With a snarl on her lips, she leapt from the bed. A coarse howl ripped from her, a sound of rage and impending violence; a sound of fury and frustration intermingling. She cast around for a brief moment before her hand closed on the slender blade which was swiftly strapped to her leg, a movement made by deft, unthinking, practiced fingers.
The airlock hissed before her, the doors parting far too slowly. She stalked back and forth before them, gnashing her teeth, making incomprehensable utterances to relieve at least some of her aggrivation. Her hands clenched and tensed in twitches. Her silver eyes glowed with her vengeful anger.
Impatience got the better of her; as soon as there ws enough room between the slowly parting doors, she darted between them, the cold, toothed metal leaving a chill caress upon her shoulder and back. She darted past the docking guards, ignoring their calls, moving in hurried bounds through the milling herd of humans that pressed all about her in the corridors and then out in the streets. Their lowing calls to one another through the cool evening air covered the sounds of her snarling passage.
The startled face of the Psi burned before Spook's cold eyes. I am coming. I will find you. I will rip your beating heart out before those pale eyes of yours. The snarl slipped into a vicious smile. The few who looked at her parted before her, their faces showing alarm. She didn't even notice them.
She had her scent, and she followed it; nothing else mattered. She needed to find the bitch; the Corps had found them, and that would be remedied.
"You will not take him," she growled, "You will not have us."
Her vision darkened. She could feel the Psi; the scent she followed was panicked. She could hear only her own blood; the staccato baseline drowned out all of life. Her hands clenched again.
She stopped, breathing with explosive snarls.
One last obstacle. Just a door blocking her step. She knew her quarry was holed up on the other side. She battered at the others shielded mind, ripping the protective layers away even as she wrenched the lock with her shiv.
The other stood as she entered. Her blue eyes showed startled surprise, a lack of composure that was promptly replaced with the trained aloof of the Corps. Their eyes locked, calm meeting the raging storm.
"Ah. So you did come. I was afraid that you would run again, and after I had spent so long hunting you." The other had a voice that dripped of the finer things; her voice was melodious and honeyed, quiet but intoned to carry to the other.
"'We meet ourselves time and again in a thousand disguises on the path of life.'"
"Ah, Jung. So you are an educated woman. Such a shame that you made such poor decisions. Our superiors so hoped to be able to salvage you." The woman gave out a small sigh, still meeting the narrowed silver eyes with caution. "And then to cast your lot in with that..." she gave a derisive snort and a wave of her hand. "At any rate, I am afraid I have my orders. Such a shame. Your file hinted that you would be much more difficult. Appearantly the time served in the penitentiary has addled your once formidable mind, miss Ivanova."
"No. You found the wrong Psi. Kiran Ivanova is dead. She died at my hand in that pit of hell your superiors placed her in. Such a shame, too. She was a light in the darkness; innocent and naive." Shined eyes narrowed even further. The air crackled around the pair. Cold blue met icy silver, neither willing to turn away. It felt to Spook like standing in a lightening storm, with the air dancing in burning shivvers over her skin. The blows were intense, heavy and piercing, but neither person moved.
The uniformed Psi leaned towards the raggedly dressed girl, her eyes finding a spark of heat. She raised her hands, her mouth a thin line, eyes wide.
But the other simply raised her chin like a wild horse surveying the horizon, shoulders squared, face cold.
And she took a step towards the uniformed woman.
It felt to Spook as though her hair should be whipping about her face, clothes billowing in a raging wind. In many ways, the stillness that surrounded her was more disconcerting and fearsome. The battery she was feeling seemed somehow like it was imaginary, like she would blink and the mental soreness and fatigue would all vanish. She could smell the sharp tang of the other's sweat. The Psi was clenching her jaw as she exherted. Spook took another laborious step forward.
It felt like she was watching the exchange in a dream. The blows against her mind felt muffled. The exhersion it took to stay standing wasn't to be believed. Each step was wrenching in the effort it took to make it.
But make it she did, moving ever closer to the paling Psi.
She blinked her silver eyes. There was a familiar weight in her hand, cool and slim, and the movement that came next was calming, nearly effortless, an instinctive, quick, hissing movement. She opened her eyes to stare deeply into the startled blue of her enemy. The warmth began its familiar flow over her skin, ebbing from the now gasping Psi onto Spook's hand where it touched her belly, still closed on the hilt of the long cool blade.
She leaned in, her breath caressing the woman's cheek, a cheek paling to the faint blueish ashen colour that was so familiar, the light of it shimmering to a dull tone in the Shine.
"'Into the jaws of Death,'" she murmured. "You will not take us back."