/TW: canon-typical gun violence\

.

Things didn't wait long to take a sharp turn to the right; going at highway speed past "trouble" and heading straight to disaster in a flash of red.

The red, it's Free's blood.

It's the first thing Agata sees when he turns into this corridor. A few splatters over the round window mounted on yet another office door, the stain slowly growing onto his sleeve, a few drops smeared over the fingers of his opposite hand. The knife – Agata can only guess it was a knife, he didn't hear any gunfshot and claws don't leave one single cut – has reached deep into his arm, fat tissue and muscular fibers exposed, though luckily it's far from a life-threatening injury. What's more worrying, is how completely still the older lion lays, slumped on the floor, threatening to fall over with the smallest push.

"I would advise you to not move."

Agata feels the tip of a gun pressing into the base of his skull. His body freezes.

"Let go of your weapon."

He does so. Resists the urge to look up as something rattles over his head, claws against cheap plaster and the squeaking of the chain supporting the neon. The pressure over his nape relents and soon the gun enters his line of vision, still pointed at him.

He doesn't have to wait long before the other animal lowers themselves in front of his face. It's a fruit bat, almost the size of his arm from toes to ears, hanging upside down from the light. She smiles, reducing her eyes to two slits of darkness.

"My, my, what do we have here?"

Agata wonders if he could grab her before she has the time to shoot him. (He knows, though, that he would never have the guts for that, that he will hesitate and therefore get himself killed.)

"You walkers never think to look up."

Agata glances to the side, at Free. If he comes back to his senses, will they have a chance? He can't see the other lion's gun anywhere. He also doesn't see the fruit bat carrying any sort of knives, nor can he imagine her strong enough to cleanly knock out a big carnivore – so, there are more of them.

Just a few minutes before, he didn't have a weapon pointed at his head, no; he and Melon were going through the third floor, searching for the other lions. The hybrid was grumbling under his breath, wondering where "these stupid big cats" have gone, and Agata remembers noticing despite himself how himself has become the only one Melon calls "kitty". The thought is ridiculous now. He feels a nervous chuckle bubble up his throat. (Or maybe it's a just-as-nervous sob.)

They had done the thing every horror movie warns you about – part ways – Melon going down and him going up when they reached the stairs at the opposite end of the corridor. Perhaps the first thing that should have alerted them is how the other lions didn't answer their phones when they tried to call to tell them they were heading out.

(Instinctively, his hand feels for the USB key in his pocket, one of the two they copied as many files as they could onto. He wonders if he will ever get the chance to plug it into a computer again.)

It was especially out of character for Dolph. Dolph always leaves his phone on vibrate, and he always picks it up. Did they – whoever they are, but most certainly the Chimera Hunters – did they get him already?

Does he, Agata, has a way, anything, to warn off the others with? Miguel, Dolph if he's still in the run, Melon of course… All while staying alive, preferably. Maybe he could-

"Ah, here they are."

The fruit bat's voice jolts him out of his frantic planning. He turns his head just a tiny bit, trying to get a glimpse of whoever she spotted, but the corridor is empty on both sides. It's only a few seconds later that he hears their footsteps echoing against the beige walls.

From what he gathered from Melon's story, this is Grace – the navy-blue suit, droopy ears and wrinkled skin, the sunglasses and immaculate fur. She's carrying a gun with all the nonchalance of someone who's used to death. She's alone.

"Where is Yamaji?" the bat asks. "Jun told me she was trying to find him after she got this lion there."

(With a flap of her wing, she points to Free.)

"I'm looking for them too." Her tone is so calm, it sounds like someone asked her how to find the nearest post office instead of where other murderers are. "I ran into another lion, but he turned tail and fled. I didn't want to shoot and alert all the neighborhood. We aren't after them anyway."

"What should I do with him?"

The gun taps lightly against the side of his head and Agata tenses up. Despite the sunglasses, he swears he can feel Grace's gaze on him. Cold and calculating. Melon told him her eyes were red and he finds that fitting.

"Leads him into the conference room. I'm going to bring this one there too, keep an eye on him."

The fruit bat doesn't comply immediately. Even with her upside-down face, the lion would say she's confused. Grace was already bending down to grab Free's legs, but she pauses then, glances up at them.

"Let's see if they are precious enough to serve as bait, shall we?"

"Oh! Sure! This way, the lion."

The bat gestures with one wing, taps against his temple with the barrel again. Agata sees no other option, so he obeys.

He has barely had the time to take a couple of steps forward, cautious to avoid any sudden movements, when shouts erupt somewhere behind him. He turns before thinking, but there isn't anyone, the sounds must come from the nearby staircase. It seems like two animals fighting, though it only lasts for a few seconds before the shrill noise of breaking glass pierces through the air. He hears someone say something, he can't make out the words but he can recognize that voice just fine. He breathes a silent sigh of relief. If Melon manage to get out of the building, the supremacists might drop the chase for tonight.

He gets a glimpse of Grace's face contorting into anger before it goes back to impassibility – and he doesn't know what's scarier.

"Hurry," she barks at the fruit bat, which had frozen just like Agata. "You don't want to still be trapped in this corridor when they come back, do you?"

The lion turns away and starts walking again even before the bat tells him to. He doesn't want the two animals to see the slight smile that has grazed his lips.

(They won't come back. They – Melon – would know better.)

(His smile morphs into something else and he tries to ignore the feeling scratching at his insides, deep inside his chest.)

The conference room is just one big empty space, with no windows of any kind and the same sort of neon blasting it in cold, artificial light. Grace drops Free on the ground like he doesn't matter and walks to them.

"Good job," she tells the bat – but her expression doesn't change in the slightest. "I'm taking it from here."

There is her hand on his shoulder and before Agata knows it, he finds himself face to the wall, his cheek pressed against it. In turn, Grace points her gun at him.

They wait.

Two more animals arrive, two horses – one light bay and the other with her coat a pattern of white and tan. Grace acknowledges them with a nod of her head. They are, thankfully, empty-handed.

They wait some more.

Through the rushing of his blood by his ears, Agata nearly missed the approaching footsteps.

"What a nice assembly we have here…"

He cranes his neck just the tiniest bit, painfully aware of the gun barrel pressed against his nape. Of course – he would recognize his voice anywhere – Melon is standing in the doorframe, weapon pointed straight at Grace.

You could hear a pin drop.

Then- the room erupts into chaos. Panic shrieks, someone barks to "drop the gun, now! Or!", the hybrid tries to speak over them, and-

"Shut up!"

All eyes converge upon Grace. Muscles tensed, breath controlled, eyes surveying the room – she's just as aware of the delicate situation they are in as the rest of them, lion and supremacists alike, but she for one managed to stay level-headed. She's a dog; she should by nature be comfortable following orders, instead of taking the lead. One thing though: when bloodhounds are on track, they won't listen to anyone.

And quickly, Agata notices her attention is entirely focused on Melon.

"If you shoot," she says calmly, "he dies."

The young lion can't help a surprised yelp when her grip on his arm tightens, the dull ache in his shoulder threatening to morph into acute pain as the joint nears its limit. If she forces it back any further, she will dislocate it. Melon growls.

"That's only if you're quick enough, bitch."

"Are you ready to bet on it?" she asks, and there is an instant of silence. Agata holds his breath. "Fine. Jun?"

"Y-yes?"

"Even if I get shot, I want you to kill the lion."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the roan mare point her gun at him. It's just a dot at the edge of his vision – a small black hole at the edge of his life, eager to expand. He barely dares to breathe, feeling acutely Grace's weapon lodged at the back of his skull every time his chest expands. (And for how much longer?)

"Now that I think about it…" He hears a hint of amusement in Grace's voice, contrasting the serious-but-caring look she has going on – droopy ears, pristine suit, the perfect social worker. "Since you are here, how about a deal? If you don't drop the gun, they die. How does that sound to you?"

She's crazy, Agata realizes. She does not only hate hybrids, no, and maybe it's but an excuse despite how deep her aversion runs – an excuse to give in to her instincts, to track and to hunt, to draw the blood her eyes drown in. And Grace will enjoy pressing the trigger, he's sure of it. Hybrids just happen to be so convenient to redirect, fuel, crystallize the violence she craves. This way, she could gather followers too. A convenient, almost acceptable mask to hide the evil under.

He can feel her muscles tensing up. Anticipating.

"Should I count to ten? Like with children?"

He watches Melon bite back anger, feline eyes darting around the room – taking in the four supremacists, the unconscious body of Free in a corner, the gun drawn and ready to blow the Congo lion's brains out. He comes back to Grace – no. Agata realizes he's looking at him. Staring, even. And even for the life of him – ah, how fitting… – Agata could not guess what he's thinking.

"Nine."

There is only one way out too.

"Eight."

("You think a practical guy like me has no right to be the boss?")

"Seven."

Dolph and Jinma come up behind the hybrid, panting, weapons drawn – and stop. They both look at the standby. They both come to the very same conclusion Agata already reached. Cut the snake's head, and its body will flail around helplessly until it bleeds out. There are now four against four – five if Free comes around to the sounds of gunfire. There will be casualties, yes. But in the chaos, there will be survivors too.

Agata wants to say something, tell the other lions goo-… – but he can't even think it, the word scares him – and he worries that even the smallest thing would set the room ablaze. The air is so thick with tension he feels like it can't quite get to his lungs.

"Six."

"Stop."

"Oh? Would y-... you…"

Her voice falters as Melon points the gun to his own head.

"What is it, bitch? Isn't that you want?"

There is something else in the hybrid's voice than mocking challenge, something that trembles behind the high-pitch, something small as his words boom across the room. Everyone's frozen.

Grace laughs.

"Please, don't. This would be anticlimactic, don't you think?"

Agata wonders if they saw the way Melon swallowed his saliva, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, the way his grip around the gun is so tight that it shakes. His attention doesn't drift away from Grace – and the lion desperately wants it to, just a glance in his direction would be enough, he wants to see, to know, know if this is just bluff or if the hybrid thinks he finally found the way out he was looking for – wants their eyes to meet, wants Melon to see him shaking his head. Please, don't. He notices the safety is off on the gun, trigger almost pulled – just a hair away from firing. Even an accident, just a spasm of his hand, and it could be over. And at this point, Agata doesn't even think about how, if Melon does press the trigger, they might shoot him too.

"Then let the lions go," the hybrid demands, his voice now more assured – his grip on it tightening as the one around the gun loosens just a bit. (Did he decide against dying there and then? Is that what it means?) "And after that, you can do what you want with me. If not, you can choke on your climax – say bye-bye to your little lynching ceremony, um, or whatever you had planned ?"

There is a beat, then Grace lets Agata's arm go – but the barrel of her gun doesn't move an inch.

"Fine." (And he would be damned if that didn't sound a tiny bit disappointed.) "Drop the gun."

Melon hesitates – and the bloodhound growls, so close to Agata's ear that it makes him flinch.

"Now."

There are eight guns in total in the room, in its mere twenty-something square meters. If just one, one animal makes just one misstep… the whole thing will turn into a bloodbath. Hands are cramping up, fingers tight over the triggers. At this point, anything could light up the fuse.

The weapon hits the ground, metal on wood. The sound echoes in the tense silence.

Melon raises his hands in surrender.

"Let them go," he repeats.

Agata feels a push in his back, hard enough to send him stumbling forward. Caught by surprise, he trips, falls to the ground, the impact reverberating painfully in his knees and up his arms. When he raises his head, he sees Dolph marching to him, Jinma already kneeling next to Free. The mare – Jun? – has taken Melon's arm, pulling him to where Grace is waiting.

It's at this point their eyes finally meet, for the briefest of instants, before Melon's dart away, up and down the lion's body, checking for injuries – then back at his face. He seems relieved.

"Bye, kitty," he mouths – and Jun takes a hold of his neck, forces him to turn away and pass the door.

Agata only hears him hiss at the mare, then muffled sounds of orders, feet going down the stairs, then car doors opening and closing. His ears are ringing.

He finds himself staring at the floor. There is a single drop of blood, probably from when Grace hit him in the mouth. Now that he thinks about it, he does taste the copper. Also, he has fallen back down, his heels digging up into the back of his thighs. He should get up. Go back to the mansion.

"Bye, kitty."

This… this can't be goodbye.

He wants to scream. Or maybe to cry. He swats away Dolph's hand, gets back to his feet on his own. It feels like lava running through his veins instead of blood.

How can this be goodbye?!

.

Please don't hate me :P