Trigger Warning: mentions of eyeballs
.
.
YOR BRIAR sat foot on what seemed to be the end of the tunnel. Light poured into a small sterilized room that heavily smelled of disinfectants, strong astringents that stung her eyes as someone who wasn't used to clinics. This place was walled with unstained white tiles kept clean, filters lining the vents above, and carts draped in blue sheets where surgical instruments lay unused. She couldn't name every single one but Yor recognized the blades of various sizes. Despite the lack of activity, Yor knew this room carried heinous affairs, immediately abandoning work the moment perpetrators heard her coming.
Circling around, her eyes observed the empty cylinders lined in neat rows, unlabelled. It tugged Yor uncomfortably at the thought of what organ could be small enough to fit in a three-inch container. Her first idea was a finger, but that idea was scratched out. During the war, only a few survivors were fortunate enough to come out alive with missing limbs, some small while others stood missing a whole arm. No one was offered a limb transplant of any kind. It just wasn't possible, they said. Shaking her head, the assassin couldn't mull over it any longer, seeing no signs of a person hiding in this room and no hidden back doors that led outside, she turned around and left.
It was by luck that sounds of arguing men caught her ears. She stalked after the gruff voice of one man as he explained the cowardice of fleeing from a blonde toddler. Her heels despite producing its characteristic clicking sound went unheard the shorter the distance became. Voices now growing louder when another man shouted meaningless excuses, his ego apparently wounded.
Their squabble wasn't at all interesting to Yor so when she arrived in a blur, her weapons poised to stab their necks, it painted a terrifying sight. The look of surprise colored their visages, then replaced by disbelief as they were unable to speak of protests. The light in their eyes dimmed and their bodies dropped without any fanfare.
"Oh my, that was rude of me." Yor pointed the sharp end of her stiletto at an unfortunate person who dodged her attack. He was breathing heavily. "Can you perhaps be a gentleman and confess to me your crimes?"
"Crimes?" His eyes shifted from his dead teammates to Yor's red gaze, and briefly, she could determine a lick of indignation behind his own gaze. "What about yours? You killed my friends!"
He tried to throw Yor off using his weight but she wasn't named a master assassin for no reason. She sidestepped and the man stumbled, powerless against a mightier enemy as his knees shattered at her kick.
The groans sounded painful, laced with anger. He screamed profanities at her, wishing the woman to go to the deepest pit of hell but he soon enough met her own brand of rage. Eyes narrowed into slits, Yor grabbed his collar and dragged him to the wall letting the man lean for a short reprieve.
"I'm doing the world a favor. Ridding of people like you who prey on children." His mouth was about to answer her question but Yor was faster. Her blade struck and the man's last view would be her stiletto and the carefully carved golden rose on the reaper's raven-hair.
She meant what she said.
Yor faced war, no… she braved it all for her younger brother. Being an assassin at a tender age was nothing in contrast to people who risked their lives for Ostania safety, they were heroes to be celebrated, they deserved all medals on their necks and badges to honor their platoon. Her work was indeed relevant just as what Shopkeeper explained but the recognition remained to be insignificant. Others like her were in the same position: unsung heroes.
Those two words brought a comforting blanket over her weary soul that warmed her against the cold evening breeze.
Yor thought about the children. Her mission parameters stated to kill people responsible for organ trafficking. Shopkeeper failed to mention what happens after her job so by all means Yor should be leaving already.
'I've come to save you from the bad guys'.
Once more, the place got quiet and dark, but Yor's earlier words echoed with clarity. Those bad guys are gone, no men will lay a finger on them anymore.
She reached the Cadillac. It was empty and looking around Yor noticed drops of old, darkened blood staining the covers. Bullets lying on the floor were the children used to huddle in fright. She wondered where the trio could be now. With their little feet, they couldn't possibly leave the park for the woods. Exhaustion would catch up to them sooner and were most likely hiding somewhere nearby, if the short amount of time Yor last saw them to the moment men went back to the tunnel was any indication.
Steeling herself, she marched on while looking for signs of life.
It wasn't long before a little girl showed herself. A head of a bird's nest for a hair peaked from one of the many abandoned operating stations, her eyes gleamed with recognition and head back inside to alert the others.
Now that Yor found them, she contemplated her next actions. Calling the police would be the sensible act as an adult, she could report their whereabouts and leave the persona of Thorn Princess behind. However, that becomes a huge risk to her anonymity and thus instantly discarded the idea. Not to mention, the closest phone booth was miles away. Yor couldn't afford government security associating normal office clerk Yor with the merciless Thorn Princess.
Ohhh Shopkeeper would be so disappointed.
Just the image of it brought unnecessary worry on her part, with Yuri being at the center of her imagination crying for his big sister – he shouted in disbelief, pounding at her cell bars when Yor bawled her eyes out.
"Big sister! How could youuuu!"
NOOO!
Slapping her cheeks, Yor winced and forced that image away. Yuri cannot know Yor's assassin work!
"You sure are prone to mood swings."
Yor paused. She realized the boy from earlier was now talking to her. Blonde hair and grey eyes, a bruise coloring his left cheek, his head tilted as he observed Yor with a lot of distrust despite her promising salvation moments ago. The little girl watched them from afar, gaze drifting back and forth from the boy to the others inside.
Not wanting to appear as another threat, Yor squatted down to the kid's eye level and introduced herself. "Hello. My name's Thorn Princess. There aren't bad guys here anymore. You're all safe now!" Yor hoped her smile didn't scare any of them, dimly aware of the blood staining her porcelain face.
"Umm… I –" He stammered, unsure of how to proceed so Yor added a question instead.
"What's your name?"
Whatever the boy saw in her, it must have been something good as her sharp eyes perceived the minute relaxing of his shoulders. But the doubt remained based on his frown and furrowed brows. For some time, he didn't speak and Yor's legs began trembling both from anticipation and prolonged squatting. He could be scared. This boy who bravely led others away from gun fights and was in the process of sizing up Yor, had all the reasons to fear a woman who single handedly took down a branch organization of a trafficking ring.
Was she really that scary? If Yuri saw her now, would her baby brother freeze in terror as well?!
"Jericho."
"Huh?"
"That's my name. Jericho." Yor immediately refocused her attention on Jericho, what a lovely name. Now that he graced Yor with his smile, she could see the slight dimple on his cheek. "Your's isn't much of a name. I mean… Thorn Princess? You aren't fooling me."
Just that. With a shake of his head, Jericho put his arms crossed over his chest. Smug at the sudden revelation.
If Yor was alone right now, she would have cried the instant Jericho catched on her secret identity. Since when did she give herself away! Replaying back to the times Yor encountered this little boy, she couldn't pinpoint the exact mistake made that clued him into her persona, since their interactions were minimal and lasted for less than five minutes. She felt dizzy at this very moment.
"Thorn Princess is a superhero codename like Wonderwoman but I guess…" he paused, deep in thought, unaware of the nuclear bomb he threw at Yor, "I guess yours sounds way better. Less generic. The costume is cool too, by the way. Edgy but cute."
Yor stared. She had no idea how to react with the sudden compliment.
"Though, Black Widow is more apt in comparison with the look and situation."
Yor's hackles stood at the familiar codename. Does this boy know more assassins other than her?!
"Listen." Jericho pointed a thumb at the station, "We have two other kids inside and they don't look good. Please help them, I uhhh I checked their eyes."
She lifted her head. Yor remembered that while her mission parameters were finished her job wasn't done. These children needed her, more so when Yor caught the whispered continuation 'or the lack of it' from Jericho's shaking figure as he led the way. She was no stranger to horrible crimes and Yor had her fair share of eyeball-snatching criminals selling it for gold. And her speculation was only proven right based on the blindfold that hid the sunken cavities of two little girls.
Jericho was about to pull at it, showing Yor that he wasn't lying.
"You don't have to do that. We wouldn't want infections getting in." He nodded in agreement and withdrew his hands. The other children sat, weary faces and dirt decorating their clothes. Thin and abused.
Yor made a choice that night.
She herded the children back into the car and Jericho handed her the key. Maybe it was the wrong decision, driving them to the nearest police station and endangering her safety along the line – a decision that could break her only family, break the trust of her comrades and security of The Garden… or perhaps it was the right one being the much needed heroine for innocent kids.
Her heart was heavy as the silence surrounding them.
Mind in shambles from the possible repercussions of her actions.
They were already in a city, a place Yor doesn't remember seeing but should have been so far from home that people wouldn't be able to recognize her face. It was only a matter of time before she drove by a police station. She gripped the steering wheel with a tightness that could cut off a man's circulation if Yor's gripping a neck. And her unease showed but was thankfully ignored.
"Hey."
Well, except for one perceptive child.
"So… you're a superhero right?" Yor smiled at Jericho's attempt of distraction. She did recall heroes from her childhood and remembered Yuri declaring he'll be better than them – strong and honorable heroes, it's no wonder he mistook Yor as one even if in her mind, she only fit the former description.
However, Yor is an unsung hero, there's no lie to that.
"I am."
"Cool. What's your superpower then?"
Yor's mind screeched into a halt, forgetting how superheroes have ridiculous powers over some element like ice. And Yor couldn't lie and have Jericho disheartened if he asked for a demonstration since she only has her skills to back her up. She could kick them into submission and stab them until their bodies no longer draw in air. Looking back at the blonde child, the raven-haired woman pursed her lips, deciding not to say the latter part as it wouldn't be so appropriate for children to remember the violence they just witnessed.
"I can kick really hard."
Jericho gasped in surprise, "Wow. Like Caped Baldy who can destroy monsters in a single normal punch. You're the One-Kick Woman."
Thorn Princess, the One-Kick Woman. It wasn't the farthest from the truth as she preferred sending her enemies skidding with her powerful legs. Arms occupied as her stilettos, a weapon mainly for skewering people, rest at the palm of her hands. Not that she wasn't taught how to punch normally. The Garden was very thorough in training their assassins at every aspect and if need for it appears , Yor can definitely punch her enemies lights out.
"Yes Jericho, strength is well… one of my superpowers!" Embarrassment colored Yor's cheeks, now unable to look at the boy sitting beside her. Playing pretend with a child wasn't anything new to her, Yor did that with Yuri though the number of times they played that game can be counted in one hand.
"Cool."
Twice. Yor heard that word twice already and to be frank she wasn't sure what 'cool' exactly meant for Jericho. It sounds like an agreement but Yor associated it with something chilly. At work, her office mates didn't explicitly state her as an uninviting person, however, Yor was no fool and was aware that her behavior might come to someone as off putting. And tonight Yor saw a child commenting on perhaps her rather cold personality.
She turned the wheel before glancing at the clock. Past midnight. People slept in their homes soundly while she drove to the end of the street where the word 'police' was neatly engraved on a slab held by two pillars.
"Drive past that station."
If anyone will recount Yor's evening, it would be a rollercoaster of emotions. She hadn't expected her mission to have a self-appointed side-mission which extended beyond work hours. And within that timeframe she felt fear, worry, wonder, and embarrassment. Currently the cycle went back to fear, nonexistent alarm bells pounded on her head, Yor's shadow persona would be brought into light as they neared the station. She can see it now, police interrogating her about the case, about how she killed those people, how she saved the missing children and how Ostania acts with a headline of a vigilante in their country. Those thoughts plague her mind, such distractions were to blame for Yor forgetting to hit the brakes as the car gradually moved past the place.
A guard slept on his post, and he didn't notice a black Cadillac drive by.
"Whoops! Sorry about that." Yor muttered. She intended on backing up as Yor put the car on halt, but Jericho seemed to have other plans when he rubbed his hands together, whispering, as if he was sharing a classified information only a superhero like Yor can hear.
"No! It's okay! I get it now. As your sidekick, I am required to protect your normie, probably boring, civilian identity. Right?"
Yor was then ready to protest. Assassins don't take sidekicks like an intern would be to a doctor. Nevermind the slight sting when he presumed her character as rather dull.
"As Thorn Princess it'll be a disaster if they knew who the real you is." Jericho began taking off the seatbelt and unlocking the door, "Park somewhere dark and wait for me TP."
"TP?" Of all the questions Yor Briar could ask, it was a query about something she already knew. "Wait, Jericho!"
It was loud enough to awaken the others. The eldest almost jumped awake in surprise and immediately looked around. "Are we there yet?"
What followed was the girls gaining consciousness who gripped the eldest either in fright. Yor doesn't want to agitate them further and comforted them with a reassuring tone, "Yes! We're here and we just need to walk a little bit and I'll escort you there. How's that sound?"
"Umm. No." Jericho said cheekily, "I'll escort you four. She needs to stay here."
"I don't get it, I thought she'll go with us and you know, do what adults do."
"Like what? Reporting the incident?" Jericho asked to which another child replied with a nod. He sighed, a rather heavy exhale accompanied by drooping of his shoulders, Jericho looked at them with imploring eyes. "Miss can't be seen by anyone –"
"She's a ghost?!"
Jericho frowned at the interruption and grumbled in disagreement, "Nooo, she's a badass superhero! And she can't go with us because uhhh… because there are other kids who need saving."
Pretty sure Yor's heart melted right then at Jericho, a child who looked to be five years younger than the eldest one, yet with a comprehension beyond the other children Yor had the fortune of communicating with. There was indeed a fascination in Jericho's eyes that lit up the moment she confirmed her work, superheroes tend to have that effect based on tv shows. The interest did not wan, rather it grew especially at her display of her skill, which was nothing special if Yor was being honest. But what hit the nail was the admirable consideration Jericho showed for Yor's identity.
An unsung hero. One who does great deeds but receives no recognition in return.
'So this is what it feels like to be recognized.' Yor thought to herself, unknowingly letting a smile bloom on her face despite the exhaustion she felt earlier. It was nothing compared to the admiration of one little boy willing to save Yor in return. This feeling of being valued… Yor decided to cherish that warmth, that meaningful act – it meant a thousand for Yor.
Jericho caught the assassin's wide-eyed stare and saluted at her, "Robin's gotta do the sweet talking. Now come on." He gestured for the others to leave, one-by-one he helped them get to their feet, particularly the two with blindfolds. They whimpered and grasped Jericho's hand stiffly, afraid of letting go.
Yor feared an anxiety attack happening, and doubted whether she made the right choice instead of heading straight to the hospital. Looking back at the children, they formed a single file with their hands linked together.
She waited, just watching them. The eldest first entered the building before the five of them disappeared from her view and then let out a breath of relief.
Finally completing her mission at long last. Weary for sure, but Yor would like to lose sleep over a missing out a rewarding job well done such as this. There was an ineffable emotion she had difficulty in putting words to, it wasn't something negative – an emotion which made Yor hesitate in starting the car and leave, compellingly powerful it almost seemed like Yor was miserable to drive away and forget seeing the children again. They would all stay in her memories while she went back to work as a clerk.
She hoped deep down that they'll be in good hands.
Plucking up the courage to leave, Yor fastened her belt and turned on the engine sluggishly as if weighed down by grief. Her hands reached for the front mirror, fixing it when she caught sight of a blond child running towards the car.
"Jericho!"
"TP! Let's go!"
He instantly found himself back to his seat before slamming the door, laughing like he just shared one big joke that went over Yor's head. She didn't understand why a child chose to go back to her. Jericho's chance of going home was higher with the police who had plenty of resources, they had a well-connected system of gathering intel of which parents lost a certain child. Yor was just a –
"I didn't get the chance to thank you."
Yor was just a… person trying to make the word a better place.
"It was nothing. You're welcome, Jericho."
He huffed and waved his hand, "It wasn't nothing. You were so cool." His mutterings got softer and softer so Yor was unable to pick up what he just said after. Nevertheless, she heard that word again! And maybe she was wrong to assume it meant cold-hearted after seeing Jericho explain her fight with comical hand gestures. He emphasized how a certain bad woman crumpled after hitting (stabbing) her trachea and Yor wondered who taught Jericho basic anatomy.
"I should thank you too. As a…" Yor interrupted his storytelling the moment he stopped for his breath, "... superhero, for helping me keep my identity safe."
Jericho nodded with all seriousness he could muster, "Yeah. It'll be bad. Villains will target you and your loved ones. You sooo need me TP."
Yor's eyes widened at the unexpected statement. "What?"
"Train me and you get a Robin. I'll help you wherever and whenever."
.
.
The deep unconsciousness usually presented nothing to me but a state of prolonged sleep of indefinite period – at least, that's what my physiology books stated. Many people who recovered from coma often told stories of places they've never seen before, people they've never encountered. Others recall it as nightmares as dreams looked out of this ordinary world. For me, whose buttcheeks ached from sitting for hours, I couldn't determine the current state I was in.
Giving a passing glance at the dark-haired lady, she tucked her… erm… fancy barbecue sticks in her hair tying it in a neat bun. Said sticks were used to impale no good doers a few hours back. The dried blood coated some parts of her hair and for some reason, the sight should have offered an intimidating look but the Thorn Princess made it impossible. She adorned this soft smile on her face while humming a faint song like murdering a bunch of crooks was nothing but a list on her chores. The way her gentle voice washed over the terror we had, she effortlessly assured our safety with that calmness.
My point was, after observing this lady's overall appearance and behavior, I can conclude with confidence that her custom looked magnificent, those sticks were sharp and not to be played with, and her character screamed: superhero!
I mean – who in their right mind fights in heels and carries the strength of three elephants, and then speaks on rescuing people from criminals? No undercover spies or master assassins will ever do that. The process of elimination sure landed me on the correct answer (superheroes!) more than I could count, especially on major exams, add the fact that the 'how to live a life' manual once said to me that overcomplicating a certain idea was unnecessary and unpleasant so just be happy it worked for one thing, it works for other things.
Am I making sense?
Anyways. I could be stuck in a nightmarish world with no way out and the best thing a man's gotta do was… well, leach on to the strongest individual, then pray to God Almighty you wouldn't be punted in dreams and end up with a flatline real time. Sounds like a plan.
But still. Superheroes exist here! The ten year old in me jumped up and down with excitement, grinning so wide he'll have a TMJ disorder in the future. On the outside, my face remained to be a passive mask just looking onwards and seemingly memorizing the streets as TP brought the car towards her secret hideout! I wasn't expecting a huge array of monitors and gadgets like Batman's batcave, this superhero radiated a similar aura to Superman. TP seemed like the type to be an invisible person. When she takes off her clothes and wears thick-rimmed eyeglasses, she'll be the charming girl-next-door who nobody suspected of having muscles made of steel.
"I can drop you off at your home, Jericho." And just like that, the silence between us shattered. The concerned adorning TP's face was appreciated but I doubt my exact home address existed here. I've roamed around this land to learn absurd city names such as Arsehood. That city manually built most of its infrastructure on hard labor, people don't usually turn a blind eye to that and would even create a Tiktok video about it.
I shook my head and shrugged, "I don't have a home."
The car skidded to a halt and I doubled over in pain from the sudden brake.
"Where do you usually stay if you don't have a place?"
The Thorn Princess with her gracious soul was probably thinking she could drop me off to an orphanage.
"The streets. I live by taking scraps from the diner's back area. They give meaning to one man's trash is another man's treasure."
She bit her lip and scanned my whole frame, "That isn't healthy for a young boy like you."
"Don't worry! I can sniff out good food." I pointed to my nose and exclaimed, "I have a reliable sense of smell like a bloodhound and I can smell a rotten one from an edible bread."
"I am more worried about your safety Jericho, no child should ever live off the streets. It's dangerous." Aside from lack of food, clean water, and shelter everyone was aware of the real threat in the streets. Homeless people face abuse, exploitation, and discrimination that endangers their overall health. The heroine was obviously looking out for me and wouldn't do good on her conscience if she drops me off somewhere.
"And when's the last time you've eaten something that isn't…" She paused as if searching for an appropriate and least offensive word for my scavenger hunt, "... thrown away." If she was asking about the last homemade meal I've eaten, well that's the night when I left Richard and his joyful cousin. I barely remembered what the soup tasted like but I did vividly recall losing appetite because someone coughed on my meal.
"Months ago, I think. Why?"
There was resoluteness behind her ruby irises, one that told me to expect this woman won't let a child go with the state I was now.
.
.
Yor: I want this child safe and home where his parents are waiting for him.
Jericho: I am your Robin now.
X
Yor: this is called a stiletto, a needle-like dagger.
Jericho: fancy barbeque sticks.
x
Hello! Merry Christmas! Sorry I was gone for months, I had a hard time dealing with internship being the introvert I was, fresh from 3 years of online classes, I find it so difficult to interact to any patients at all. ((TnT))