by shike77
Chapter III
"If you touch me,
you'll understand what happiness is…"
- 'Memory,' Cats, the musical. Andrew Lloyd and Webber.
Hee. ^_^ *points and laughs at herself* I is procrastinating again. The kitchen needs to be cleaned, homework needs to get done… *dances* But I FINISHED it. *nods* And the next chapter SHOULD come easier, considering I actually KNOW what the hell is HAPPENING.
…
… *knocks on wood* ^_^;;
So, what to say? Foul language, the closest you can get to little-kid angst, and… @_@;; Funkyness. I think Saer's PMSing during this chapter, though…
Saer: *death glare*
… *Shuts up* @_@;;
Another thing—I REALLY twisted around the words to the song up there. @_@;; It's all… funky, and stuff. You'll understand later on. ^_^;;
Bleeding. She's bleeding… but she's so pretty, why is she bleeding?
… She's drowning. Look, the surface—but she can't swim. She's sinking.
… Wait. The water's red. Is she bleeding in the water, or is she drowning in red water?
Flash. Aidan saw nothing more of the drowning girl. Instead, his dreams took him to another place again—he recognized some of the faces. Remembered them.
The first was the girl who'd told him everything was going to be alright. That it was okay to cry—he wasn't crying like everyone else. He didn't like crying.
She can't breathe. She's trying, but she can't.
Look—they're coming in. The men who took us away. But she can't breathe, can't they see?
Now they see. Wait… why aren't they helping her? She can't breathe… They're turning… Going out the door? Why?
She can't breathe! Can't they see that?!
He woke suddenly, gasping for air and reaching towards the door, ready to stop them-
- but they weren't there. He franticly looked for the girl, and calmed when he saw that she was sleeping. Taking a deep breath of the funny-tasting air to calm himself, then lay down again on the cold steel floor.
If it even was metal. If anything was even real.
But he was too young for those sorts of thoughts, so he didn't think them. Although he was lost and scared, he never thought grown-up thoughts.
Because he was eight years old as of yesterday. The date on his watch was proof of that.
"… Alright," Saer spoke calmly, running her fingers through her hair in frustration, "don't any of you dare tell me that you stayed up all night fighting, and have no plan in mind whatsoever."
She was greeted by a collective silence broken only by the buzzing of the lights overhead and the hum of machinery in the background. The planners all seemed to find something interesting on each respective part of the floor they were standing on, because that's what they were looking at.
"… And don't you dare tell me that I'm leaving today with nothing but my own gut instinct, my weapons, and a really big-ass lap dog."
Cehkan was beginning to wonder if there happened to be some sort of organism she couldn't see resting on each and every one of their feet—talons, paws and other deformities included—because not a single one of the rose to meet her fiery gaze.
Of course, he'd let the lap dog comment rest, himself. They all knew better than to try Saer's patience when she was pissed. It rarely happened—but Saer was worried about those children.
Then he realized that his tail was between his legs.
Biting back a long string of curses, he tried to salvage whatever dignity that damnable tail had left him by striding unevenly to stand behind the furious blonde and put a mutated hand on her shoulder.
"It's not like we haven't improvised before."
She shrugged his touch away with a glare that would cause whatever heaven still remained to burst into flames. He knew that look well, but still cringed back a little. Damn, he felt like a dog. One of those little ones that just didn't shut up, then was suddenly back-handed by a very big, tall man.
"… I like having a fucking plan," she snapped, rather bitterly, glaring at the gathered with a look of vengance in her eyes, from which they immediately cringed. However, she was content to swear at them a couple more times, tell them that when she returned she would gut them all alive if they didn't at least try to make up for this lack of respect, and stormed out into the sunlight. Grumbling fiercely, she strode quickly through the woods of Seles Park towards the ancient storm drain they'd modified for their own uses. Cehkan was hot on her heels, knowing full well that it was best to keep his trap shut when Saer was in one of her moods.
"Fucking piece of shit in a cock-sucking son of a bitch's…"
… Of course, nobody really talked when she was like that. It was like signing a death-wish.
Fixing her leather trench coat—the metal uniform was safer, he'd told her that a million times—the black-and-red-clad blonde swung her leg over her bike, gripping the handles that sprung to life at her touch. The controls and gears booted up immediately, their soft whir shrinking away into nothing as she revved the engine.
Damn, that thing was loud.
Ears flat against his skull, Cehkan—with a great amount of difficulty—managed up onto the bike himself, doing as best he could to fit on the minuscule thing.
Saer didn't even comment on how he would slow her own, for once. She just tucked her hair into the back of her jacket and slipped her helmet on.
Fumbling for a moment, the wolf-mutant managed to force the half-helmet contraption over his head, and, after a brief grunt to let her know he was ready, Saer lifted off the ground with a push of her leg. The hum of the engine echoed off the walls strewn with the roots of trees, the ancient compound of concrete—an odd recipe that was no longer in use—broken by the growing plants.
The big wolf-mutant was nearly thrown from the bike when Saer kicked it into gear. Flattening his ears to his skull and fighting off a migrane from the echoes, he held on tight as she leaned forwards, putting everything she had into this run.
Scarry thing she was, when pissed.
He wanted very much to whimper, but, for once, his pride got in the way. While revelling in that small triumph, he realized she was slowing down. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthank…
She stopped rather abruptly as well, and, this time, the bigger of the two was thrown from the bike to land ten feet away. Sputtering, he scrambled to four paws and turned to glare at the blonde with whatever dignity his fall hadn't taken away, then realized that she wasn't even smirking at him.
"We have no fucking clue what we're doing, you know."
He sat, brows furrowed. "… Saving the kids."
There was a day when their roles would have been reversed—Saer the one who wanted to rush into action, and he the planner and thinker.
That was when he realized she was oddly out of character. Normally she wouldn't mind having not an idea of what was going to happen…
She leaned against the sewer wall, arm crossed over her chest. "I don't like this mission at all. They don't normally take a store of kids that big from one area—something had to have happened."
He shook his head. "What if the data was translated incorrectly?"
She snorted. "We had Githen working on it. He's never wrong. Ever."
He knew it, too. The kid had a knack for the unusual codes or offbeat oddities that wound around the damned Company's everyday rituals, so he ended up being the youngest hacker in their organization—and the best always went to Air.
Air consisted of three members; Saer, Githen, and Jheil. The other Factions had at least twenty members; yet Air was at the top, took only the missions deemed 'impossible,' and, thanks to Githen, cracked every code in ten minutes that would take the other teams combined a full year.
Then there was Saer.
How many times had he warned her, given her penalties for near-suicide stunts on missions? She would risk everything for her goal, and she didn't care what the cost was. As long as the mission was successful. 'Live to see another day' was never on her 'to-do' list.
He tried to fix that. Harsher penalties suddenly came hard to come by as the Company's actions became harder and harder to counter, and soon she was slipping out from a desk stacked high with paperwork to fight and come home having risked her life twenty times in one hour. Even Githen was worried about her—and he was the most care-free person on the planet, let alone the rest of the world.
He wondered what she'd do this time.
"… Let's just go," she mumbled, climbing back onto the bike. "We'll figure it out when we get there."
"Sir."
This place had a disgusting love of formalities, didn't it? He supposed that was what he really hated about it. It was easy enough to get used to the freaks of nature it produced, or even the loud wails coming from every direction. He didn't care much about what humans did on their own time—and he used the term 'human' rather loosely—or, even any time during their pitiful existances. As long as they gave him a good ride along the way. He spun, rather slowly in the chair—heh, they swivelled. Now that was cool… He wondered what sex was like in one of these things.
Turning his attention away from the chair, he snatched a cube that was made of smaller, coloured cubes off the desk. "So, what exactly are you supposed to do with these things? Make the colours match?"
The attendant blinked at him, slowly, then nodded. "Sir," she repeated, but stopped as she realized he wasn't listening. He was…
… Playing with the cube. And most certainly not in the way it was intended to be used.
Cheeks flushed a little, she coughed rather loudly, stepping forwards to touch his shoulder.
"… Um, sir…"
He leaned back in the chair—hey, they could lean back pretty damn far… He grinned a little, thinking of the massive possibilities one of these chairs would provide him, not even noticing that he'd bumped into the attendent in his rather indecent plotting. She backed away almost immediately, feeling a fierce heat rising in her face.
"Sir-!"
He sat up immediately, blinking at her, as if he'd forgotten she was there. Tilting his head to the side slightly, he looked her up and down before stopping his gaze at her chest and whistling slowly.
"Damn, they didn't make them like you've got them, back in the day…" He looked up at her face, frowning past a somewhat dishevelled head of long red. "Are those real?"
Absently fiddling with her glasses with one hand and coughing into her other to hide the red she was sure had to be blazing, she forced her gaze to her feet. "… This is not appropriate buisiness talk, sir…"
He blew a strand of hair out of his face at that, smiling in a fashion almost bittersweet at her before standing, slowly, and strolling rather absently towards her, his gaze not once lingering from the buttons on the front of her uniform.
He gently touched her chin with a finger, then guided her gaze back up to meet his. She gasped slightly, taken aback by the bright gold his eyes were—they were white a moment before, weren't they…?
With his free hand, he gently carressed her hip, then slowly began working his way upward to the button at the nape of her neck, which a single finger lingered on as he captured her gaze with his own.
"Now," he whispered, voice liquid smooth—tempting as sin—as he took his finger off the button and removed her glasses. Dropping them carelessly to the floor, he cintinued as his hand moved to the hair clasp she was wearing. "-If we all followed protocol every waking moment of our lives, we would most certainly not be having any fun whatsoever, would we?"
Lost within his eyes—now they were green?—she stammered, slowly, as platinum hair tumbled free of its confinements. "I-I… the boss… I.. she… wants… I want… oh, fuck…"
She wondered, vaugly, if he'd even been wearing a shirt in the first place. She'd thought he had… she could have sworn…
Then he looked away with a sigh, moving from her and towards the door, sticking his hands into the pockets of a large jacket he had most definitely not been adorned with moments before. "But, if you wish, then protocol shall be the one master of our lives… However short or long they may be." He reached for the door handle.
"No!" she gasped, fingers flying to her mouth. "No… I don't want that… I want…"
He was beside her in a breath, fingers lingering invitingly on that first button again. "What?" he breathed into her ear before nibbling gently on the lobe. He paused again. "What do you want right now, more than anything else?"
"You," she gapsed, clutching at his shoulders—miraculously bare again. "Fuck me, now."
Was he one to turn a woman down?
He grinned at that, forcing her back onto the chair and slowly undoing the button—only to have her rip the shirt from her own body in a mad, lustful craze.
Most certainly not.
The door burst open, and two very armed guards stormed in, the one and only boss at their heels. The woman beneath him yelped silently, snatching up the remnants of her shirt and darting out from underneath him, only to trip as the chair moved and to fall head over heels in a heap on the floor. Clutching the remnants of her outfit, she attempted to smooth down the dissarrayed mess her hair had become before reaching into her skirt pocket for a metal make-up case.
The red-head turned to them, looking like he'd done nothing but sit and watch a holo-movie all day long, fully clothed in his usual attire.
"You're no fun," he sighed, brushing bright red aside. "She's damn sexy. Knows what she's doing, too, which is always a bonus."
The woman behind the two guards growled in exhasperation, rubbing her forhead. "Bring her to a room and get her another uniform. Do it quietly."
They complied, dragging the slightly dazed woman out of the room as she snatched up the hair accessory on the way, somewhat confused that she hadn't been fired for her irrational behaviour.
After the door slid shut, she turned her glare upon the red-headed man. "I would very much appreciate it if you didn't seduce my employees when I need your help on important matters. I thought we agreed to this."
He pouted playfully at her, acting almost like a small child as he examined the sudden appearance of a pattern of smeared lipstick on the floor. "Well, it's your fault for the messenger being so damn sexy. Honestly—did you see the size of those things? Now I'm beginning to see how your technology really does improve the quality of life on this planet…" He caught the look she gave him at that. "What? It's the truth."
She ignored him rather pointedly, stepping forwards and glaring at him. "My office. Now."
He shrugged, smiled at her, and exited the room without further argument—although he was rather dissappointed that she refused to answer to his sly glances up and down her figure.
She looked down at the apartment number scrawled on the floor and growled, turning to follow—not noticing an object lying next to it.
The puzzle cube sat where he'd dropped it—solved.
THE SHORT CHAPTER VIRUS STRIKES AGAIN! MWA!.
… Hey, random question: how come every time I bring HIM into a story, he either FUCKS somebody or comes increadibly close to doing so?
Leon: Because that's all he ever does…?
… Good point. *coughs* ONTO THE REVIEWS~!
Shade — I've yet to see what my science teacher thinks of him, but I like him too. ^_^
Fifi — Dwagon? Yeah, I went for that. ^_^ Everyone always makes Dragons mystical and smart and important… Or something. Except Ark. *points at Black Legacies* ^_^
DemonGod — *is not used to praise* … ^_^;; Err, Sin's Torment happened… *points to that ficcy* … and there's another fic in between the two that's all spoiler-iffic for these two, so it's not getting posted until they're both done… But, there WILL be explanaions. Eventually. You'll just have to be confused as hell until they actually happen. ^_^;;
