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37. Naifu – Not Quite Rescued

Naifu had hit that washed out sensation that comes from too much exertion over too little time. She hurt so much that even relaxing her muscles made them ache. Sweat dripped into her eyes, turning her vision hot and grainy. It also turned it red. Not just sweat then. She wasn't surprised. She didn't have the energy to be angry anymore, either. Everything was used up. She couldn't even tense her arms or legs to rattle her restraints, a tiny act of defiance that proved she hadn't yet accepted her fate. She had fought with everything she had, but she had lost.

She was alone and defenceless, and she hated it. Fear was an old companion, but this wasn't fear. What she felt now had been dredged from deep inside, where her darkest memories lay. It went beyond words: a bone-deep chill and a certainty that, even if she survived, she would never feel secure again. She had felt this only once before, back in Old Corel when bandits raided the homes on the outskirts looking for food and found only women and children guarding their meagre stores. She shut her eyes, trying to drive the images away, but they loomed through her exhaustion so vividly she couldn't actually be sure they weren't happening now.

"No," she murmured brokenly. "Please … no more …"

Someone said something. She wasn't sure what. Was she a girl or a woman? Who was she even talking to right now? She hated herself for begging, but that was the little girl talking. That wasn't the woman, Naifu. Naifu was strong. Naifu didn't take crap from anyone.

Veld had helped her regain her security after his band of Turks came to clean up the mess in Old Corel. They hadn't come because of the attack; they had come because Shinra was worried about losing a valuable resources and a considerable workforce when the place burned to the ground. Veld had found her and delivered her as the sole witness, but he had come back while the medics tended to her. She had begged him to let her become a Turk as soon as she was recovered enough to know what one was. She had nothing left in Old Corel. Her old life was gone. Learning to fight had given her back her self-confidence, turning her from a frightened little girl into a warrior with a new name and a new future. She had felt stronger after that. Nobody messed with the Turks.

Except for this guy. Except Alejandro. Mad, bad, sad Alejandro, who had his own agenda. His outlook couldn't be quantified by the judgments of a sane person. She had fought him as a Turk and she had still lost. The black tar-pit of despair that had started with the loss of her family now threatened to overwhelm her totally, and this time Veld wasn't around with a new name to help her beat it back.

Footsteps. Hot breath on her neck,. She wanted to squirm, but she couldn't. Just breathing was an effort.

"Are you awake?" Alejandro asked. His voice caused her spine to turn to water. He could have said anything and achieved the same effect – 'pink candyfloss', 'cotton wool' or 'fluffy kitten'. It wasn't his tone, it was his whole voice. He had talked to her throughout everything he had done. His voice was bound up in her head with the memory of pain and humiliation. "Hellooo?"

She whimpered when he chucked under her chin. It was involuntary. His hand was empty, but what about the other one? It was always the other one. Sometimes it seemed like he had three hands, each dangerous and cruel.

At least he had left her head uncovered. They hadn't in Old Corel. Okay, so she could smell mostly blood and sweat, but it was better than musty hessian, and at least she could see. In Old Corel all she'd had was sound and touch. Either would have been bad enough, but both together, without sight to balance what her imagination conjured, had made her stomach churn and her rational mind huddle down in the corner of her head in denial. She had heard screaming and wet noises, but not understood them until it was her turn.

"Please," she whispered, to Alejandro and her memory. "Stop. Please just stop it …"

"Boss! Boss!"

"What is it, Hector?" Alejandro snapped.

"Boss, he's outsi–"

The roar of a motorcycle engine and the screech of tyres cut off the words. Naifu was dimly aware of smoke and the smell of burnt rubbed. Her neck was sore where Alejandro had squeezed it from behind, but she tried to raise her head. It felt like trying to lift a bowling bowl using a piece of wet noodle, but she recognised the new voice.

"Alejandro!"

"You came!" Alejandro sounded overjoyed. He clapped his hands like little kid at a toy drive. "You actually came!"

"Oh my God."

"Do you like it? It's all my own work."

He was holding her chin again, pinching her jaw between thumb and forefinger. Naifu tried to pull away, suddenly embarrassed. He had taken her jacket first, and then her shirt when the sticky shreds got in his way. He had laughed at her scars and mocked her appearance. Then he had dampened the jacket and claimed he was washing her free of blood, but used saltwater to make her new wounds burn. Shirt, jacket and other parts of her clothing that he had cut away lay in a soggy heap beneath her feet.

"You bastard!" Rod thundered.

"Look who's talking," Alejandro replied.

An engine gunned. Who had brought a vehicle into a slaughterhouse? How the hell had they even gotten it inside? "Let her go, Alejandro."

Alejandro laughed; a high-pitched, almost hysterical noise. "Even if I cut her down, do you think she can stand like this?"

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I like her too much to let her go. Maybe I wanna keep her. I always wanted a lil' pet to call my very own. She trembles just like a mouse, y'know. Not at first, but with the right incentive she shakes and shivers just right. Of course," he said silkily, "you'd know all about that. Shaking, shivering and trembling in the dead of night with you, right? Can't lie to me, bro. I know aaaall your dirty little secrets. Always did. Kept them every time; not that you appreciated it. You never appreciated your bro."

"You're not my bro."

"You're right. Bros share. Bros watch each other's backs. You haven't been much of a bro to me or the boys." Alejandro's voice turned hard and accusing. "You finally come to pay the piper, Rodriguez?"

"I've come to save my partner and put you in the ground."

Alejandro's grip on her jaw tightened. "Bad move, Rodriguez. I'm holding all the cards."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? The thing is, Alejandro, you never held the cards. You always tipped your hand too early and got suckered. Every. Single. Time."

Alejandro started to speak again, but something slammed into him, knocking him away from her. Naifu wondered what was going on – until an explosion rocked the side of the room. She prised her eyes open, forcing herself to focus. They were gummed with dried blood and tears. He had made her cry. Bastard. Everything was a bit swimmy – she could have sworn there was a wall over there before.

There had been, but now it was a smoking pile of twisted metal and rubble. Someone stood between her and the blast, ready to protect her from shrapnel if it had come her way. She would have laughed if she could. Like shrapnel was going to make much difference to her now?

"Hey there, Sureshot."

No. She whimpered again. Oh no. No, no, no ... Something touched her belly. Her entre midriff ached already, so the extra prickling barely registered. Not him. Don't let him see me like this. Please don't let him see me like this.

"Legend!" Rod shouted. "Use Phoenix Down!"

"Like I didn't already think of that?" Legend muttered. "Hold on, Sureshot, I gotcha."

She made a soft sound, like a bird hitting a windshield, as the pressure on her wrists and ankles gave way and she toppled forward. It turned into a cry as Legend caught her. Fresh agony flared from her cuts. She knew Alejandro had carved words across her stomach, but long before he finished she was too far gone to decipher them upside down. He hadn't let her pass out at any point. Scummy bastard. Somewhere on her arm was a tiny hole where the hypodermic had gone in, injecting a concoction to keep her awake and hurting. Maybe there was more than one. A lot of the past hours were indistinct.

"Loos …" she tried to say. "Loosiii …"

"Hang on." Legend cursed with a vehemence that would have taken chrome off steel. "I'll get you outta here. You just hang on, okay?"

She concentrated. "Loosich." Damn it! Her mouth refused to work right. She sounded out the word laboriously, feeling like a child waving a sippy cup when it didn't know the word for 'thirsty'. "Lu … cid."

"Fuck!" Legend swore. "He gave you Lucid?"

Amongst other things.

Alejandro giggled loudly.

"Legend, watch out. He's not down!"

"Miserable little –" Legend didn't finish. He ducked, letting something silvery fly over his head, spinning end over end. "A cleaver? Seriously?" He sounded furious and a little disdainful. He flung out one hand. Naifu didn't see anything leave it, but rapid-fire pops told her he had thrown explosives. Alejandro shrieked in what might have been pain.

"Get her outta here!" Rod yelled. "I'll take care of this. It's me he wants, anyhow. Ain't that right, Alejandro?"

Naifu resisted, but only in her head. The orders never made it to the rest of her body. Legend gathered her into his arms like a rag doll. A rush of conflicting signals washed over her disordered pain and pleasure receptors. She whimpered. It wasn't all to do with the physical. She felt utterly humiliated. Was this how Alejandro felt whenever he was used? She hated him and feared him, but she could also understand him, which made everything ten times worse. How were you supposed to hate a victim? Everything was so screwed up in her head.

"Fucktard," Legend hissed, so vehement she wondered why he even needed the bombs. He could set the room alight with just his tone of voice.

"B-back … acha …" she slurred.

"He's the fucktard. You're a wise-ass."

She wanted to smile, she really did; she just couldn't. It wasn't fair. She had come so far, worked so hard, but in the end she had been sent back right to the start, and not even by someone she'd pissed off on her own merits. This was Rod's fight. She had just been dragged into it because he was her partner –

Rod! They couldn't leave him. It seemed perverse to worry about him when he was, in a way, responsible for her current circumstances – inasmuch as you could blame someone for being the target of a lunatic's vendetta. Could you blame someone for being a victim and causing you to become one too?

Victim. The role was following her. She went back to the other times she had been made helpless and vulnerable by violence. Costa del Sol and Old Corel stood head and shoulders above the rest. This time made it a triangle of matching but different victimhoods. The location and perpetrators may have changed, but it was still all about being made into an object. She was just a thing they moved about and used, like a side of beef, or a table, or … or a lamp! Yeah, Naifu the lamp. Naifu the soft furnishing. Naifu the tool. Naifu the victim. Victim, victim, victim …

"I thought I told you to stay with me!" Legend said sharply. "Don't you dare pass out!"

She came back to herself. She had been drifting, finally. Minutes ago she would have welcomed it. Unconsciousness beckoned. "Fife miniz more …"

"C'mon, Sureshot. Don't –"

"S'not my name!" She struggled. She may have actually kicked out. It felt like she kicked something.

"Whoa!"

Suddenly it seemed important for him to know who she was under all her bravado and … what was another word for bravado? Ah, well, it didn't matter. Bravado covered it fine. It was a good word. Not like Naifu. Naifu was what she had chosen to call herself after Veld recruited her. It was a way of giving the world the finger and declaring she was her own person after it took away her identity with a hessian sack and a flick-knife. She had been just a faceless body to those bandits who had broken into her home, to be used and cast aside when they were done playing with her. Ha! Playing? Sick games. Sick, sick little games. They hadn't known her or her family: no prior connections, no vendettas, no grudges, just a bad case of Wrong-Place-Wrong-Time. The pointlessness of it made it worse. She wasn't even collateral in some bigger conflict. She had been an opportunistic distraction, like a game of tic-tac-toe or eye-spy on a long car journey. Her new name wasn't much of a pun, but it had appealed to her back then: Naifu the knife-thrower, who would never be made a victim again.

"M'name iz…" She stopped. She couldn't remember it. She couldn't remember her own name. The irony was delicious – she had spent so long trying to forget that now she wanted so remember she wasn't able to.

"Not really the time or place, Sureshot," Legend said. They were dipping and weaving. Was he running with her in his arms? Peculiar sensations ran up her sides and tingled across her skin. She wasn't even sure if she was still naked.

She hadn't been naked in Old Corel. The bag over her head counted as clothing, right? Her world had become just brown threads and shifting shadows, which darkened as men dragged them into the cellar. She knew they were men because of their voices and the way their stubbly chin dragged across her exposed belly and thighs, and the way two sets of calloused hands pulled her kicking ankles apart while a third laughed and –

No, no, no, that wasn't the memory she wanted back! She wanted her name, not the bastards who had made it so dirty she hadn't wanted it anymore.

Mad, bad, sad Alejandro. Poor, sore Alejandro. He knew what it was like to have someone force themselves on you. He should have known better than to put someone else through it. Or maybe that was why he had done it. He wanted to hurt her. He hated her. Or maybe he was just trying to feel like a real person again by making her feel less of one.

Information burst into her mind like a firework. "Adrianne," she cried out, far clearer than she had thought she could sound with her muscles all messed up and her nerve endings like burnt bacon all stuck to the skillet. She remembered her mother screaming it. It was the last thing she remembered of her mother. "My name – it's Adrianne!"

Something touched her stomach. Her whole world erupted in agony. She screamed, and it went on for what seemed like forever.