauseous. Not much did.
Her lab was in the same state of disarray as when she'd last set eyes on it, before he'd choked her into oblivion, and stepping foot inside brought on a bout of surrealism it took her a moment to shake off. Had it really only been days?
Metal scraped on metal as he shoved aside toppled medical equipment, white eyed mask scanning the contents of the room before coming to rest upon her expectantly. He removed the piece of armor and set it onto the one upright examination table, then flicked his hand in what she assumed was an indication for her to get on with 'fixing' him. Her mind had been racing from the moment she'd realized where he'd taken her and this was the only explanation for why which made any sort of sense.
"I don't even know what was done to you," she attempted to make him understand despite knowing it would make no difference. If she didn't do this - if she couldn't do this - he would kill her. He'd made it perfectly clear, via Astridhe, that this had been his sole purpose in keeping her alive. Why he'd originally removed her from the station at all, she wasn't sure.
It didn't require any outward overtures of malice for her to read the cold promise in his stare. Resigned, Hwynn searched amongst the chaos for the tools she'd need, not even bothering to prepare an injection of sedative. As already proven, it'd have no effect on him even if he allowed her to administer it, which she doubted would be the case. A local anesthetic might have numbed the area, but why should she spare him any pain after what he'd put her through?
After gathering the laser scalpel and other instruments, she approached and motioned for him to get onto the table, brow furrowing when he failed to even acknowledge the silent instruction. "You need to lie down, I can't do this with you standing."
Hands curling into fists, he gazed down at her obstinately a beat longer before lowering himself to one knee.
Not what she'd intended, but she got the feeling arguing further would do nothing but anger him. Grabbing an antiseptic wipe, she hesitated before cleansing the thick column of his neck, passing the wipe over the pebbled gray hide and then almost reaching to push the heavy tubules laying over his shoulders behind them and out of the way. She checked the motion, aware of the supposed sensitivity of said appendages, which contained a considerable number of nerve endings. "They're in the way," she informed him instead and waited while he swept the dreads back with visible impatience.
The moment her fingers closed on the scalpel, she sensed his attention sharpen, glued to her with an intensity which caused her to break out into an immediate sweat. She exhaled to steady herself and called to mind images of the internal structures of the Yautja cervical column as she mapped out where to make her incision. A thickened ridge of dermis seemed to indicate the site of the original procedure which had removed his ability to vocalize, and with his frosted blue irises burning into her, she applied the laser, reopening the scar. To his credit, apart from a slight twitch of his tightened mandibles, he did not react, and thanks to the cauterizing nature of the scalpel, minimal bleeding resulted.
Hwynn inserted a small clamp to hold the edges of the incision open, exposing his larynx. Immediately, and to her surprise, she noted how enlarged his thyroid ligaments appeared, as well as the misshapen nature of the thyroid cartilage. This certainly wasn't something which could have been done surgically. Trauma? It was possible vocal fold paralysis could be causing him to be unable to vocalize if that was the case. All too aware her actions were the subject of dangerous scrutiny, she set about thinning the ligaments with the laser and shaving down areas of the cartilage which might be causing pressure on the vocal folds within, all the while having no idea whether this would make a difference or not. This was not the correct treatment by any means, nor even a typical presentation of vocal cord paralysis that she was aware of. And again, she wasn't this type of doctor, but since her life depended upon it, trying something seemed a better option than telling him she couldn't help.
It was as she was wielding the scalpel, palms damp, concentrating intently on the delicate movements that it occurred to her she could potentially save herself with one slice of the laser. Kneeling before her, throat laid open, the huge male was in as vulnerable a state as possible. She could sever his carotid. His trachea. It would take a few moments for him to suffocate or exsanguinate, but once inflicted, the damage would be irreversible. He would die. It was merely a matter of whether he would be capable of killing her first or not.
Her own pulse had increased as she wavered with indecision, weighing her options. If she couldn't fix whatever was preventing him from vocalizing, if this didn't work - or even if, by some miracle, it did - there was no reason for him to allow her to live any longer. He'd already more than made apparent his derision for humankind. Would he throw her to his hounds finally? Or just strangle her here, finishing what he had started before?
Too late, she realized his already rigid frame had tensed further and her limbs froze with the impossible certainty he had guessed what she'd been contemplating. When his body jerked into motion she had no time to react and was knocked to the floor as his broad shoulder connected with her sternum while he spun, raising his arm and discharging some sort of projectile from his gauntlet. Astonishingly, from her position on the ground, she saw it strike something just outside the warped laboratory door frame despite there being nothing visible present.
A grunt was issued followed by a crackling blue pulse which outlined the cloaked Yautja lurking in the corridor, and Hwynn had barely registered that the alien was holding some kind of weapon before an arrow thunked into the blue-eyed male's torso. Without flinching or making a sound, he made a rotational flick with his wrist, which she discovered a second later as he wrenched his arm back, was to gather the cord which had been attached to the projectile he'd shot his enemy with, jolting the other male forward and off balance. Snarling as he was dragged into the room further by another powerful tug, the cloaked Yautja swiftly drew another arrow from the quiver at his side while his camouflage continued to flicker in and out, but misfired as he was yet again jerked forward, the arrow merely grazing his opponent's arm. Incensed by this, he caught the cord up in his own fist and attempted to set his feet, pulling back, only to have his claws slide ineffectively across the decking as the blue-eyed male yanked him ever closer. He waited too long to extend his wrist blade. Even as he severed the cord, the blue-eyed male surged up, closing the remaining distance between them impossibly fast and blocking a slash from the now free Yautja. Holding the wrist blade at bay, he snatched a handful of arrows from the pouch the cloaked Yautja wore and plunged their barbed heads through the eye slit of his enemy's biomask, prompting a feral screech from the other. Stunned, she stared as the mortally wounded alien pitched to the floor and thrashed at its punctured mask for several moments before falling still. The blue-eyed male grabbed his own biomask and stalked from the lab as he donned it, not sparing her so much as a glance.
As she pushed herself up, breath rushing in and out, she heard bangs and growls from somewhere further down the hallway. Her injured arm was throbbing from having landed on it and she peeled off the green tinged surgical gloves she wore before desperately seizing the laser scalpel from the decking. It was better than no weapon. Why other Yautja were here and attacking the blue-eyed male, she didn't understand. Obviously they were not from the same clan. She waited for the sounds of battle to dissipate and then waited longer, eventually peering out through the ruined doorway, heart racing. She would find someplace to hide in the station and hope the Yautja killed each other. The blue-eyed male would have no use for her now. If he found her, he wouldn't let her survive.
Under any other circumstances Pheist might have appreciated the fact Riot was going somewhat easy on her. The kehrite was empty save for them, and as such her pained grunts and shallow breathing echoed tauntingly off the domed walls, driving her to push into his attacks when she knew she should be retreating. Instead of physical repercussions for her rashness, he berated her with increasingly irritated growls and continuously struck her combistick out of her grasp, forcing her to retrieve it again and again. Perspiration clung to her lashes and rolled down the back of her neck, but thanks to the skinsuit, beneath it she was fairly comfortable apart from the area which had been patched.
"You're not doing me any favours," she snapped at him this last time he sent her weapon clattering across the padded flooring.
You rush, he signed back with frustrated gestures. Not thinking, no plan.
Rather than return to the circle to continue sparring once she'd fetched the combistick, she planted one end of the weapon and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch her breath. He wasn't wrong, of course, the insufferable idiot. She just wasn't good at waiting. And waiting was what they'd been doing ever since returning to the cruiser. Biding their time until Vechaath saw fit to let them know what exactly it was they'd be expected to do to regain the little respect they'd lost from the others. "We could just go. We don't need to stay here," she said suddenly, giving voice to the thought which had first sprouted in her mind a few nights prior while lying beside him.
His posture had already changed before she even signed the suggestion for him, tensing from the fluid combat stance. Silence hung heavy in the space between them as he regarded her. There were no rolling clicks to indicate he was considering it, though she could sense he was thinking, and that he was conflicted.
Because he saw leaving as an act of cowardice? Wasn't it?
Because despite having been an outcast all his life, this was the only home he knew?
When he raised his hands to finally respond, they moved deliberately slowly, as though he wished to impress upon her the importance of what he was imparting. Leave now, without honour - we will be bad bloods.
Pheist straightened with a sigh and retracted the combistick. She crossed over to him. She didn't know precisely what being a 'bad blood' entailed, but could guess. "Damn your honour code…"
Deciding there wasn't much point continuing to train, they returned to his quarters, where she immediately shucked the smartweave and rinsed beneath the steaming water in the wetroom. Riot hadn't been forced to work too hard to absolutely own her in the kehrite, so she wasn't surprised he didn't need a shower, but she was surprised he didn't join her anyhow. She shrugged into her robe when finished and found him standing before the rack housing their armor, oddly enough.
"Daydreaming about slaughtering something?" she mused while padding over to investigate what it was he was so absorbed in. His wrist device was open, and projected into the air above it was a holographic image which she immediately recognized. "What is that?" she asked, stomach already sinking in full recognition of just what it was.
He rumbled low before confirming her worst nightmare. Target.
Bile rose into the back of her throat as she stared at the transparent image of the UAA flagship Solaris, which she'd formerly been stationed aboard and which had mounted the attack on the Yautja vessel she'd initially encountered Riot on.