The attempts on Malik's life grow in number after the gala. Some of them are from assassins just trying to make a name for themselves in the same way Adam did, but instead of killing other assassins, they go after her. A cheap cop-out, though it never works for them. Some are after her, and she gathers that she pissed someone off at the gala, but can't pin down exactly who. Others are trying to get to Adam through her, trying to piss off Icarus for refusing their job demands. She thinks she should be most offended about those. They're not even after her.

Today's flavor is of the latter.

Malik is yawning, standing at the bar of a coffee shop near one of her safehouses. She'd flown all night, still trying to catch up from the months where she hadn't made any raids or deliveries. The backlog would take her ages to get through if she didn't work double-time – she usually timed everything perfectly, and people needed augments now. So she'd coordinate raids in the day and then run them that night for a few weeks. No big deal.

She is exhausted.

It's a good thing she has Adam watching her back, because she might've walked into traffic by now on her own as it was. Coffee was about the only thing keeping her going – though she always woke right up when she got in her plane, assisted along the way with a few dives 'just for fun'.

He tenses behind her the moment she steps to the front of the line, and she doesn't even pay the reaction any mind. Until the cashier leans forward sharply at her, his augmented hand bending at a ninety-degree angle and showing a dark barrel underneath.

She's not impressed.

"Can this wait until after I have my coffee?" Maybe she's getting complacent with Icarus at her side, but she wouldn't be so careless without him around either.

"You- what-" He's actually surprised that she's so flippant at his threat. Maybe he thought himself better than all those who had tried previously. Maybe he just plain didn't know how often she had to deal with shit like this now.

She throws her hands in the air and turns to walk away. "Fine, fuck it. I'll go next door." Another café, just across the street, and her second favorite when the lines were long at this one.

The cashier sputters something again, and then immediately his knees buckle and he falls onto the countertop with a thud. Silently. Either Adam poisoned or tranquilized him. She doesn't much care.

"Miss," a trembling barista catches her attention.

If he's about to make her stay and talk to the police, she'll shoot herself and then him. "What."

"Large latte for you- just how you like it." He's holding it out more like it's a live grenade than a cup of coffee.

Her shoulders slump immediately as she takes it from him and inhales. Yes, it is just how she likes it. She takes a long drink. "Thanks." She tosses him a credit chip in gratitude – one of the few small ones she'd looted off an assassin or two in the last month or so. "Did you want something?" she asks Adam, turning to look at him with an eyebrow quirked.

He returns the expression, which would have been hilarious if she was a coffee and a half in.

"Cool. Back to work then."

"I never went on break." He points out, following her out of the store.

"Sucks."

Malik eventually catches up on her backlog. Mostly. At a slightly slower pace when she almost walked in through the front door of a Caidin plant in the middle of the day instead of waiting for the actual raid.

She grumbles about how she's fine, they're almost done anyway, but it's one against three when Pritchard decides to chime in too.

So she promises the rest of her people she'll have their stocks back to normal by the end of the year, but until then to send her itemized part lists of whatever they needed urgently and she'd do her best.

It also has the unfortunate side effect of bringing her that much closer to any tragedies the world over. It was one thing to know that a city like Prague was descending into a living hell. It was another to receive a parts list that went 'desperately need: 6 legs (pairs), 4 left arms, 3 right arms, 2 ribcages' and think, shit, there must have been another bombing.

That wears on her too.

It's late fall, and the whistling of the wind on the rooftop distracts her as she pries open a box of augs to double-check its contents. Adam is standing a few feet away, watching outward while she leans into the crate and moves metal aside, the clanking of alloy as she did a mental inventory.

There's another rustle Malik doesn't hear, and she sees at the bottom of the box, the children's size augs she'd been searching for. Satisfied, she straightens up-

"Faridah!" it's a silent warning on their channel, and before she can register why, or even where Adam is, he's shoving her all the way into the plane, jabbing the close-door button on the bay.

The rustle-

It hadn't been the wind.

It had been the disengaging of glass cloaks.

The fight is loud, gunshots ringing out just outside her plane as she stumbles toward the cockpit to light up the engines. She could pop the side door for just a second to let him in and they'd be away.

Now that they'd uncloaked, her radar was alight and she sees a plane in the distance, aiming straight for her.

"We've got more company incoming," she warns, strapping herself down and blasting the engines faster than they should be turned on. She could repair any damage later. "You ready? Popping the door in three-"

She hears the acknowledgement from him, hears the distinct sound of a nanoblade slicing through flesh, another gunshot, and then a dash. He's in the door the moment it's opened, and as soon as she registers his presence she guns hard for the sky.

This is the most coordinated attack on her yet, at least since she'd picked up Adam. Whoever was behind this really wanted her dead, and had a lot of money to spare on that effort.

She's lifting off the roof at a forward glide instead of directly up, hoping to get away from jumping distance as fast as possible. Not fast enough though, as one of the assassins – with two sprinter augs, she notes – winds up a sparking charge.

"Adam-!"

"I see it."

He doesn't do anything, though. Not yet. Pulling back as though he hasn't noticed the wind up, the noisy sparking augs.

When the runner leaps, he aims perfectly for the gap, the barely-open door of her plane.

Icarus is ready for him. He catches the jumper by the throat, pulls him in and slams him hard against the wall. Malik shuts the door, the screaming of the wind as they pick up speed dying down to an outside muffle.

Perhaps not the best hostage target – if he'd been intending to jump into their plane, he likely had already ditched any signs pointing to his employer. An unsuspecting assailant would have been better. Icarus was…persuasive, though.

Malik can't think anymore on that as bullets shred along the side of her wing, no doubt ruining the paint job. She spirals away, hears a thud of something crashing into a wall in the back. Hopefully an assassin. Hopefully not her assassin. The attacker evidently is expecting her to start running, pivoting sharply to chase her. She foils all expectations of that, pulling the stick back hard and soaring upwards, killing the engines to flip back over, and screaming down at the unlucky bastard, her own guns lighting up. This Phoenix had talons, and she'd vowed to never be caught unarmed again – that included when she was in the skies.

There's a satisfying bout of flame as she rips off the other plane's left wing, far more successful in her maneuver than it had been against her, and only when she's certain she sees it careening towards the rooftop does she start pulling away.

No point in overstaying their welcome and letting someone pull out a sniper rifle while she was busy having fun.

She bottoms out of her dive before they get in shooting range of the roof, veering hard and peeling away in the opposite direction of all her nearest safehouses. Best to let them think she was going somewhere different, some dead end they might try to chase her down.

"You alright back there? I didn't pack any sick bags." She's talking to Adam more than anything else, but the would-be assassin groans first. It sounded like he'd hit his head a few times in that quick fight.

"Fine," Icarus answers her shortly. That was good enough for her. She'd let him deal with their guest while she took an extra careful route home.

She calls Pritchard, relieved that he picks up instantly despite it being 5AM in the states.

"Phoenix," he greets, half a grumble and- maybe he hadn't been quite so awake.

"Caught another one for you. Think you can find anything?" The last few assassin's they'd caught had been unhelpful, providing no information before Icarus killed them. Malik hoped that Pritchard might be able to get something out of their infolinks, perhaps not a name, but even a location of who was sending them information, targets.

There's a scramble on his end of the line, and she thinks perhaps that was enough to get him to wake up. Maybe he'd get lucky this time.

By the time she gets them home, the assassin is very unconscious, Adam is hovering over her shoulder, and Pritchard has. Finally found something, judging by the loud thunk of something being knocked over.

"Fuck. Finally! Got 'em," he tells her, sending her a pair of coordinates. "You know how many reroutes these assholes use? They had three separate VPNs bouncing them in and out of Australia, for fuck's sake."

Malik snorts. "Thanks, Pritch. Go get some sleep."

"Yeah, no thanks to you." It's a grumble, but a good-natured one. He hangs up, and she glances up and behind her.

Adam looks back, meets her gaze – she knows this, even with the shades – and quirks an eyebrow.

"You ready to go hunting?" she asks, a small smirk playing at the edge of her lips.

"Depends on how much whiskey you've got in this plane." He answers, leaving her side to go and deal with the attacker. Perhaps by throwing him out the cargo door before they get close to home.

She laughs to herself, angling down for her safehouse. "You can stop in before you head out."

"It's only fair." He answers, from the back. He maybe says something else, but she doesn't hear it over the sudden roar of the wind.

Malik was just taking off from a shipment dropoff – a box of Caidin parts for a mechanic she sponsored in Budapest – when she receives an emergency call from Koller. She picks up immediately, hands tight on the joysticks. Adrenaline rushing high and, "Koller?"

"Malik- oh thank god-" his voice is high, thready. Strung tight with fear.

"Vaclav, what's wrong?" Malik was already throttling the engine for Prague. She could be there in under an hour if she pushed her VTOL to breaking, which she wasn't afraid to do.

"He's dying- he just walked in here and his chest was torn open and-"

"Kid, slow down. Who is?" It sounded like it wasn't Koller in danger, which was a relief. Despite the tightness in her chest at the adrenaline, her hands are loosening on the controls. The VTOL's engines don't scream as much.

"Jensen- he crawled in here with his chest torn open and his Sentinel isn't working-"

The rush came right back. Her hands gripped the joysticks, she bit her lip, and her aug whirred as it strained with coiled movement.

"Malik, he's going to die-"

"What do you need?" She interrupts him. Could he even save him? They had to try. The dark countrysides of Europe roiled under her VTOL, the stars above weren't bright enough to be seen through the glow of her controls. She wasn't looking, anyway. Not now. Not with the threat of losing Icarus– Adam, who'd been sent into danger on her word.

"He needs a new Sentinel, but I don't have any, I've never had any-" They were hard to get. Especially with their military applications, the few remaining ones were locked up tight in high-security warehouses, available only to the richest patrons who needed them. Malik had never risked getting one for him, and Vaclav had never had a patient that needed one. He'd always been able to make do with other systems, Caidin or Tai Yong.

"How long has he got?" She turns the VTOL with a sharp whine, wing tip pointing straight at the ground as she changed course.

"Less than an hour- he was already almost dead when he got here, I don't even know how he got himself that far-" The sounds of rummaging on the other end of the line are wild and don't stop. "I might be able to trick the Sentinel into turning back on, but it won't last long."

"I'll be there. Keep him alive, Koller." She hangs up so she can make another call. No room for argument. No room for doubts. For failure.

A minute later and she's calling her import crew in Vienna. A smuggling ring whose loyalty she had earned when she saved their leader from a police raid for undocumented augs. She'd been passing through and had almost been picked up as well (considering Faridah Malik was legally dead in the United States and didn't exist elsewhere), which had led to her needing to fight back. What better way than to free the other zip-tied Augs and get help? She didn't even know who she'd rescued until after, when she asked where he wanted to be dropped off and he guided her to an abandoned industrial neighborhood by the river.

They knew all the underground connections she needed in Vienna, even throughout Austria – all she had to do was bring them a crate of parts, and they'd get them delivered to all her mechanics without any fuss. Instead of paying them, she let them have whatever extra parts she'd gotten that weren't on any mechanic's list of requested items. This? This was a long shot.

As soon as the call connects, she's speaking. "Tobias? It's Mal."

"Yes?" That was definitely him – mildly bored, but attentive. He didn't miss much, and he certainly would not have ignored how she skipped any niceties and moved straight to business. The Malik most of her contacts knew was chatty, friendly, and enjoyed a long conversation while flying. This Malik was usually only seen by those on the wrong side of her gun.

"I need to call in any and all favors I have there. You know the old Sarif warehouse, the one that supposedly isn't an aug warehouse at all? I need a Sentinel RX health system, and that's the most likely place there is one." She's already half an hour away from Vienna. If her contacts can pull this off, she will have to wonder how they haven't taken over the world yet.

"Mal, there's a reason we've never raided that place. High security, high profile, we'd be locked down for weeks with just the increased police activity after, even if we got in." He sounds surprised – Malik never asked him for anything without offering something. Never asked anything he couldn't easily do. Maybe he doesn't have any contacts in that place, anyone to quietly open pass-locked doors.

"I need it in twenty-five minutes." Teeth worrying the inside of her lip. There were no other Sarif warehouses she knew of in close enough range between her and Prague. Too long and Adam would be dead. She refused to let that happen. Not without a fight. Not after everything he did for her. After he brought her leg back for little more payment than thanks. After he followed her across the continent and protected her from would-be assassins. After they became friends- were they? She'd like to think so. Regardless. She had to fight for him.

"Mal, there's no way-" Now he sounds plain incredulous. A little like he thinks she's lost her mind.

"My friend is dying and the only thing that will save him is a new Sentinel. I don't care who does the job, I don't care about any other parts. You can keep whatever else you find there. Just get me a Sentinel and have it on the roof of the warehouse for me in twenty minutes. Please, Tobias." Malik does not beg. Even when they pressed a shotgun to her leg and told her to run back to her boss (ha, ha. As if there was a boss above her), she did not plead for her life. She spat at them and limped her plane across Europe and got herself home. She begs now. For someone else's sake.

"If this works, you will owe me." She hears shouting – it sounds like Tobias is mobilizing his crew. Calling other crews. If they get enough people moving, it won't matter how high the security is.

"I saved your life and never collected the debt. We will be even." Some things were worth more than money – particularly to criminals. Part of the reason she never took a payment or some reward for saving him was just in case she needed something like this. A favor.

He clicks his tongue. "Fine. I expect to see you there."

"Thank you, Tobias." She's gunning for the city, for the warehouse. She'd hoped to save it for her own raid someday – so many nice Sarif parts would be there, and with Koller acting as Adam's mechanic, he'd need as many of them as he could get – but it was worth sacrificing any chance at it again if it meant saving Adam.

Tobias hangs up, and she calls Koller again.

"-Malik?" his voice cracks panicked and fearful.

"I'm working on getting a Sentinel. There's a warehouse in Vienna. How is he?" Calm and clipped, focused on pushing her VTOL to actually meet the twenty minute deadline she had set. If anyone could eke out extra speed from a plane, it would be her. Especially out of this bird – custom outfitted by herself, and personally taken care of. She'd changed her mind once she lost her leg and had a phoenix painted onto the top in a deep, dark red – no need to make it ostentatious and obvious, but enough to make a point. If you ran into this VTOL, you had better hope it wasn't gunning for you.

"I-I managed to get the Sentinel back on. It's stuttering and making some hellish screams-" He's interrupted by a screech of metal, and Malik just makes a small 'ah' sound. "It won't hold much longer. He's slipping." It's clear that this has shaken Koller, and Malik knows for a fact that he's had patients die on him before. When had Adam become important to him? Perhaps it was as simple as the moment he became a client – Koller cared about all his clients, and with augs like Adam's, it was no surprise that the punk immediately got attached.

"If my crew can get me the part, I'll be there in fifty minutes." Fifty minutes for a trip that should take an hour and fifteen. She'd have to make it work.

"I don't know if he has-"

"Make it happen, Vaclav." Firm, but not unkind. The kid was family to her, and her favorite mechanic – not that she would ever tell the others. After all he'd been through for her, she felt awful he was going through it again. "Stay on the line with me. Keep talking. Breathe. You can do this, kid." Only he could do this. No one else.

He's laughing, nervous and shaky, and she has to wonder just how bloody and red his painted augs will be when she arrives. A moment's pause and, "Okay Malik. I- okay."

"Good."
-

She reaches the warehouse and notes, with satisfaction, that while there are alarms going off inside the building, police have yet to arrive. Instead of slowing down and changing flight modes, she hits the brakes just above the building, and as she's dropping the engines angle downwards. At the last possible moment, she blasts them, lands on the roof with a thud. Fastest way down. Also the most dangerous, but if Faridah Malik didn't live for danger, then what did she live for?

The cargo doors are opening even as her plane is settling on the roof, and a young man is running on board with a crate.

"You've got it?" she notes the disbelief in her tone – when had she decided that it would be impossible to get? He pops the crate with a nod, shows her the brand new, glistening, alloy part. If she were anyone else, she might cry at the sight. Instead, she shuts the doors and is immediately taking off again. The man lurches into the copilot seat, holding the box tight as she rockets them back into a reasonable flight altitude.

It's obvious the man didn't expect to come along with her, but if Tobias hadn't clearly expressed how much time she did not have, then that was his fault. "A-are you going to drop me off somewhere?" he asks, buckling the harness in just in case.

"No, sorry. I'll give you a ride back after this, okay?" she barely glances over at him, almost misses the star-struck expression he's wearing when he looks at her.

"Tobias didn't say the Phoenix herself was coming-"

"That was smart of him," she answers with a wry grin. "The fewer people who know where I am, the better." The fewer bodies she had to leave behind.

She's blasting the engines straight for Prague, ignoring the fact that the straightest path was straight through police patrol zones. They'd have to be very lucky to avoid being noticed by any of the border guard drones. She didn't have time to take one of the less-watched routes.

"Malik," Koller's voice is in her ear again. High, panicked. "I'm losing him!"

"Hang in there, kid. I'll be there in twenty. I've got a Sentinel with his name on it."

"Hurry, Malik."

"I am."

She hadn't heard Koller so shaken since, well, since she lost her leg. Since she stumbled, bleeding and dying, into his arms. It seemed like the only person she and Adam trusted in a situation like that was Vaclav. He had that air about him – that promise of trust. Help.

The lights of Prague are fast approaching under her, and she's steering for the district where Koller's shop was, when a drone appears on her radar. Demanding that she stop and land at the police station to be inspected for avoiding the proper cross-border channels. And what was her flight number? Why wasn't she flying on an authorized flight path?

She ignores the channel. Turns to her passenger.

"Vladimir, do you know how to fly?" He looks startled, grip loosening on the Sentinel's box.

"I…sort of? I mean, I could probably not crash- I've only flown a helicopter before." He pauses. "…You know my name?"

She's already unstrapping, passes control of the plane to the copilot seat and takes the crate from him. His hands are immediately on the controls as the plane stalls for a moment. "You're going to let the police stop you. Tell them you're a civilian plane and you'd been attacked back in the mountains and you were just trying to hobble back to town." She reaches under the dash and pulls a couple of wires. The police demands over the communications channel stop suddenly. "And that's why you couldn't hear what they were asking you. Flash an SOS at them with your lights." A pause. "Can you do that for me?"

"I- won't they shoot me down?" He's looking like he very much regrets being the one to hold the Sentinel when she showed up.

"They shouldn't. If they do, parachutes are on your right. If they arrest you, talk to Lenka. Tell her 'the firebird sends ashes' and she'll get word to me. I'll get you out. Just do this for me." She's stopped her movements to meet his gaze.

"O-okay. Yes. I can do this."

"Good boy. Thank you." She pats his shoulder, reaching for loose straps to lash the box to herself. "I don't forget the names of kids I pulled out of cops' hands." He looks up at her again, wide-eyed. She just grins.

"Wait- where are you going?" He realizes that he should probably have asked that much sooner. He'd gotten swept up in exactly what she had been asking him to do. What he had agreed to do. The amount of risk he was taking on just then.

"Express elevator to hell, going down." She laughs, pops the cargo door. "Close that before the cops see me – should help convince them you're malfunctioning." Waves a hand at him and dives out. If the stakes weren't so high, if the tension and fear wasn't coiled in her gut, if she wasn't so close to losing Adam, she'd be enjoying the hell out of this.

As it is, the wind rips at her immediately, steals the breath from her lungs. She's glad she grabbed a pair of goggles, because now is not the time for bleary-eyed leisure diving. She watches the lights below her, trying to map out the roads as she'd been flying toward them. Now falling at them. Hands on the box, making sure she'd lashed it to herself tightly enough. Luckily, she had. Gingerly, cautiously, pulls her arms away from it.

It stays attached.

She spots the metro station, and from there she's able to follow the roads to the dark spot that had to be the courtyard to Koller's shop.

"Malik, what is going on? What's that noise?" She supposes her InfoLink and neural chip couldn't actually filter out the screaming air from sky-diving. Good to know.

"Complication!" she shouts, the sound torn from her throat. She thinks the subvocalizer may have picked up on what she was trying to say. "Coming!"

"Are you…are you not in your plane anymore?!" It sounds like he's now panicking about her and not Adam, so that might be a good sign. Or a terrible one.

"Two minutes!" He'd better still be alive. That idiot couldn't die now. Not if she had anything to say about it.

She waits until she's at a dangerously low altitude to snap the flaps out on her wingsuit. It had been tricky roping the crate to herself without impeding on the flaps, but it seems she managed to not get too much in their way. She'd jumped without a parachute – no time to glide safely down. Every second counted.

She's spiraling above the courtyard, swooping in wider and wider circles, trying to slow down. Best bet, she gets really lucky and sails through one of the second-story windows. Gets to the elevator and into the dungeon. Second-best, she lands in the courtyard without dying and takes the sewer entrance. Worst-case, she smacks into a wall or the ground at terminal velocity. Two dead augs instead of one. She'll take her chances. Trust her skill. She didn't spend all those afternoons with Evelyn diving back into planes mid-air for nothing. Not that she ever expected to use it like this. Trying to save the life of an assassin-turned-bodyguard who was supposed to protect her life. Who…for some reason or another got himself nearly killed on a job that while important, she'd stressed wasn't worth his life. They could always get another chance at finding out who was behind the attempts on her life.

Her entire view is city lights now, no longer able to see the edges of wilderness. One of the Palisade Blades arches over the sky to her right, level with her. Her spirals are getting wider, taking up the space of the entire courtyard. She's going to need to make sure her last spiral starts at the Time Machine and ends pointed straight at one of the windows. No time for fear or hesitation. Make the calculation, and make the move. She wasn't called the Phoenix for nothing.

The buildings are rushing up at her, and she's going far slower than she had been in total freefall. If she lands right, she might just bruise badly instead of breaking bones. That would be a plus. The trees of the courtyard glint in the low light, the ground wet with a recent rain reflecting the lights of the few lampposts.

She curves for that final spiral, and miscalculates.

Didn't plan for the crate's drag.

Her foot clips a tree, and her aim veers off. Past the window she'd been going for and towards the wall. She curls tight around the box and hopes the movement is enough to get her to the next window.

Her back slams into the edge of the window as glass shatters and she flies into the bookstore. Hits a bookshelf with her shoulder, which finally stops her momentum with a slide against old, worn carpet.

"Malik? Malik?!" Koller's voice is loud in her ear. She groans, has to gather herself. Pulls her knees under her and stumbles to her feet.

Immediately pulling the crate off of herself, fumbling with the straps to make sure the aug had made it intact.

"Malik!"

"Yeah- yeah I'm here." The Sentinel is in one piece, and she almost sobs in relief. Runs toward the elevator in Koller's office. "Elevator." Pulls the book, hits the button, and rolls her flightsuit's flaps back into place while the elevator takes her down. The moment the doors open she's sliding through them, stumbles at the stench of blood and death.

Koller's arms are stained red with blood. His vest is a mess, dried blood and something else smeared brown across the chest, shoulders. He has a streak of wet blood on his forehead, probably from his arm. He's got his hands inside of- of Adam. Adam's chest has been torn open, savaged. Like someone had set a rabid animal on him and told it to eat through him. Like someone had been digging for something.

She snaps out of it, rushing forward and pushing the Sentinel into Koller's hands. He lets out a choked noise of relief, immediately moving. Now that she tears her gaze from Adam, she sees his old Sentinel, dented and partially smashed, sitting on the floor near the chair. Vaclav had pulled it out in preparation – either she showed up with a new Sentinel, or he was dead anyway.

Malik backs out of his space, gives him room to work. Stumbles against the countertop and realizes, with the crashing adrenaline, that she hadn't actually walked away from that landing with nothing but shortness of breath. Clamps down on a small whine as she slides down to the floor. Watches Koller work from there, unable to get up – there's a sudden, sharp fire in her back and shoulder – and unable to not watch.

Koller's elbow deep in Adam. Hands moving lightning quick, already tooled up, moving ravaged meat to get at the installation ports. Were those ribs on the table next to him? Malik feels vaguely sick. Koller had been in this hell for an hour, two?

She hears the strained whirring of his augs as he clicks piece after piece of the Sentinel into place. Wiring it up. Hooking it in. Sarif augs were good, easy to install with ports designed for them, and if Adam hadn't been turned into an homage to Sarif augs, well. Adam was, if anybody, the best patient to need a Sentinel installed immediately.

Hands sunk into a body that's toeing the line between death and life, Koller makes one final twist and click. Stares for a few moments. Nothing happens.

Malik scrabbles for the counter above and behind her, straining to push herself back up. Back on her feet and she stumbles closer to see what the matter was.

"It's not- It's not turning on." Koller stares at it for another moment before coming to a decision. Wiping his hands carelessly on his shirt – it's already ruined, anyway – he moves quickly to a drawer, pulling a handful of cables out. Ignoring the conclusion that if the aug didn't turn on, it meant he was gone.

"What are you doing?" Malik is carefully out of his way, favoring the side that hadn't met a wall and a shelf already. Adrenaline made for a great painkiller, but she'd stretched it too far, too long. Running off it the moment she'd gotten the call.

"If it won't turn on from his own system, I'm going to try and make it turn on through mine." He's plugging cables into ports. The few remaining whole ones on his chest, a couple in his back. Vaclav pulls the other ends of the cables to his own skull plate, plugging them in effortlessly. Hesitates on the last one. "It's been a while since I've had to do this. It's- not going to be fun." Not even sure if he's telling Malik or bracing himself. He plugs the last cable in and immediately curls, letting out an agonized moan. He'd have dropped to the floor if he hadn't grabbed onto the arms of the chair, augs squeezing hard enough to dent the metal. Malik steps forward immediately, bracing him, taking his weight.

"Vaclav? Vaclav are you okay?" He's not. He's obviously not. Stupid question. She hopes it will bring him back though, give him something to focus on.

He laughs, something wet and shaky. Leans heavily against her as his hand reaches back into Adam, untwists a connection and fixes it. Resets it. "Please work." He's shaking, whimpering.

Silence.

A moment later, the Sentinel lights up with a slow whine. Koller sobs, immediately slumping against her. His left hand reaches backwards, stuttering, as he tries to unhook himself. Malik sees the movement and wrenches the cables out. She stumbles backwards as his legs give out and she crashes against the counter, the both of them sliding to the ground.

Koller's hands reach for his chest, searching. For the gaping hole that his body was certain was there. That he'd felt. His augs are clattering, shaking, whining as they try to stabilize.

Malik grabs his hands, pulls them down. Ignoring the new pain in her back from hitting the counter, she just curls tight around him. "It's okay, Vaclav. You're okay. You're not hurt." She doesn't dare look up. Doesn't dare to see if it worked. Throat too tight.

He seems to realize this, leaning against her for a moment, not struggling against her hold. Icarus had come to him in that much agony. Had walked from god-knew-where with a malfunctioning Sentinel. With his chest torn wide open. Vaclav is re-evaluating all the reasons Icarus terrifies him. Adds this to the list. That blind will, determination to live; Koller wonders where he got it.

There's a whine from the chair and Koller immediately stands, pulling himself out of Malik's grasp. The sudden movement, coupled with the ghost of that shared pain, makes him sick. He lurches to the drain in the floor and vomits. He picks himself up – he'd aimed it perfectly into the drain. How many times had he had to do that before, Malik wonders? He's checking systems, reaching for the bones on the tray – they were ribs. Malik looks away before it makes her sick. Not the fact that they're someone's ribs (she's definitely seen those before. Cut them out to open air) but the fact that they're Adam's. The Sentinel whirrs loudly, working overtime. Pumping endorphins and expelling shrapnel. Convincing his body that it wasn't dead, that it needed to heal.

"I think. I think it worked." Koller is breathless. Staring down at Adam like he couldn't believe it. He'd outdone himself. Even this was something he'd thought beyond him.

Malik just laughs, leans her head back against the drawers. Her eyes slide closed, all of the energy and rush leaving her. Too exhausted to think of what might happen if Adam actually wakes up. She just wants to sleep at the moment, hopes she can knock out before the pain actually hits. At least she hadn't broken anything vital, considering she'd still been able to stand up.

"Malik, are you okay? I heard that crash when you were getting here." He turns to her, finally able to focus on something that wasn't just the fading heartbeat under his hands. That she's on the ground, not moving too much, alarms him.

"I…might have cracked something." Sheepishly admits. Stupid miscalculation had gotten her here. She was embarrassed, honestly. She was better than that.

"Here, here, at least come lay on my bed." He's bending over, offering her a hand. She takes it, and the leverage he uses to pull her up makes her groan. He places a hand on her back, pressure on the injury, pulling a soft, pained noise from her. She hopes it's just a deep bruise, that she didn't actually break anything.

"I swore I'd never sleep on that thing again," she grumbles, not resisting his guiding hand towards it regardless.

She kicks aside a discarded can of beer and almost trips on a box of nuts and screws on the way over. Ignores the toilet in the corner, as she always does, and just drops onto the mattress, letting Koller take most of the weight as he lowers her down. She makes a soft sound as she adjusts her position, laying on her uninjured side and curling up just slightly. Not a whine. Faridah Malik did not whine.

"Let me get you some aspirin. Stay awake for a few seconds for me?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he's moving to the other side of the dungeon, rooting around in a few drawers until he finds what he's looking for. Comes back with the pills and what's probably supposed to be a bottle of water, but the liquid is discolored and she decides she'd rather just take them dry. He hands them to her and she pops them into her mouth, sitting up so she doesn't choke.

"Vaclav, if I'm still sleeping when he's waking up – wake me up." She's looking warily over at Adam, frowning slightly. She had words for him. And…a realization. She'd never intended to care so much, at all, about her bodyguard. They were supposed to be disposable. That he wasn't, and that he could get so close to death- she needed to do something about it.

"I get it, I get it Malik, don't worry. Just get some rest." His hands are shaking still and he wants nothing more than to curl up with her and try to put the horror out of his mind. But he has to keep an eye on Icarus, and watch out for Malik now too.

She's already asleep shortly after - the crash, and, whatever else she'd had to do to get that Sentinel probably weighed on her. Until she was left exhausted, barely carrying herself any further. Eerily similar to Icarus, dragging himself in here nearly dead. Vaclav ponders the thought, watching the two bodies sleep, one much more alive than the other. The assassin's body is working though – his lungs inhale, his heart is beating, and he would probably wake in a few hours.

Koller marvels at the sight as he uses a rag to get the blood off his augs. Digging into joints with a scalpel to pick out dried pieces. Very carefully not thinking about how he got all this blood over himself. A human should not have been able to lose so much blood and live, but Jensen seemed to exist just to defy expectations and spit on them as he hopped over yet another mysterious puzzle of just what made him tick.

He's peeling his clothes off, finding less bloody things to wear. It was not the best idea to wake Icarus up to the sight of copious blood. Nothing would get him into combat mode faster, and with his Sentinel working overtime to try and get him looking human again, that would be a very bad idea. He tosses the bloodied clothes in a corner. Sets his coat to the side to try and salvage later. Any stains he couldn't remove would just have to get new patches over them, he supposes.

He pulls up a chair and sits once he's clean and settles in to watch over the both of them. Wonders just what it took for Malik to get that part. How he managed to keep Icarus alive for so long. What the assassin had gotten into that resulted in such damage in the first place. What storm of perfect luck resulted in them saving him. His augs still tremor at the phantom agony.

Knowing Malik, she'd want Jensen to think Koller just had a Sentinel lying around. Or, maybe she wants him to know exactly what she went through to get it. She'd sounded upset. Furious. He wonders what he's missed to make her so. That Icarus nearly got himself killed? That she hurt herself to save him? Or that she worked so hard to of her own volition. Was so desperate to save him. For her own sake and protection, or for something else? He thinks he's skirting a little too close to the truth, and leaves it at that.

Vaclav watches Icarus' chest knit itself together into the morning, his eyes heavy and tired but unable to sleep. Not while a client…almost a friend, but not quite, sits there in his chair so injured. He'll just trade places with Malik when she and Icarus both get up. Realizes suddenly he has something to fix about his shop – Malik had crashed somewhere on her way in, hadn't she? He'd figure it out later. After sleeping. Which was a ways off yet.

Somehow, Vaclav managed to doze off. He only knows this because Icarus makes a noise and Vaclav is suddenly awake where he hadn't been. Bolting out of the chair – a slight stumble, sleep-drunk – and moving to the assassin's side. His chest looks almost fully healed, skin shiny and stretched new.

"Jensen?" He'll wake Malik in a second, if he's actually waking up and not just…coming back to life unconscious.

Icarus groans something in response.

"Heyyy, there you are. Let me get you a coffee started, okay?" He backs off for a moment to start the machine, and moves to gently shake Malik awake. She jerks startled and then flinches at the pain from moving, sitting up fast and searching for danger. "Hey, hey, Mal, it's fine. Jensen's waking up."

The smell of fancy espresso starts to fill the dungeon and hover over the stench of unwashed blood. Vaclav would never have bothered to buy something so nice, but Icarus had not-so-subtly given him this bag of beans and made it quietly clear that he should tell him when he ran out. Vaclav felt bad drinking it – surely the assassin didn't know how much coffee he drank – so he only brewed it when the augmented masterpiece was around.

Malik glances over at Adam, at his nearly whole chest, and sighs in relief. Her hand tentatively reaching for her back, feeling out the injury and breathing slow to check how hurt she is. Not too awful, but it would ache a while. Nothing compared to what Adam went through. But he'd be right as rain soon and she'd feel this a while. Maybe she should look into getting a Sentinel sometime, too.

"When'd you get such nice coffee, kid?" she asks, standing gingerly. Trying to gather the will to be angry when all she feels is an aching relief at seeing Adam...mostly whole. Alive. Still breathing.

"He said my coffee tasted like rat's piss and week-old blood." Vaclav shrugs, a little helplessly. "I mean…he's not wrong, buuuut it wakes me up?"

"I'm glad someone was finally able to tell you the truth about that shit." She limps for the coffee machine, slow inhales, slow exhales. Checking the time and reaching for her pocket, pulling out a…broken vial of neuropozyne. Sighing, and holding it up for Vaclav to see. "You got any extras?"

"Oh, shit, of course, of course yeah I always do," moving quick for a drawer that she would not have searched on her first, second, or fifth try looking for nupoz around here. He digs through a wrench and some envelopes – why does he have envelopes? Do people still send mail? – and pulls out a new box.

He tosses her one and she checks the expiration on it just in case. Knowing him, it might have been a first edition case, or, long past expiry. It wasn't. She takes a dose and reaches for the first cup of coffee coming off the machine, sliding another mostly-clean cup under and pushing the button for another shot. Drinks it in one long gulp and Vaclav just makes a noise, hand waving at Adam like 'that was his'. He could wait. He wasn't even awake yet and she very much was.

"…I'm going to fire him." She finds herself murmuring suddenly, the empty coffee cup held in her hand, almost limply now that it had served its purpose.

"You're- what. Mal, did you hit your head?" Vaclav is too exhausted, he must have misheard. Misunderstood. He's missing something here, some piece of this tangled monstrosity.

"Just my shoulder. And back." She sets the cup down and sighs, heavy.

"Mal-" a pause. "Faridah. That's crazy. You just saved him-"

"That's the point, isn't it?" Her hand scrubs over her face, nails in her scalp and shifting hair now that it had nothing to hold. "I almost died to save him. I was reckless and I was ready to." The heel of her hand digs into an eye. "That's not how this is supposed to be."

"So?" Vaclav takes the next cup of espresso the moment it's ready, sliding a third cup under. Takes a note after her – he needs it more than Adam does at the moment. Drinks it straight down, too rushed for the worth of those beans but he needs to be certain he's actually hearing this….this insanity.

"I can't have a bodyguard I won't let die, Vaclav!" she's certain of this, now. Walking across the room in determined strides, shoving the pain down to deal with later, reaching for Adam's coat. Digs into it, into the pocket she saw him put their contract into months and months ago and yanks it out. Her lips narrow into a thin line when she sees its bloody, stained and nigh-unreadable.

She's right about this. Her life isn't worth Adam's. He'll be fine. Without her he won't be in so much danger. He can go back to being the underground's favorite intrigue, the assassin everyone is craving to hire. He can go back to watching his own back and no one else's. She's folding up the contract so it'll fit into her flightsuit and as she turns back she glances at the chair.

Adam's eyes are open. And he's staring right at her. She shoves the papers into the pocket and zips it harshly, hears the metal catch on paper and she doesn't even care, then. Distantly, she hears the elevator. Vaclav had made a quick escape, then. She doesn't blame him. The weight of Adam's gaze on her is heavy.

"Fari-" he starts to say, voice a thick rasp.

"You're fired." She says, cuts him off. Easier to be quick about it. Cold. He was just a tool that she didn't need any more. The lie sits uneasy in her but she tries to make herself believe it.

He doesn't say anything, though his lips are parted slightly, still caught on her name. The sound dying in his throat, unfinished.

"You're welcome to keep using my network. Stay here until you're better." Pulling a jacket off the wall, one of Vaclav's – he wouldn't mind, he didn't wear any of them anyway.

Adam is silent. This, for some reason, both infuriates her and solidifies her resolve. She'd gotten used to his silence. It hadn't pissed her off since that first time she'd met him, and even then it was just a mild annoyance.

And yet, she falls into the trap anyway. His silence makes her speak, as it always has. "You didn't listen to me. I ordered you to not risk your life for that mission." She doesn't even care why he did anymore. Why he got caught. What almost cost him his life. She's mad at herself, for believing the illusion he put out that he was invincible. "I don't need you."

Maybe she does. But she got by without him before. She'd get by without him now.

"Goodbye, Icarus."

She leaves through the sewer.

Vaclav comes back once he's put a board over the broken window – he'll deal with the floor covered in books later and is. Startled to see the dungeon almost as he left it. Jensen is still in the chair, the coffee mug is still under the machine, and. And Faridah is gone.

"What-" he's immediately trying to call her, but she doesn't pick up. And then he thinks he should maybe make sure Icarus is still breathing, because the coffee's gotten cold and he hasn't moved-

The assassin sits up, then, and Vaclav sighs in relief.

"What happened?" he chugs the cold coffee and puts another one on, knows Adam will prefer it.

"She left," is all he says. In his usual unreadable tone, and honestly, Vaclav wonders if anyone can read him. Maybe Malik could have.

Vaclav doesn't say anything until he's got a coffee to press into Jensen's hands. Looking over him as he does, making sure he's still healing. At least that's going properly.

"She almost died to bring you a Sentinel," he finally says, quiet. Remembers the sound of roaring wind and that deafening crash, echoed in his infolink and upstairs. Any worse and she would've hit the wall.

Icarus grunts, and tips the coffee back. Not in the mood to savor it either, then. He sets it down on the tray that held his ribs a few hours earlier and moves to stand and Vaclav is immediately moving to push him back down.

"Woah woah, you were basically dead a few hours ago, you're not going anywhere-" Vaclav actually has to use his strength augmentation to keep him down, but it works and the assassin frowns hard as he's pushed back onto the chair. Which really just went to show how much Vaclav was right because Icarus could have shoved him off anyway at normal capacity. "She'll be back," he reassures. Doesn't know if he's reassuring himself or Jensen. Probably both, he thinks.

He looks like he's going to try and get up again.

"I shut off most of your augs-" Vaclav says quickly. The rapid snap of Icarus' glare to him is both a relief and a terror. "I had to- you were going to die and they kept screaming. I'll fix them as soon as you finish healing." The words tumble out in a rush. Even with his weapons off he could kill Vaclav as easily as breathing, and the mechanic's hands are up non-threateningly.

The assassin groans and drops his head back. Vaclav thinks he may be safe. For now.

Malik does not go back. Vaclav will be alright – he has Pritchard he can call if he needs to, and Adam. Will also be fine. She's sure of it. Safer and better off than if he were watching over her.

She returns from the next gala with her white aug spattered scarlet.