Red Moon Rising

by MasterofMasyaf9000

The beating of a butterfly's wings can lead to the whipping of a tornado. A world of bloody evolution is forever changed with the most minute of choices: What if Adam Taurus had never joined the White Fang?

9. House of Cards

Death offers you thorns, eternity offers you roses, and life offers you both."

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Chapter 8: House of Cards

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AN: This chapter gets fairly dark. This is your warning here. Hopefully you enjoy it.

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Charlotte crashed through the door of her living room, stumbling over the carpet, hand reaching for the light switch while simultaneously straining to keep the figure in her arms from hitting the ground, "Why are you so… heavy?" She hissed with exertion, shifting her hold until his chin was pressing against her shoulder. He really was heavy - something she hadn't really noticed the first time she'd had to lug him up a flight of stairs, and he'd at least been awake then. She managed to—gently— lay him down on the couch, finally feeling as though she could take a breather.

And then she'd gone and put the lights on.

She covered her mouth; it didn't do much to block out the strangled sound she made a second later. It didn't quite reach a scream, but it came admirably close. For all of her ability to see in the dark, it had nothing on seeing the full extent of his injuries in the light. Her knees felt weak for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with her injured leg, and she slowly lowered herself into a sitting position near his legs rather than test how long they had left. It was as though they had fallen asleep, instead being replaced with a tingling, pricking sensation in various patches of her muscles.

In a way, Charlotte wondered if she should hate him.

She'd never really figured out what it was about him that made her throw everything she knew to the wind. The caution that ringed her life was just void when he was in it.

The one thing she had so carefully set in place so she could remain distant and uncaring, to protect herself and her emotions from abandonment or even worse, affirmed attachment. She hadn't thought twice, even when he responded in kind and had started to allow her in, before closing himself off again. Ice washed over her and she withdrew, burying her face in her hands in unending shame and irritation. He breathed in tatters as if he meant to assure her it was alright.

She stared down at the lifeless form lying on her couch and crossed her arms over her chest to keep them from shaking. When that failed, her finger scooped away matted red hair from an eye swollen shut, revealing a face besieged by a patchwork of bruising that made her fight back a wince of her own. She had seen atrocities in abundance years ago and when she started her new life, she hoped, perhaps childishly, to never witness them again. Her frown deepened, guiding her memory to times she didn't wish to visit.

The refrain of self-correction was long-familiar by now. She'd learned which things she couldn't let herself think about too closely if she didn't want to put herself into a snit for days, and the subject of what her life might have been was close to the top of that list.

She was being an idiot. She had to be losing her mind.

Three months ago, she would have run away, changed her name, given herself plastic surgery, whatever she would have had to do, she would have done it; in order to avoid any kind of open confrontation with the clan of thieves, murderers and bastards that had cast her from its ranks.

So why in the hell did she think it was a good idea to bring him back here; the dumbass on her couch that had decided to take them to war?

Kindness was an alien word. Anyone who willfully exiled themselves to this city couldn't give a damn about kindness. They had no use for it, especially not when bullets and plastic cards could get you anything your heart desired with half the effort and three times the satisfaction. It were useless—a weakness that rendered you incapable of doing what it takes to survive. She only dragged him out of that dumpster so he would owe her later.

That was her excuse and she was sticking to it. It had nothing to do with the sick feeling that crawled through her gut with the thought of him laying dead in some dirty street. A low growl left her throat. Nothing at all.

Didn't she pride herself on her independence? She didn't need him. She'd never needed anyone since she'd been cast out into the slums, no matter how much she'd wanted someone beside her. She'd taken care of herself, and defied anything thrown in her direction at any given time.

She'd once seen a bigger goldfish eating at a smaller one. It had pecked at the scales until it was kind of naked and vulnerable to infections. That's how the regret was getting her; it was taking a little bit of her defences at a time. It came in waves, what she should have done or said differently, what she shouldn't have done at all. She couldn't undo it, but... She just didn't know. All she could do was try.

The next few minutes were spent in the agonizing task of trying to make him stable and tending to the few wounds that she could. She didn't have much in the way of medical experience, but she knew better than to think she could take him to a hospital. Even if she could get him there unnoticed, questions would be asked, and good lien said that he'd have been shot dead by daybreak.

The eye she could still see was stubbornly closed, though she could see his lips moving and mumbling something unintelligible.

Still...she had to check under that bandage. Leaving it like that was risking infection —even she knew that much.

No sooner had she had the thought, than a cold shiver made her turn. His grip was surprisingly strong despite his haggard state. "Don't..." His voice was soft, but she could hear the desperation clear as day. His remaining eye looked at her own, his eyelids parted and exposing a single blue iris, "Leave it...please."

She swallowed. "I... need to make sure, okay?"

Her finger touched his skin softly and this time the eye turned to her slowly. It held confusion, the hard glacier cracking and swirling as his eyelid fluttered rapidly, unable to hold up any longer, until finally it closed again. He exhaled and let his arm fall, fingers almost grazing the ground. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The stitches had been the easy part, in hindsight.

She'd known at first glance that most of what was wrong with him, couldn't be fixed by her. Sure, she could stitch a wound with the best of them, and she had managed to tie a tourniquet around the worst of his visible wounds; his shoulder, to at least stem the bleeding, if not stop it outright. She was sure the wounds had settled down and she'd likely stemmed the flow for the time being, but she was worried removing her hand and the pressure from the tourniquet would start the process anew. She also didn't dare move his body again either; she didn't want him to stir in his sleep and writhe in pain again.

But she could see from the unnatural bending of his fingers and the pained groans he occasionally let out, that it was far from everything. And so, against her better judgement, she'd called Inari. The woman wasn't exactly a friend, but she had helped Charlotte out of a jam years ago, and she was the best thing the slums had to a doctor in this city without paying through the nose in one of the richer districts. It was a risk; she was notoriously apolitical in the affairs of the city's underworld, and if some angry Spiders asked her questions later, she wouldn't hesitate to sing like a canary, but Charlotte had at least one good favour to call in.

She was going to need it, if she was calling at this hour.

The back alley doctor had arrived in minutes. Inari hadn't wasted time with greetings or pleasantries, just come straight upstairs, bag in hand, without so much as a "by your leave." Charlotte didn't have it in her to complain.

She'd been promptly turfed out of her own living room, and was now pacing the corridor outside, tapping her heel against the wood in a steady impatient rhythm.

Then that itch for a smoke had her right hand rummaging around in a back pocket for her cigarettes. After producing the rumpled package, she jangled one of the long, white sticks of tobacco loose, prying it out with her teeth while eyeing the small mirror on the wall off to her left.

She'd finished two and was in the process of lighting a third by the time the fox faunus stepped out, wiping her brow with one hand and holding open the door with the other, waving her back in with an exhausted twitch of her arm. Once they were inside, the haggard fox faunus scowled at her, pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose.

"Those will kill you, you know."

Despite the severity of the situation, Charlotte rolled her eyes, tucking the stick she had between her lips away into her clothes. This argument had been an ongoing one between the two of them for longer than she remembered. She'd quit and Inari would get off her back however briefly, and then she'd start again. The familiarity was surprisingly comforting to her, and went a fair way to calming her nerves.

Once satisfied, the backstreet doctor nodded towards her prone patient, Charlotte just now catching the slow rising and falling of his chest.

"You sure don't bring me the easy ones, do you?"

"How is he?" she asked slowly, not taking her eyes away from him for even a second.

"Fine. Just resting now."

She wandered over and stood behind him, letting her vision roam across his back and shoulders. There were various scars, but some new bruises colored the palette. A warm sensation bloomed in her chest while she gently touched a large, dark bruise on his right shoulder blade.

"This was a rather mixed scenario. The good news is that most of the lacerations bar one, were superficial, and that I was able to jumpstart his aura system. That should take care of a lot of the more serious injuries, provided he doesn't tax himself for the next few days. There was a lot of soft tissue damage. He was bleeding under the fascia—"

At Charlotte's look, she sighed. "The tissue under the skin that connects to all the important shit like muscles, nerves and blood vessels." Seeing Charlotte dawn with understanding she continued. "Anyway, like I said, if his aura's up and running again, that should mostly be taken care of in due time. Speaking of which, I don't even want to ask what the fuck he did to get it all jacked up in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"The flow was partially restricted around the upper body for some reason, which in turn caused a blockage. Gods only know what would have happened if that had been left unchecked once it started trying to heal his wounds. Honestly, I was half tempted to call my sister for help."

Charlotte wracked her brains for a few moments before finally coming to a realization.

"Wait. Doesn't she wo-"

Inari growled by way of reply, but Charlotte could tell that there was no real heat to it.

"She does. But at least she has more experience with aura injuries than I do. At least she damn well should do, the sadistic bitch." She grumbled under her breath, her bloodshot eyes still struggling to stay awake as she seemed to search the room for something.

For a few moments, there was silence, before she caught sight of it: a pair of medical scissors, along with a roll of bandages, both of which were quickly seized and deposited into her carry bag with the rest of her equipment. A single strand of hair dangled between her eyes, before quickly being pushed back. She continued.

"The swelling is down and he seems to have full function of the arm, though right now, I can only guess if there's going to be any long term effects."

"Brain damage?"

"No. No signs of it as far as I can tell. He took a hard hit; several, to the head, for sure. But he seems to be fine now. It's probably the exhaustion keeping him under for the time being."

"What, no drugs?"

"I like drugging my patients as much as the next back alley doc, but it's not exactly great medical practice to drug someone with a possible concussion. For now, all we can do is let him rest and see what happens." Fastening the clasps on the bag, she stood up to her full height, and Charlotte moved to let her pass.

"Thanks, Inari."

"Call me if there's any changes, or when he wakes up. I'll be back in a few days to check on his recovery and collect my fee."

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Adam Taurus struggled violently into the realm of consciousness with the feeling of savagery scalding his throat and the unmistakable taste of iron in his mouth. The coppery tang of blood made him want to throw up; only his head was throbbing—the aftereffect of a hit to the head he couldn't remember clearly yet—and something told him it was a bad idea, throwing up when his skull felt the way it did.

His vision was blinded by a bright light as soon as his eye opened. He blinked a few times as the blinding white slowly transformed into a familiar plaster ceiling. He could only remember flashes. Metal, blood, cold, rain. His memories were… murky. The sound of a car door opening, vaguely feeling himself unceremoniously dumped into the backseat. Someone piling in the front and starting it up with a rushed turn of the keys.

"Who...why are you-"

He remembered hearing a woman curse under her breath, could just about see her grip on the steering wheel tighten through the black spots in his visions and the flashes of light around him. His fragmented mind couldn't piece together much more than that. He wasn't sure he wanted it to. He could hear a new voice just then, consoling, driving back the tendrils of pain crawling over him, a warmth in the dark abyss of his thoughts. What was it? He couldn't tell. There was a sharp edge at the back of his skull prodding at him that he knew, before he closed his eye again, the beautiful voice he couldnt put a face to disappearing as his mind descended into darkness.

"Try not to fall asleep. Adam? Try not to fall…"

The second time he awoke, it was the dead of night, rain pounding and causing a low consistent hiss that reminded him of his headache. He couldn't roll over and shove a pillow over his head, his shoulder and ribs were shouting at him to stay still, and he groaned, the rain hissing in his ears for time indeterminate. His mother was looking over him at the foot of his bed, and that didn't make him feel better, because there was a supreme look of disappointment written all over her face.

The air was stagnant and stuffy and the aroma of cigarette smoke wafted through the air, combining with the smells of oil and rusted metal. It filled his nostrils and he was overcome with a sense of 'homeliness.' He tried to speak, but he could barely form the words.

His mind didn't quite understand what was going on yet. Didn't understand where he was or what happened or what he was doing. It was like a twisted nightmare , he just kept moving forward, kept fighting, only he never knew who he was

fighting or why or how, just that it felt wrong, so very wrong, in a way that he couldn't explain.

He didn't know how long he was out, but when he opened his eye for a third time, his head felt significantly better, the throbbing and blurred vision reduced to a dull ache. Blinking slowly, he looked down to his left hand to see his fingers had been treated and wrapped, as was his head. The cotton weave that he'd just now noticed, restricting the movements of his chest somewhat, seemed to have done a good enough job for most of the night, helping to clot the hole in his shoulder and stave off the bleeding, if the faded dark stains were any indication.

"Where the hell…"

"Don't take that tone with me, momma's boy." The woman blew out a stream of smoke. "You should thank me for picking you up."

"Shut..up..." He snarled, but it came out as a low scratchy growl, the kind that wouldn't have intimidated a mouse, much less a full grown woman.

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it? You get to spend three nights in bed with a beautiful woman tending to you, but all you can manage is 'Mommy' this and 'Mommy' that. You're not the sharpest knife on the rack, are you?"

"It's none of your business," Adam snapped, a little louder. He tried to roll over in an attempt to turn his back on her, only for his ribs to object by way of searing pain. With another frustrated growl, he conceded the fight to his body, allowing himself to settle back into his comfortable position.

"Suit yourself." She shifted. Her usual fringe of black hair trailed over her forehead. She poked it behind her ear, smiling at him, "How do you feel?"

His delivery was as dry as his mouth. "Dead."

"You're not, I promise you. I'd be asking for a refund if you were." She looked up thoughtfully before continuing. "And I wouldn't have you bleeding over my furniture."

"Why stitch me back together?"

Charlotte shrugged a delicate shoulder. "I'm spoiled like that. I can't stand broken things. I only play with toys that work."

He didn't smile. He wasn't in the mood for her games. Not now, not anymore. Adam looked away, trying to force down his anger. "What do you want?" He spat the words as though they were acid. You brought me here. You fixed me up. What do you want from me?"

"I had to do something. I mean it wasn't like I could just leave you there, right?"

"Sure you could." He snorted. "Anyone else would have..."

"Yeah, well, I'm not 'anyone else' so that's not exactly a problem. Besides, is that any way to talk to someone who saved your life?"

"Saved my life?" he growled, struggling to sit up. In the ten seconds it took to process that thought, she had moved to stand over him, peering down at him from the other end of the couch. His muscles weren't as weak as before, the disorientation was fading. He felt more like himself. Swinging his legs down over the edge, he met her eyes with his, the question still burning on his lips. Moments later Adam's eye darkened in remembrance.

Right. That.

Adam pressed his teeth together, desperately biting at the needless bitterness threatening to jump to his tongue. He was better than that.

His eye narrowed and he turned to look back up at the roof before clenching his teeth again. He looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and he could see the worst of his injuries, an ugly red and brown scab that extended from his right shoulder all the way to the beginning of his pectoral muscle, the ugly stitches doing no favors to its nauseating appearance.

Expecting to feel deep open wounds and see blotches of bruises and tell-tale signs of broken bones patterned all over his body from his rampage, he received quite a surprise when he found only his arms,shoulder and right shin bandaged up.

"Don't."

Naturally, he ignored her. He succeeded in pulling himself upright and immediately regretted it, biting his tongue to stifle a cry against all the aches and pains he felt in his shoulder,and just about everywhere else. He needn't have bothered.

Charlotte yelped, as she quickly stood up and looked at him incredulously. "What the hell are you doing!?" She asked. She realized immediately how harsh and irritated her voice sounded, but she couldn't rein it in any longer. He needed to listen to her.

As if on cue, letting out a groan in pain, he fell to his knees, and she moved swiftly to his side in an attempt to support him. He shoved her away, putting a hand over his bandages and struggled to his feet.

"Leaving."

"You're hurt."

"Not important." Came the surly reply. He was only half listening, and he was already looking around the room for his jacket and vest. Had they even survived his battle? He hoped they had. Finally, he set eyes on them, draped off the edge of the living room table, the red tubing of his jacket catching his attention as his nocturnal vision finally kicked in. It looked whole at least. Taking a single step towards them, he could see something solid that glinted poking out from underneath them, almost certainly his sword. He allowed himself a pained smile. At least he'd held onto that.

"What do you mean, it's not important?!"

"People have hurt me long before we met. I'll live." It was now that he realised his eye was uncovered, a fact that made his spine go rigid, and he barely fought the urge to avert his gaze from hers. It was only the small spark of reason he had left that pointed out that she'd more than likely already seen it, and therefore embarrassment and shame were pointless now, though it didn't improve his mood in the slightest.

You look like you were hit by a train." She was ever so blunt. Tremors bubbled from a throbbing knot under his breastbone. Adam clenched his free hand into a fist, tried to focus on the sensation, but it just wouldn't stop. Its tendrils spread through him like wildfire, until it had squeezed his entire body in its relentless grip. He could feel his mind unraveling at the very seams. There was a part of him that was glad that they were at least talking again, even if he still couldn't glean even a sliver of sense from her actions. It almost hurt as much as the dull undercurrent of pain in his ribs.

He huffed out a sigh and raised one of his hands, holding his palm against his forehead. "You really don't understand. I need to get back out there and-"

"And then what?"

"What do you think? I'll feed him his damned teeth and collect the bounty."

The familiarity of their conversation wasn't lost on her. All at once, she remembered the morning after they'd met.

"Oh of course. Because it worked so well for you the first time, didn't it?" she smiled coldly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm guessing you know just what's going to make what happened a few nights ago so different from last night?" She inquired rhetorically. Adam barely had time to open his mouth before she sharply cut him off. "Don't even say anything. I'll tell you what'll be different. You'll lose, again, only five times faster because you look like you lost a fight with a blender, you won't luck out by setting a building on fire to escape, and he'll actually finish you off this time. Him or any other goons he decides to bring with him the moment he figures out that you're still alive."

"Then that's my..." He looked away and scowled, his hands clenching, "Forget it-"

"Alright, knock it off with that bullshit!" She pressed a finger to his chest, ignoring his scathing glare, "You told me to leave you alone but it takes, what, all of a couple of days before you lose your shit and end up licking your wounds in a dumpster?"

"Give me a few minutes and I'll be good to go."

"Right..." She leaned forward and jabbed the bruise on his chest, getting a pained and angry hiss in response. "You look 'good to go' straight to a damn morgue." She all but ignored the annoyed glare he gave her.

"No idea what you're talking about..."

One hand took the proffered water in her grasp, the heel of the other rubbed into his forehead, seeking relief from the growing ache. The pounding behind his good eye and the other rocked what remained of his balance and sensitivity.

She smiled sweetly. That was his first and final warning, before everything above his neck hurt. He barely even saw her hand move.

"What is wrong with you?" Adam snarled, writhing in pain for a short time, as his hand quickly massaged the back of his head while he cursed silently to himself. He had certainly dealt with more trying injuries in his life, but that one had hurt far more than he had been expecting, no doubt because of his present condition and it brought a powerful wave of anger to the forefront of his mind.

"You're an idiot, that's what's wrong with me!" She protested with equal vigour, snapping fiercely. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

"I can fix this on my own! It's not-"

"Yeah, bullshit you can! Look at what's happened so far! Face it, you need help-"

"And why would a human give a damn?"

She wasn't prepared for the sudden yell, the sheer anger and hate in his voice. She only caught a brief glimpse of the expression that passed across his face, before the mask of his rage solidified for good, warping the features of his face. Silence reigned as their gazes locked in stubborn antagonism. His words seemed to sink in then, and Adam was surprised to see her expression change.

"You think I'm…?"

Shock mingled with a strange sense of excitement. She felt almost buoyant, energized with a sense of revelation. She had thought Adam cold, arrogant, his sour armor rendering him almost completely resistant to the ugliness of the world. So hardened, so cynical, full of rage for the world, that he no longer cared. About anything. The stranger staring at her now, was a man consumed by his emotions, who concealed his pain so well, inside of his anger that no one could ever get close enough to see the shadows.

Look at me." She ordered gently.

He refused and stayed where he was.

"Look at me." She said again.

He found his resolve crumbling.

He slowly lifted his head up to stare at Charlotte's face. His eye moved up to meet hers and she could see how much pain he was feeling, just from his stare. Her fingers were covered in dried blood and at some point she must have wiped sweat from her brow because he could easily make out dark green smudges across her forehead. No. Those weren't smudges. Adam breathed through his mouth, heavily, as though he'd just run a triathlon moments before. The couch cushions and springs compressed almost inaudibly as he leaned up on his elbow. "What are...?"

And there he saw. Six pupil-less, monochromatic eyes, evenly spaced across her forehead in two columns of three. They blinked in sequence, adjusting themselves to their exposed surroundings. He shouldn't stare, he knew that. It was rude for one, and for another, it was playing with fire, embroiling himself in forces he didn't care to understand. A thousand questions sprung to his lips and died on his tongue.

"You're right. A human probably wouldn't care. Most faunus definitely wouldn't. Hell, I'm not even sure why I do. Maybe I'm just stupid." She sighed. " Go ahead and get your laughs out of the way. If you really feel a way about it, we can go our separate ways or whatever when this shitshow is dealt with. Right now you look like you can barely stand, and whatever beef you've got with me can fucking wait. So just suck it up and let me help you, okay?"

"Why didn't…?"

"Because it was none of your damned business, that's why! You want to keep digging or do you just have rocks in your skull?" She snapped savagely, her green eyes burning.

Adam swallowed. The room seemed to shimmer. The weight of all their unspoken words hung in the air like an anvil. At any moment now it would crash down around their ears. There was still time to avert it, he could say nothing, find his way onto his feet and leave the room, anything. Damn her. She had left it completely within his hands.

Ignoring her insult, Adam looked at her sitting up again.

She calmed almost instantly, in that way of someone who'd gone beyond rage, sitting back down heavily, hands resting on her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth twisting, her voice rising and breaking as her grief finally began to overcome her.

"I'm sorry, Adam. For lying to you. Or just not being straight with you. It's just...it's a long story."

Her body was hunched forward, she looked small and lost and utterly wretched. It reminded him of something, something he could not place. Without thinking, he shuffled closer and gently placed his hand on her bare shoulder. He had a half a second, just enough to register the flushed warmth of her skin , before she realized what he was doing, nearly jerking away before controlling the reaction.

"I've got time," Adam replied slowly, testing the words. He wasn't so lost to reason that he wouldn't hear what she'd have to say. He owed her that much; she had saved his life, done so much for him. Did it even matter what she was? He inclined his head towards his injuries. "Got all the time in the world."

Charlotte cast him a wan smile, but it was weighed down by exhaustion, and perhaps even some guilt. She brought up her arm, leaning her chin on her hand.

"I am sorry, for all of this…I don't know what came over me…I just don't know what…I mean…" She took a deep breath.

It was here that he saw her press her palm above her breastbone— an action Adam had come to realize over the months they'd lived together meant that she was growing anxious. Did she truly trust him that much? Moving to look her in the eyes, he saw hesitance in her, doubt, insecurity, fear. She was nervous.

It was such a foreign feeling to her that she wasn't sure if she was recognizing it for what it was, or mistaking it for something else. How long had it been since she'd given a damn about anyone else's opinion of her? This feeling was completely alien and confusing, and if it was what she was afraid it might be, then she was scared to death of it.

Her voice trembled, and he reached out again, laying his hand over hers as it rested between them. "You don't have to apologise. Not to me, not to anyone. You shouldn't have to live that way." He held her gaze unflinchingly, but not the disgust or revulsion that she had always been familiar with. She studied his face with all of her eyes then, as he took a deep breath, recollecting himself before he could say anything else that might come off too strong. "You don't have to."

She wanted to believe him. She desperately wanted to believe. And those piercing, honest look in his eye... To give into someone. To finally let her guard down like this...

She restrained the temptation to lean into his palm. "Yeah, well, I'll let you in on a secret, Hornhead. Even us Faunus have prejudices. Having a cute fluffy tail, claws, horns or bunny ears is all well and good. Perfect little photogenic props for political race baiting, or something humans can fetishize. Being born with scales, six arms or gods forbid, eight eyes, and you'll find that even your 'brothers and sisters' get a lot less friendly with you. Hell, I'm lucky I wasn't born with mandibles."

"Is that why you pretended to …"

He gestured awkwardly, and Charlotte couldn't help but smother a smile despite the bitterness of her memories. Seeing Adam of all people, trying so hard to be tactful, removed all doubt for her. He cared. He really cared. His hand wandered to the back of his head as he flushed, realizing he was staring, and averted his eyes.

"Yes. That's why I pretend to have a tail."

"Why not pretend to be a human?" Adam couldn't manage to keep the bile out of his voice easily, though it wasn't directed at her. So many faunus would have done just that. Pretended. She had a chance to fit in. To avoid any of the discrimination that came from being one of them.

The words hung in the air, their reverberation seeming to be the only thing to disrupt the momentary silence. Though it may have only been a few hesitant seconds, Adam would attest that it felt like hours. This barely noticeable pause concerned him, as the very atmosphere around her seemed to shift moods, even though Charlotte's unchanging expression gave no cue of what she was thinking.

Finally, he was met with an answer.

"I have my pride too, you know. Humans… aren't so bad, in their own way. At least they're consistent for the most part. But I am who I am, and there's only so much of my self respect I'm willing to part with in the name of convenience. You get that, right?"

He did.

A flicker of understanding passed between them. Adam couldn't help but look at her in a new light.

Shifting his head, he started to feel the cloth covering his eye come loose again. Her hands came into view and stopped him midway, instead taking the place of his own. "I can do it," he claimed, feeling a little slighted that he couldn't find the dexterity to tighten something as simple as a knot.

But then he felt her fingers brush along the edges of his scar with surprising gentleness, and he didn't feel the urge to shove her away. "I know you can," she said, raising and rolling the fabric up and over his head, "but I don't want you to ruin these bandages."

He stood from the couch. "I can't quit. He wasn't one to leave a job unfinished. More importantly, his own pride just wouldn't allow it. He needed to settle accounts—his way. 'Well, we've seen where pride got you, haven't we?' The remaining spark of reason piped up, determined to have it' say before being drowned and buried again.

She regarded him for a silent moment before suddenly standing, the sound of the heels of her boots clicking on the floor.

"That's good to hear. Because it's too late for that. You've insulted him. Humiliated him publicly. Most importantly, you've made him lose face in front of his subordinates. That's an unforgivable offence in his eyes, and he cannot, will not, stop coming after you until you're dead."

"So." Adam spoke slowly, rolling the words as if still processing them. "What you're saying is that he's made my job ten times easier. If he's looking for me as hard as you say, I don't have to waste my nights tracking him down anymore. Sounds like fun."

"You -!" She hissed, mouth open in disbelief. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that your big plan?

You should know by now, that I'll try anything once," he goaded deliberately, his confidence emboldened by his prior epiphany and hoping, although not entirely aware of it, that she would return to the chiding tone he was familiar with.

He couldn't say, couldn't tell her, that she had been, was, right. His actions that put him in danger had been a direct result of his complete disregard for his own safety.

It was the truth.

Deep down, a part of him had wanted to die, had sought death. but on the surface he was as cavalier as he had ever been.

In any case, it was part of why he wanted to leave. If Myst came for him again, he didn't want to be caught flat-footed. She must have been reading his thoughts, because her expression changed, and her eyes stared at him almost accusingly.

A thought came across his mind in the silence that followed.

"How did you even find me, anyway? Not that I'm ungrateful."

She scoffed. "You have bright red hair. You're not exactly hard to miss in a crowd."

Adam looked at her with a deadpan stare. Charlotte relented.

"Alright, fine! So, I may or may not have been tailing you since you left. But not in a weird way…."

By the time she finished her story, dawn had finally begun to peak over the horizon. The apartment was mostly quiet. Soft sounds from the streets buzzed through the not quite closed window. Adam felt tired, but couldn't fall asleep. Not yet. Charlotte had stepped out for a moment, and he could hear glasses clinking in the other room.

"I'll need a drink if we're going to be talking histories and plans. You don't mind, do you?"

"...Go ahead."

Damn it all to hell.

He stared at his bloody reflection with a grimace. 'Charlotte really wasn't joking about that train..' He looked like death warmed over. His entire face was bloody and he was damn sure he'd be bruised for the next couple of days. His muscles felt like paste and when he spat there was more blood than saliva.

The folder glared at him from the other end of the room. Why was he so obsessed with it anyway? There were plenty of other bounties out there. Other fights, other challenges. Deep down he thought he knew why. He wanted to prove something. That he was stronger than he was, that he could survive out here on his own, that he didn't need anyone. He figured no matter how hard he pushed, he'd be able to see it all through by himself. Make it alone.

And he'd failed.

Charlotte reappeared in the doorway with an impressive armful of bottles. She dropped down on the couch next to him, dropping them on the table and popping the nearest open before downing a fifth of it without hesitation. When she'd finished, her expression seemed to if someone had simply turned the lights out in her head. Her visible eyes were fixed, as if staring at something a yard behind his head. At the calling of her name, she blinked, refocusing on his presence, running curious eyes over his face before filling the momentary silence as though it had never happened.

"Good news first. First of all, this is the one of the few places where the Spiders don't have eyes, so there's no way they'll come here by choice. She explained after a brief pause. "We should still have time to figure shit out."

"How do you know that?" He couldn't help being curious. Sure, he'd been at death's door for nearly three days, if her story was to be believed, and that did raise the possibility that Myst had assumed him dead. Though with his luck, he wasn't willing to bet on it just yet.

Adam raised an eyebrow.

"Look around, Hornhead. Most of the businesses around here are paying protection money to the Serpent Clan or the cop squad. They're one of the biggest syndicates in Southern Mistral, with enough rackets to have a decent stranglehold on the city. The Spiders have more numbers total, each split into subsidiary "families"with more than around 8,000 members altogether, but most of their power is up north around the capital, so they don't have nearly enough influence to turf the Snakes out of . So for the past few years, it's been those two at each other's throats, with the local PD, and just about every other smaller gang and bought off Huntsman caught in the middle, until the truce. And so our little ghetto keeps on ticking by."

Adam said nothing at first, stunned by her intimate understanding of the underworld culture of . How was it she knew so much of their inner workings? And how did she know the mind of Myst so well to predict his actions? He filed those questions away for later.

"So you're saying that as long as we keep to this patch, the Spiders turn a blind eye?"

"Bingo. That's the deal."

Adam grimaced. "It sounds workable enough. But doesn't my holding up here go past that? If they knew, would he risk coming down on this place anyway, especially if he's already lost face? And what about the cops?"

"Oh, there's no doubt about that. But like I was saying earlier, it gives us time. They won't risk breaching the agreement unless it's a last resort, and for as long as they don't know for certain you're here, and the dirty cops and the Serpent Clan stay as territorial as usual, it's more than enough to offset that risk. And as for the cops…"

She must have seen the poorly hidden look of skepticism on his face, because following her sentence, she sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back against the leather couch exasperatedly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. If you're still insisting on not trusting me, at least trust my self interest. If I wanted to, I could've given you up to Myst in exchange for a favor, but even I'm not that short-sighted." She sighed, flicking her hair before gently bringing two fingers against her temple. Even if I didn't despise the man, any favour I might get would always be weighed against his own favor. More to the point, I want him dead. I need him dead. And I think you're the one who can help me do it."

"I do trust you!" He hissed. "And the—..You want me… to kill him." Adam stated slowly, as the meaning of her words began to sink in.

She snorted.

"No, I want you to give him slaps and tickles at twelve paces. What part of "gone" wasn't clear?"

"Why?"

"So the fact he wants you dead and beat you into faunus pureè isn't enough for you?"

She was met with silence.

She supposed she'd have to tell the story after all.

"I grew up as a street rat, Adam." She began finally. "One of the first things you learn is that you have to use anyone and everyone around us. It's sick, I know. But it was, is, the way of the world out there. Any less, and you'd be lucky to live through the night most days."

" We used to be partners, of a sort. Charlotte answered. "I had a friend once. Bailed me out of a jam, saved our keisters really. Took me out to drinks, tried to "teach me the way of the world", gave me a 'job' when no one else would...brought me under his wing so to speak."

He waited silently. Stories like these never had happy endings.

"Something that kept me coming back. In this big wide world of confusion and corruption, that man knew where he was heading and how – that was all I needed. Didn't hurt that he had a silver tongue to match. Everything about him told my intuition he was a trap, yet I walked right in and let the door swing shut."

Adam waited.

"He brought me into the Spiders, and before I knew it, I was the belle of the ball. I was making more money than I knew what to do with. I'd stick my hand in everything, but I had a real eye for faces, and numbers. Every opportunity I could get to prove my loyalty, I took it. I paid attention to things. Soon enough I started to get attention. And the higher ups liked me. So much so, they used me to spy on the lower ranks too, just to make sure everything was still in order. I kept them happy, and I kept moving up. Thing is though… so was Myst. And he was never a big fan of competition."

She took another long swig.

"I told him I wasn't interested in usurping him or any bullshit like that. He was welcome to go as high as he wanted. I was making enough money as it was, and honestly, I was just happy being… a part of something, you know? I thought he understood that... until the day an armed robber broke in and stole from the safe in the boss's office."

"What did that have to do with you?"

"Not much. Aside from the fact that at the time, I was in charge of the family accounts."

Adam winced. He didn't know much about the world of organised crime, but they didn't strike him as the kind of people that took to being stolen from well.

"How much did they take?"

Charlotte's face was like thunder. "Enough. Enough for Myst to spin a tall tale about how I'd been skimming off the top for myself, and how I'd been pulling the wool over all their eyes. When I couldn't pull up the money…"

"I trusted him. My mistake cost me this."

She lifted her left hand, slowly removing tugging away her glove. That was when he saw it. he little finger had been severed at the first joint."It's an underworld punishment thing. A punishment for thieves. It's a show, to keep the lower grunts in line." She looked uncomfortable, covering the missing digit with her free hand. " After that, they tossed me put entirely. Gave me to te cops to be "made an example of." To be fair, it hurt a lot less than being fucked in a cell."

In her darkest nightmares, she still remembered Harris' beer gut pressed against her, and the kicks he rammed into her sternum. It hurt, more than anything she could describe, her back burned from being pushed back and forth on unforgiving cement.

"Do you understand?" He had snarled like a slavering dog, like he was losing patience, like he's going to kill her if she doesn't respond fast enough. "Don't fight, don't be difficult."

She still tried to fight him anyway.

There was the jail cell door that remained open after he left, his work merely satisfactory to himself, adjusting his belt as he left the cramped walls . Charlotte pulled her shirt down over her skinny torso, pulled her ratty jeans up. She ignored the foreign feeling between her legs.

"You can go now. Be gone before I get back."

That was all the bastard had said, like she'd just dropped off a takeout order.

In the present, Charlotte had to focus on sifting through all these meaningless feelings, had to remember how to wrap all this nonsense in a blissful façade of detachment, even if it meant only a shaky, temporary attempt to save herself from doing something deeply regretful. It failed. She had always told herself that. She had never dared admit differently, not even to herself.

He made it worse, as he watched her, staying quiet, waiting for her to speak.

Charlotte," Adam said with uncharacteristic softness. "You don't have to joke about that."

Charlotte caught the look in his eyes and the twist of her mouth fell away. She looked down at the ice in her drink.

"I'm not," she said at last. "The 'after' is still really clear. The way the hinges squeaked. The number of footsteps going past. Harris' stupid fucking cigarettes. I think about it all the time."

She looked out the window. The streetlights bloomed bigger the longer she stared. Her eyes full of fear and hopelessness on the dirty cell floor, wishing that her hands weren't wet with her tears but his blood instead—By the time she found the words, they were larger than the moon.

She'd cheated, stolen and lied to survive. How many fake addresses had she scribbled on applications, how many false skills? All the people she'd thought were friends, who'd called her family… not one of them had been there. Six months she'd lived nowhere—and everywhere. Six months she'd learned every hollow and crevice of the slums—and just how deep and dark hunger and self-preservation could take someone.

"When I got out, I scraped every lien I could find… and I bought this place. And that's how it's been ever since." She downed the rest of the bottle, before letting it clatter to the floor. "And that's the story folks!" Charlotte said, trying to sound cheerful, and exuberant, and failing. Adam could see the shine of tears in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn't. What could he say? His glare narrowed, fire bursting from his gaze. He had known, perhaps for longer than he realised, that Charlotte shared a connection with him. But this? What he had endured could never compare. The level of violation….His fingers curled into his palm, a fury as cold as blistering winds flowing through his veins intermingled by a deep sense of empathy? He knew she wouldn't appreciate it. Of course she wouldn't. She was strong. Stronger than he had ever given her credit for, but more than that, he understood her. The sheer depth of the emotions on her face had once been his, oh so long ago. He couldn't help himself. The anger was followed in short order by shame.

When they'd had that falling out weeks ago. After his night at the tournament, He'd pulled at her fake tail, and it had come away in his hand. He'd been so focused on that, that he'd completely forsaken any sense of reason. And to know that every second she spent with him, she'd been struggling with this...

"Char-"

Gently, and awkwardly, he put his arm around her, emboldened by the fact she didn't resist. Instead, she drew her knees up onto the couch, and curled into his touch, resting the side of her face on his chest and bringing a knee across his lap.

"I don't want your pity.." She muttered into his chest.

"I'm not giving it."

Nothing he said, nothing he could say, would wipe away that kind of horror, a horror that even he, with all that had been said and done to and by him, could barely process himself.

They sat in silence in the dark, Adam trying to ignore the wetness against his flesh, as he allowed her to cry unashamed, offering no judgement or disgust, simply allowing her to do as she would. Even as she leaned into his embrace, she said nothing; knowing that a 'thank you' would ring as hollow to him in that moment as any apology would to her.

When she had collected herself, Charlotte shook her head, pleased at managing a calm tone when she finally broke the silence.

"The truth is, … some people, the world would just be better off without."

A spike of worry slammed into his heart and unconsciously, he found himself pulling Charlotte closer with what little strength he still had. There was a hollowness in her voice, one that he recognised.

She must have interpreted his shift in mood, because she quickly moved to amend her words. "Not what I meant, stupid. I just mean that some people deserve to die- don't look at me like that," she said, cutting him off. He grimaced at her. "You know it too, don't lie. Or did you lose that eye in a bet or something?" When he didn't answer, she rolled her eyes and continued. "He wants you dead right? Why not kill him first?"

At first the woman had struck him as an odd blend of calculating and silly, driven and whimsical. He knew she was smart, a little manipulative, and openly loved to pry into any business she could find, but half the things she had said made him wonder all the same. And now, she was practically an enigma, a layer of contradictions stacked on top of one another. Kind one moment, advocating murder the next. But there was a growing part of him that wondered if she had a point.

No. She was right.

Which only made him more angry with himself.

"I'm not going to just lay down for him" He spoke finally. "And I'm not going to just let him run on home to try again later. If he's really that set to kill me and I need to kill him first…then I'll do what I have to."

The matter of whether or not he could, was something else entirely. It was another of his early lessons from his mother, one that he admittedly found contradictory at the time, given her opposition to killing; 'Don't ever say that you're going to kill someone unless you're actually willing to do it, because death was only useful as a threat if you were actually willing to make good on it. Saying it too much without the power or the intention to follow through in the least makes it weak. The less you used death as a threat, the more meaningful it became.

Adam knew in that instant, that he wanted Myst dead for what he had done to her. It was weak of him; foolish even, given his own experiences in standing up for others only to be cut down. But it didn't end there. his friends, his colleagues, especially bloated swine that she lived in mortal terror of. More than he'd wanted anything. But the greater question loomed; was it even his place? Charlotte had been wronged by those she had trusted, while powerless to act, and she deserved her vengeance. Those men deserved death not just for their deeds, but for her sake. For how could she put anything behind her when those who had done those things yet lived? The situation evoked some of his own memories, memories of dark caverns, of burning bodies, of blood, steel and fire. He blinked, and they faded, the whispers and whimpers of a blue eyed boy retreating into the dark.

But to speak those words, and then hesitate at the final moment, or worse, fail… was unacceptable. And it had become apparent to him that his weakness ran far deeper than his mortal flesh. He could feel Charlotte was dissatisfied, and he could hardly blame her. But he couldn't make her a promise that he didn't know if he could keep. She'd lived through enough broken promises.

He'd have to burn that bridge if and when he came to it.

---

He was alive.

Myst knew it in his heart the second the cops hadn't found his broken body in that alley.

He hadn't moved from his current perch for nearly an hour when the report reached him in one of his bolt holes . He didn't even appear to breathe; he saw so still. He was nestled deep in a lush velvet chair, eyes locked on a glass cabinet before him. The box was roughly the size of a man, which was convenient, because when he found the little shit, that had done this to him, he was going to stuff his body and throw it in there.

The mongrel brat had humiliated him. Him! The mere thought of his cocky grin and wild eye caused his blood to boil in his veins. To add insult to injury, that bastard had the audacity to attack him and damn near kill him on his own territory, arrogantly flaunting his own superiority over him and his entire security detail and then setting the fucking thing on fire. He'd had nearly his entire family there, and now nearly fifty of his best killers, the ones who weren't dead, were hospital bound, either from second or third degree burns, or from broken and mangled bones and stab wounds.

All because of that filthy fucking runt.

Several of his men stood behind him, none daring to break the tense silence.

"How?"

"How the fuck would I know, boss!?" one of the braver of his men stood, nearly tipping an empty chair with his rapid ascent. The man was sweating like a hog. "Whoever the fucker is, I never saw him before that night! His palms hit the table but Myst remain the picture of cool and composed. "Vanished into the fucking wind!"

"If he's an outsider, he shouldn't be that hard to find. The city isn't that big."

His scroll had started to buzz incessantly.

There it was. The call he had been dreading all day.

"Get the fuck out. I'll deal with you dumbasses later."

The gangster sneered, tossing his head with impatience and turning on his heel. He grit his teeth before calming himself, remembering just who he was. Just like the creature of the syndicate's namesake, he was a patient predator. He would wait, and when the time came he would show the brat just how lethal and merciless he was.

A heavy set middle-aged woman with light skin and short blonde hair kept in a bob haircut appeared on the other end of his scroll. Oh, how he hated her. She was an outsider, and for some reason, everyone thought she was hot shit enough to be the boss of bosses. Gods only knew why-The woman had single handedly turned the term organised crime into an oxymoron. A shallow bow conveyed Myst's disrespect, though he doubted Malachite was at all discerning enough to catch the message. Blandly, he responded with feigned interest. "Boss Malachite."

"I was expectin' your report a week ago. " The voice had a Southern Mantle hick drawl to it, and Myst only managed to keep his face neutral by imagining his hands sinking into the blubber around her throat and choking off that insufferable noise for good.

"Not relevant?"

"This is my operation. I have this under control."

"That's not what I've heard."

Myst bit down the urge to snarl. Malachite might be an entitled sack of lard, but she had eyes everywhere. It shouldn't have surprised him that those eyes included his own little division, but it made him furious all the same. There was no telling what the rats on his ship had reported back to her, and if she knew what he'd had planned...

"We're still not sure what just happened." He heard himself answer. "We think it's the Snakes playing turncoat on us."

"This is Xiang Liu and the Serpent Clan we are talking about." The woman snapped. We underestimated him once before, and it was an...expensive mistake. We cannot afford incompetence."

Myst's hand hovered over the end call button, but daren't press it. He would have to spin a spectacular line of bullshit to get out of this one. "I could have had his little assassin gunned down the moment he rolled into town. He screwed up his face in consternation. "We already know the man's name and where he hangs his hat."

"And just how is that possible?"

"That's my secret, and I'm planning on keeping it that way." He allowed himself a smile. Malachite didn't know about the deal he'd been striking with the Serpent Clan's lieutenants. That was a relief. It meant that she didn't know of his end goal, though he supposed he should have figured that out by the fact he wasn't dead. But what he needed more than anything to enact it was time, and if he wanted to get it, he had to impress her… for now.

"Then why didn't you?"

"Obvious reasons. Because it would tell his boss that I was aware of his little plan. He already thinks that I have an inside man in his organization, and this would have confirmed it. No brains in throwing away something that valuable over something that ain't important."

"So what exactly, do you intend to do?"

"I'll toy with em. Give Snakeface enough rope to hang himself. The loss of the Lounge is a set back, but there's no real harm done. Men can be replaced." That much at least was true. It could be argued that the men he lost were valuable, and he'd be hard pressed to deny it. But every organization, even a criminal one, benefits from a change of personnel now and again. There were plenty of young captains and lieutenants that deserved promotion. Myst would make a choice in due course, once he'd stamped out this pest. "Honestly, I think you're overreacting."

"Then it's a good thing I don't pay you to think, Levi."

Something deadly flickered in Malachite's eyes, and Myst realized that he had let just a little too much of his veiled contempt slip into his voice. He made a mental note to avoid leaving any unattended food lying around. Ignoring the fact that the fat bitch might just inhale it, but Malachite was infamous for favoring poison as a way of disposing of those she disliked or who had offended her in some way, and he wouldn't put it past her to order someone to put a cyanide pill or two into his next meal.

"We will be monitoring the situation." Malachite said at length. "And I'm warning you, Levi. If we feel that you are...overstepping, you will be replaced." The line went dead with a click.

Myst's grimace belied his serene pose. He smoothed a single hand over his suit jacket, trying to control his evergrowing disgust for the woman he was forced to answer to. Pompous overgrown sow. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, those damn snakes were behind this. They'd been playing power games with him ever since they first set up in this city. That bastard Liu would be itching to move in if he started looking like he was losing control. He was not losing control.

He sat for a moment, thinking of what had just been said. The door opened, and two of his men walked in.

"Don't tell me you haven't found anything yet."

"I'm sorry, boss. No one seems to know anything. We—"

The words were cut off by a gunshot. In one hand of Myst's hands a gun lay loosely, his finger still gently pressed against the trigger that had sent a bullet into the depths of his skull.

His eyebrow raised in annoyance.

"I told him not to tell me. Someone clean that up, would you?" More men wordlessly rushed in, picking up the body and, taking one end each, carried it out of the door.

One chose now to speak up.

"Hey Boss? You think we could put a bounty out on this guy? Offer up some lien or something? Someone's gonna out where the hell this bastard is, and then, they'll hand him over to us themselves. Everyone's got a price, especially in this town. And if we feel like it, we could always do em' both in when they roll up, and keep the cash."

He was met with silence.

"Boss?"

"Shut up, I heard you the first time, dipshit!" Myst snapped. "If I did that, it makes it look like we can't handle our shit ourselves! We'll look like clowns! It would be all the excuse that bitch Malachite would need to rub us out, or worse, that bastard snake, or the other guppies around here start seeing we're losing ground and start getting ideas!"

"No need to get your panties in a twist. I've got a story to share with you. One that might be worth some money." a new voice drawled, A man entered the room, then, of his own volition and without an escort. Levi immediately took note of that. Clearly, he had very little in the way of manners. Or respect. He would have t9 teach him that, it seemed. Then recognition set in.

Harris.

"I hear you've been having problems."

Levi had no illusions why he was here.

The state of controlled insanity that existed in his city, was ultimately beneficial to him. He got a piece of nearly everything in this city. He also received generous donations to turn a blind eye to most of the big deals that took place in this city.

Perhaps he was greedy. He was certainly a coward. But Harris would primarily call himself a realist: there was absolutely no way anyone could unbalance the natural order . Not when most people on the planet were not aware of what transpired in Kuchinashi, not when the Mistrali government were up to their eyes in the selfsame corruption, and Adam certainly not when those that weren't were too afraid to make a move while things remained as they were.

Stability was the key to prosperity for all involved, including for what laughably passed as "law enforcement" around here.

But that sword wielding maniac, in one night, had done more to unsettle that balance than decades of voting blocks, counter bribes, and national reviews had ever dreamed of.

He was rocking the boat. And with Malachite, the Triad and even his own men bearing down like vultures, it was only a matter of time before that boat capsized.

Harris was here for the same reason everyone else was. He smelled blood.

"I doubt there's anyone left in the city who doesn't know about it by now." Levi growled dismissively, seemingly ignoring Harris swanning about his office.

"Well, that sucks." The corrupt cop remarked with a hint of sarcasm. "But I guess that means I don't have to waste time explaining it. But the good news is… I may have had a little more success in tracking down the guy who beat you and your best and brightest like a piñata. Not that that's saying much—"

Levi's eyes flickered.

At a flick of his head, two of his men grabbed Harris' arms, slamming him against the edge of the desk, and a third lifted a gun, digging it into the side of his face. It was good to know at least some of his men were still loyal.

"Wait! Wait!" Harris pleaded shrilly, having been well aware of having pushed his luck too far. Levi made a show of considering his plea, nodded at one of the man holding the gun, who reluctantly removed it, as the other two tossed him backward into a chair.

"Four times a year, the Serpent Clan holds this huge ceremony at the Sang Feng Hotel, and every single captain and underboss has to go there and give Xiang and the other bosses tribute," Harris explained, quickly and timidly. " Never been myself. But from what I've heard from my informants, It's long, boring and everyone usually gets piss drunk to make up for it afterwards. Sounds like a good time if you ask me."

This wasn't news to Levi. He'd tried to have Xiang assassinated at several of them, hoping to throw the Serpent Clan into enough disarray for him to wipe out the rest of their leadership in the confusion. None of them panned out. A big part of that had something to do with the crazy bitch of an attack dog he always had at his side. Whatever her semblances was, it must have included some level of omniscience, as no matter what he'd tried to do, where he tried to do it, she was always there, sai in hand, grin on her face as she scalped yet another of his men. Even when he'd started buying off Xiang's own men, that hadn't gone any better, because anyone who would take his bribes all ended up dead anyway.

It was why he'd gotten that piece of shit bounty on him in the first place. One of those attempts, he'd gotten angry, and simply had the assassin blow the place to shit. The original plan was to make them dress like cops, but he'd wanted Snakeface to know who'd finally sent him to hell. It turned into a full blown shoot out, and some idiot politicians Xiang was in the middle of buying off ended up biting down on lead instead.

Levi had had to leave the city for months till the heat died down.

And all of that, all of it, was the reason he was stuck here now.

He didn't especially appreciate being reminded of that particular string of failures.

"Get. To. The point."

"The point is," Harris continued, "is that most of Xiang's underbosses will be busy all night, and you can get into their deep territories without them jumping down your neck. And if he's still in town..."

He'd have nowhere left to run.

"I see." Myst rasped, beginning to see how the threads were starting to fit together. "And how am I supposed to know that this information is accurate?" he snapped coldly.

Harris paled at the warning, then swallowed hard. He seemed to have difficulty finding his voice.

"Because that's what you pay for."

Smiling with something akin to satisfaction, Myst clasped his arms behind his back, walking slowly around his desk to the rigid man.

Harris felt nausea rise up inside of him. He was obsequious and cowardly by nature; Myst knew that. While the JSC and several other gangs had the ears of key figures of law enforcement in the city, he had kept his hold on the captain through equal parts force and guile, manipulating his duplicitous natures for his own ends, and feeding his depravity where it suited him. It was simply a matter of keeping him in his place. As he began to speak, and lay out his plan, the crime boss' smile grew ever wider.

Oh, what a day it would be, when he got his hands on that pathetic little whelp again. He swore it on his blood, on his very soul. He would teach the dirty animal his place in the world; broken and bleeding under his boot.

---

Over the days and weeks that followed, Charlotte had begun to adjust to the new normal.

It wasn't smart for Adam to be parading around outside, even in the territory of a rival gang, and especially in his condition; so between them, they'd agreed to keep him under pseudo house arrest. No sense in going out, being recognised and having his location passed back to the Spiders. He hadn't been happy about that, even though he saw the logic. At least she thought he did; it was sometimes difficult to read his mood these days.

Tending the bar alone again was jarring for a time— she missed her working conversations with him— but she grew accustomed to the silences quickly enough. She should have been shocked at how easy it had been to fall back into old routines, but then, she supposed that it was why they were called habits.

The usual suspects, but none of the usual troublemakers. That was good.

Suppressing a sigh, she finished drying a glass, bending down to place it on a rack under the counter before moving away from the bar to take another order from a larger man, seated in one of the corner tables.

The truth was, Charlotte was a little worried about Adam, though she'd never say it aloud.

At first, the physical toll had guaranteed he just slept and slept and slept. The pain had propelled him to fight against his recovery. He was the type that was a wounded and wild animal—growling, snapping and resisting. In the following days, when it was clear that he was going to recover regardless, he'd thrown himself into the demands of recovery proper. His body, well conditioned as it was, had come back remarkably quickly. The bruises had mostly faded inside of the first week, and by the third, he'd started to at least look like he was in fighting condition again. The wonders of aura, she supposed.

Shuffling back towards the bar, bottle of Scotch in hand, a hushed argument at another table caught her attention.

"You're kidding me! Fifty thousand lien? In one night?" Two women, one older, one younger. The older was dressed in rags, and reeked of booze, which was odd, because Charlotte hadn't remembered serving her more than once already. She

"Idiot!" the younger woman hissed. "Keep it down! The others will notice!" But it was unlikely –a personal brawl at the other end of the bar had evolved into a rumble; they'd probably need a bullhorn for anyone but Charlotte to hear them. A skill all in her profession learned, it seemed. Usually she would step in by now, waving her length of pipe, but she'd barely noticed it this time around. Her attention was fully fixed on the conversation.

"You look like you had a rough day," Charlotte said, sauntering over to their table and eyeing the two with what she hoped was only mild interest.

"You have no idea, girlie. She's been sulking all day about missing some cute redhead or something."

The younger rolled her eyes, raising her own empty glass.

"Ugh. Another, please."

The bartender complied, filling their cups half-way. By the way her gnarled hands snatched for , the older one probably had the urge to just take the bottle and submerge the cup in Scotch or, hell, just drink straight from the bottle itself, but resisted out of social decorum.

"Hey, hey, slow down there, you two. I appreciate the business but I don't want there to be any accidents. Why the long faces?"

"Nothing you'd want to know."

"Hey, I'm always up for a good story."

"Trust me, you really don't want to know." The younger one insisted, with an edge to her voice, clearly hoping Charlotte would get a clue and drop it. "Mr Liu's business is none of yours."

Leaving behind a pile of lien cards that Charlotte was positive was well over the right amount, they stood up, and quickly headed out of the bar, keeping their heads low and determined not to be noticed.

That conversation had slipped from her mind by the end of that shift, and she would never have given the matter thought again, were it not for what had happened no less than four days later.

She'd closed the bar and gone out for the day—even she needed days off, and Adam had vehemently insisted he was well enough to be left on his own— hoping to use the time to run some errands.

She was just approaching the top of the alleyway that led to the back of the bar, when she noticed the entrance was being watched. Her paranoia of late had already ensured her eyes were open, and perhaps it was thanks to that, that she spotted the woman on the other side of the road, half hidden behind a rusted sheet of iron. She didn't need to look twice. It was the same face that she had seen before, with the old woman. She had tried to disguise herself as a tourist, complete with a straw hat and sunglasses, but here in the slums, she stood out like a sore thumb.

What was more, Charlotte could see that the woman's line of sight was fixed firmly on the upper floor of the bar, where Adam, right at this moment, was being examined by Inari. Perhaps she was waiting for the doctor to come out. Looking closer, Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling that she knew her from somewhere else, but where? She examined the dark eyes beneath the cropped fringe of black hair. One of Myst's?

Charlotte was just about ready to make the connection proper, when the woman finally turned and began to walk away. "She must have decided there was no one home, she rationalized.

It was then that she made a snap decision. To hell with caution. She was going to follow her.

The stranger had set off down the main road, which was maybe one of the busiest streets in the slums, with huge signs and banners carrying signs high into the air above them. Charlotte was confident that she wouldn't be seen. The pavement was all but covered in various stalls, and if the woman happened to glance back, she could find somewhere to hide in seconds. The real danger was that Charlotte might lose her entirely. Despite the early hour, the streets were already crowded, and whilst she knew them like the back of her hand, her target could disappear all too easily into nearly a dozen entrances, or simply merge into any of the thousand tiny alleys that created the urban maze she called home.

The trick was to stay close enough not to lose her, but far enough away that she wouldn't be seen. But her target suspected nothing. Her pace hadn't changed, and still keeping the same smooth gait, she took a left turn, then a right and all too soon, they were circling the edge of the slums, bordering on the entertainment district. Charlotte couldn't help but slow her own pace, dropping further back to hover in doorways or behind parked cars. It was dangerous to be seen here, so close to Spider territory, especially so soon, and she was already taking more risks than she was reasonably comfortable with.

The pavements were emptier here, and that was all the more reason for Charlotte to be careful. They'd been walking for nearly fifteen minutes, when the woman turned off, passing through the entrance of an alleyway.

The woman she was following had disappeared.

Charlotte swore. She was furious with herself. She had been too slow. The entire episode had been nothing more than a waste of time. She took a step forward and froze, as three shadows fell over her. She stood where she was a sick feeling in her stomach.

She recognised that man.

Russet the Rat, as he was better known throughout the city's seedy underbelly. Russet was a low-level street punk without much to his name, one who'd been around almost as long as Charlotte had been in the city. His job was mainly extortion. He preferred to call it "donation." On a typical night, he'd prowl the streets looking for affluent pedestrians to ask for donations "in good faith".

The two bigger men threw him to the ground, and another ugly with a fancy suit and too much hairgel kicked him in the gut, and kept kicking him to drag the pain out instead of skipping ahead to the demands. "All right, get him up," the man snapped his fingers and the two muscle guys hoisted the poor bastard off his feet. "All right," the man snarled in that fake casualness mobsters used. "There's one way where you get out of here with your insides intact, and it's you finding a way to tell us what we want to hear."

Charlotte slowed her pace, hanging back once more and pretending to adjust the weight of the bags in her hands before doubling back. As she turned she caught a fleeting look on his face, wider eyes and tension. Soon, under the noise of the traffic, came footfalls strong and purposeful.

She led her pursuer deeper into the alleyway , piles of refuse left about, and several darkened doorways leading to rundown buildings. She checked the shadows quickly before leaning into the darkest one and pressing herself flat against a pile of rotting lumber.

As her tail passed by her hiding place, she lashed out, slamming the figure into a wall, and it must have shown in her eyes., knife in hand.

"Harris." Charlotte groaned, his craggy features now harshly illuminated in the daylight. Already she was annoyed... Reluctantly, very reluctantly, she released him, tucking the knife away into her coat again.

The city was an unforgiving place, its jaded citizens having to live day to day by any means possible: lying, cheating, stealing and killing -she wasn't all that different from the rest, in truth. She had blood on her hands, just a little less than the usual lot, that much was certain.

She had thought she knew what to expect when the corrupt Detective shoved a newspaper under her nose.

A paper chronicling the news and events of from day to day. Rarely mentioned anything of actual importance. Nothing of any gang wars, any of the corruption , or anything that would have made national headlines in just about any other kingdom.

Instead there would be news of the marriage of some Mistralian council member getting married up in the capital, the local police chief of being re-elected for another two years, and something about stock prices and Atlesian trade tariffs. Such was the norm of the city she called home. Another day in the life. Or so she thought, until she'd seen today's centerfold page.

In the city's worst fire tragedy in nearly a decade, nearly a hundred and fifty three were seriously injured or killed at the Serenade Lounge in Theater Square in central late Wednesday evening, when a blaze caused by what was speculated by some to be arson, turned a five storied building — where there was anything between two hundred and two hundred and fifty people— into victims of the inferno.

'Fire and police department officials claim the fire started on the fourth floor, and spread quickly upwards with the aid of alcohol accelerants and further through consuming stacks of cardboard, lumber and other flammable items that were scattered around. A total of sixty people were rescued by firemen, before the blaze was finally brought under control in the early hours of Thursday morning.'

In his other hand, he held a photograph, folded and dogeared.

And there, in grainy black and white, was Adam, crossing a busy street in the direction of the building. It would have been hard to recognize him if she hadn't known already, the picture had clearly been taken by a security camera, but it was unmistakably him. Forcing herself to keep her face neutral , she looked up at the officer. The man was sweating bullets, his usual immaculate uniform sweat stained and dirty, some of his fancy badges hanging off of his shirt, the lapels ripped and tattered.

"Where is he?"

She schooled her face into one of surprise, which wasn't hard, given how his sudden appearance had genuinely startled her.

She just hoped that his agitation meant that he was feeling slow-witted today, because she would have to rely on her wits and some quick thinking to get out of this situation.

"Who?"

"Don't play games with me."

Not that slow witted, it seemed.

Her mind raced as her blood turned to ice in her veins. There was no description of a suspect in the headline. Did that mean there was any proof of Adam's involvement? 'No', she thought, doing her level best to meet the detective's manic eyes. If that were true, Harris would have used his connections to the local media to write some excoriating puff piece to rile up the local mercs into a manhunt, forcing Adam into the open, where he could be picked off at his leisure.

No, if he was here, speaking to her personally, he was desperate. The Spiders, or more accurately, Myst, were squeezing down on him, and he was coming up with thin air. He obviously knew enough to know Hornhead was involved, but not a lot, if anything more. However, the extent of that knowledge, or lack thereof, remained to be seen. Playing dumb seemed to be the best strategy for now.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your pet mongrel."

'Well, that confirmed that.' Her visible eyes narrowed, and in a near subconscious gesture of disgust, her nose wrinkled and she drew her head backwards. She caught Harris' smile as she did so, though whether it was his usual lecherous one, or whether it was one of perceived camaraderie, she couldn't make out.

"If you see him, tell the sorry sack he's fired, won't you?"

"Trouble in paradise?"

The man's eyes, now with a touch of calm in them , continued to rove down her body, and Charlotte suppressed the urge to smash her fist in his nose. She needed to keep her wits about her. She faked a giggle and hoped that the man was too stupid to notice.

"Something like that. He was a lazy bastard most of the time, and when I was finally about to fire him, he stopped showing up for work all of a sudden, and left me short handed. So like I was saying, if you see him, give him a slap for me, won't you?"

"Will do, Darlin'. Will do."

"The moron probably got himself killed." She said absently

"That's what I keep saying! Only the boss isn't happy with that.

Just because Arson says none of the bodies match the descriptions we got of what he was wearing or what he looked like. That hardly means shit. Half of those bodies are charred blacker than tar anyway, how the fuck would they know?"

It was clear by now that the man was talking more to himself now than her, but she nodded and smiled anyway, doing his best to keep his attention.'

"..Anyway. we'll find him eventually. On another subject though… it's been far too l9ng since we last caught up.

"I'm a little busy right now- "

She tried to move away, but she was too slow; he quickly caged her with his arms, leaning in so close she could smell his smothering cologne.

"Can't be that busy, can you?"

Fear coursed through her. She could no longer control her hands; they were shaking in an odd trembling rhythm as the flight responses kicked in, increasing her heart rate, flooding her with added adrenaline.

A gunshot broke the tension between them, causing the corrupt officer to immediately back away from Charlotte, finally giving her space to breathe, sucking down air like she'd never done before.

He rushed back down the alleyway, the spider faunus reluctantly followed, until the6 reached the mouth of the alley. At first nothing seemed to be out of place. But then she started to notice things. The men who had been dealing with Russet had all stepped away, shifting nervously, and as she got closer, she realized why. There, laying on the ground, was Russet. With a gaping hole in his temple.

Harris' face expanded like a balloon. "What is wrong with you dumbasses?! Did I not tell you earlier we needed him alive?!"

A blistering tirade ensued, and she used the chaos to slip away, walking quickly and briskly until she was out of sight.

She didn't look back.

By the time she found herself back in familiar territory, and the safety of her bar, she'd valmed down, and found the fox faunus waiting for her, being as bisque and temperamental as ever. Entering the bar, and making their way upstairs, there were two sharp knocks on the door and Charlotte and the doctor entered in a blur of tired grey, red and green, a small leather carry case slung over the latter's shoulder. Charlotte moved towards the kitchen, while the doctor approached Adam, who was sitting on the couch. She looked irritable, and tugged at the stethoscope that hung unevenly around her neck, trying to straighten it.

"You refused to fill out your personal information and health history, I see," she huffed.

"Yes. I really don't see a point. I'll be moving on fairly soon, so I can't see why it would matter."

Not exactly a lie, to be sure, but at least if she had loose lips, she couldn't tell the truth to anyone that mattered.

The doctor scowled. "If you're that concerned about your privacy, I assure you that all of my patient information is held in the strictest confidence." She lowered and sweetened his voice into what Adam assumed was her bargaining tone but with the strained lines above her cheeks and the dark bags under her eyes, it was more akin to an aggrieved parent pretending their child wasn't fraying their nerves. "At least give me the dignity of knowing your name. I did save your life, you know."

Adam felt his face harden. There shouldn't be a paper trail, he thought, nothing by which he could be linked to this place, just in case. If there was anything he knew for certain, it was that the written word endured.

"No insult to your discretion, doc, but I think I prefer to remain anonymous. I'd also like to ask that no records be kept on me, while I'm at it."

The doctor frowned but seemed unwilling to press the issue further, arousing Adam's ever present paranoia ever further.

Settling into her professional mode, vulpine ears flat against her skull, her face almost unreadable, she studied him, poking and prodding at his healing cuts and bruises. "I'll check your vitals first, then take some blood. After that, I'll give you some supplements to boost your recovery and we'll call it a day."

She paused as if she wanted to say more, but then turned away to her case, opening the clasps and withdrawing a smaller case, housing syringes and an array of glass vials.

Adam watched with morbid curiosity as the needle slid slowly into his vein and with a sense of fascination as his blood flowed back through the tubing, hot against his skin.

"How much are you taking?" he asked.

"Just two tubes." Inari finished drawing, then snapped the port closed.

An hour and a half later, the examination and an infusion of electrolytes complete. The back of his triceps stung, sore from half a dozen injections of vaccines and vitamins.

"Do you have my results?" Adam remarked evenly, disliking the doctor's appraising gaze.

"Yes. You have many of the issues that could be expected from a period of such severe stress: anemia, muscle and left ventricular wasting, malnutrition,...

"What are your recommendations for my recovery?" Adam asked finally, attempting to break her chain of thought.

" A minimum of two weeks' travel restriction, taking as much rest and nutrition as the odds that you have enough brain power to listen is hoping for a miracle I suppose..."She folded her arms. "You're healing surprisingly nicely though. It's quite rare that I have a patient who heals as quickly as you have; even with the benefit of aura." She looked down at Adam again,, examining the arm. "A semblance?" She sighed when he refused to answer, reluctantly changing the subject. "And how is the pain?"

"Better than a week ago," he mumbled to himself, forgetting for an instant that the woman in question had enhanced hearing. Her ears flattened, but her tone didn't change when she replied.

"Yes, it should be. The muscles in the forearm tend to compensate for the weakness in your shoulder, resulting in more strain. If I had to guess, it hurts more at night, yes?"

Adam nodded.

"I'll be going now. See you around." She inclined her head in greeting to Charlotte, who had just stepped into the room before making her own leave. After the door shut behind Imari, Charlotte turned towards Adam.

"Planning something crazy and stupid, are you?"

"Can't you tell?" Adam smirked. "Crazy and stupid is what I'm best at, apparently."

She sat down next to him, stretching out her legs. "I mean it in the best way possible."

"Of course you do."

His shirt was unzipped and slung it over his right arm, leaving his sculpted stomach and chest out in the open as if for her to see.

"...Are you doing okay?" She asked unexpectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Physically," she clarified. "No offence, but you don't look too great."

"Always the flatterer," Adam responded, smiling slightly. He closed his eye for a moment and took a deep breath. "Your doctor friend says I'm fine. But I suppose you already knew that."

"I think you should try to get some rest," she said softly.

"Later," he said, turning his attention back to his task.. "Any news?"

"I mean it," she said, daring to place one of her hands over his. His skin felt cool and clammy beneath her touch. He looked at her out of the corner of his good eye but made no attempts to remove her hand. "You're strong, but you're not invincible," she pointed out.

He didn't doubt it if that was the case. Ever since he got to this place, he'd been getting his hide pulled out of the fire. At this rate he was starting to doubt he'd last much longer if he kept going. But in truth, that wasn't his worry.

If she was ever placed in the position where she had to give him up to save her own skin, he had at least tried to make it so that she could do so with as little pain as possible. That would be impossible though. Despite his efforts to keep his ties to Charlotte as limited as possible in the early days, given the circumstances, it felt like they were closer now than either had been willing to consider or accept. And to think, it had taken him being on death's door to get there.

"Charlotte."

Adam spoke up, nearly making Charlotte jump.

His hair was disheveled and falling over his eyes, an impassive stare in his sole sapphire orb. He'd probably been training again; not that she didn't see why, but would it kill him not to run himself into the ground?

"Are you ok?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, as if she hadn't expected him to ask It before smiling gently. What little fear remained from earlier drained, and she stepped closer, running a hand along his hair and poking him in the temple with a single finger.

"Ask me when all this is over. As for right now… I need a nap."

And with those final words, she headed over to her room snd closed the door behind her. He paused for a moment, shrugged, and went back to his own room in search of his sword.

No sense in wasting good training time.

---

With the benefit of hindsight, Adam should have known that his luck wouldn't last. He'd only been asleep for a few hours when he woke with a jolt and an eerie sense that something was up.

A day later, his first clue that something was wrong, was when the lights went out. That in itself wasn't a conspiracy; sometimes a power surge would cause local fuses to blow, and he or Charlotte would have to either restore power themselves, or wait it out until morning. But as he turned to peek through the curtains, he saw that all of the streetlamps and lights in the surrounding apartment blocks were off as well. A full scale power cut? His muscle memory sprang into action and he crouched into a combat stance without thinking about it. But the room was empty, and the surrounding streets were quiet.

'Too quiet,'Adam thought. He sensed danger, but was unable to identify a threat. He stood, taking care to stay light on his feet and listening intently for any movement out on the street. Nothing. Only the sounds of the slums that never seemed to sleep, seeping in from a distance. Maybe it was nothing. He could simply be paranoid.

Darkness enveloped the room, broken only by the fragile trickle of moonlight coming in through the window. It wasn't even close to morning. He stretched out with his senses again, trying to detect what unknown element had jarred him from his sleep so suddenly, if it weren't a nightmare.

And then he heard it, faintly. Or rather, it was what he didn't hear that pulled his attention.

He briefly debated waking Charlotte, but then decided against it. She was tough; he knew that, but he didn't think she was any match for experienced killers, and chances were, she'd only end up getting hurt.

He would deal with them alone.

Adam grabbed for his sword, and crept for the door as quickly as he could, before breaking into a soundless run into the hallway. The uncomfortable texture of his bare feet against the cold rough hardwood floor sent lightning shocks to his brain, as adrenaline startled him into awareness.

He had to reach the ground before they had the chance to get inside. If he didn't, .. well. The thought was unthinkable. Speed was critical. Halfway down the narrow stairs, he grabbed the bannister and vaulted clean over the side. His feet and legs flexed as he hit the ground, the carpet at the bottom absorbing the impact and muffling the sound of his landing into a muffled indistinct thud of sound. Adam froze in a half crouch, fingers resting lightly lightly on the ground and knees bent.

His hearing giving him direction, Adam listened intently for the soft crunch of feet on broken glass, the sound of even the slightest whisper. Nothing. Whoever it was, they hadn't come inside yet. He could sneak out through the front and try to circle around and surprise them. But as he ducked under the passthrough and reached the front door, he thought again. He had no way of telling whether they might have had the same idea, or whether or not there would be an ambush waiting for him outside. After all, the men attempting to approach from the back could just as easily be planning on flushing him out into the open, and if he went out there, he could be playing right into their hands.

Oblivious to his presence, he could see them pause, whispering at each other harshly. With deliberate lack of finesse, Adam drew his sword free, the distinctive ringing of metal ringing out across the room.

The intruders jumped, yanking out their weapons. Adam could see that each of their short blades were notched, designed to inflict the most savage of wounds. He was surprised to see them freeze; their gazes searching the shadows, unsure of the source of the threat. 'They can't see.' He realized, with satisfaction. Humans then, and idiots at that. But who sent them? That was the lingering question. Smiling grimly, he purposely turned Wilt's blade until the moonlight rippled along the length of the polished metal, revealing his location.

The nearest man lunged forward with a knife. Adam countered with his sword, capturing the lower edge of the shorter blade against the edge of his katana. With a violent twisting motion of his wrists, he broke the man's grip, wrenching the knife free and sending it sailing into the shadowed recesses of the room.

Adam whipped the katana over his right shoulder, coiling his body's energy and momentum for a single horizontal strike across the neck. Defying his instincts and perhaps his better judgement, he stepped forward into the swing instead., using his clenched fists on his katana's hilt to smash into his assailant's temple instead. He dropped like a stone.

Pivoting towards the next man, Adam brought Wilt in a downward swing towards his vulnerable belly, using a reach just short of his mark. The ploy gained the desired results. The man doubled over to avoid being gutted, his own instinctive sense of self preservation robbing him of his ability to wield his own weapon. He thrust out his chin, in what was practically an open invitation.

Adam took it, catching him with a powerful kick. The goon's body jerked upright with the force of the blow, before arcing backwards, his feet leaving the floor.

It was only the low whistle and the creak of the floorboards that clued him in to his friend, who had somehow managed to approach from behind him. Catching the knife by the handle, the faunus lashed out with a front jab,

A tremor of rage shuddered through him from head to toe, multiplied tenfold by his previous near brush with death. Adam sheathed Wilt, allowing himself the pleasure of feeling his knuckles connect cleanly with the man's face. After several quick, brutal jabs, Adam smashed his elbow into the man's mouth. He crashed onto his back, barely conscious.

The nineteen year old used the opportunity to pin him to the floor, dropping a knee squarely in the centre of the man's chest. "Why are you here?" He snarled, knowing that he shouldn't assume that they were there for him. After all, it wasn't as though Charlotte didn't have her own enemies, if her former life of crime was any indication. Even so, they could just be ordinary gutter trash, here to make a few extra Lien by stealing everything that wasn't nailed down.

His theories promptly evaporated when a malicious grin spread across the man's narrow face. Blood shone slick on his teeth. No Aura. Supported the gutter trash theory, and anyone else would have taken it as a cue to relax, but even then he didn't consider letting his guard down. Adam had to admit, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He could work with that. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, a throat that Adam was now battling an increasingly tempting ache to crush in his bare hands.

The laugh crawled across Adam's skin like something oily and decaying. The man's satisfaction could only mean one thing.

He had friends. More men would either be on their way, or worse, had already entered the building separately, enjoying free run of the rest of the building while he dealt with these three. And if they found Charlotte…

A single dread poured down his spine.

"How many of you are there?"

Laughter was his only reply.

Impatient, Adam slammed Wilt's sheath into the ridge between the man's eyes, sending him indisputably into the realm of unconsciousness. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and dimly, he looked up to see Charlotte standing over him. Her jaw was still bruised, as was her brow. His own concern for her quickly overwhelmed him. Shaking himself over, Adam tried to recollect his thoughts and made himself move again, dimly feeling her attempting to support him.

Six men burst through the front door of the bar, with a loud bang and blinding light. Adam spotted a winding cord and a holster under the man's jacket and reached towards it, but found two men plucking him off the ground before he got a closer look.

"Hands in the air and on the ground!"

Charlotte looked relieved to see them. That was something Adam wouldn't have expected on an ordinary day, but it did enough to ease his suspicions a fraction.

One of the cops jerked one of the masked men around to face the wall and locked the cuffs behind his back.

"You boys walk him and the others to the car,' the cop said to his fellow officers. 'Then you'd better clear out of here. There might be more of them, so we're smuggling these two out of the back."

The fog clinging low to the ground on what had been a clear night should have been his first clue. The men standing at the entrance of the alley were his second, rifles raised in formation, all of them uniformed in the uniform of 's police. And more importantly blocking the only exit to the narrow side street. He had no illusions— with that many weapons, and no room to move, none of them needed to be good shots to put them down.

It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

The nearest man, the only one not in a uniform, raised a dirty looking sawnoff. He had furious eyes, lips twisted into a permanent snarl. Charlotte recognised him instantly, trying her best not to show the fear that was slowly beginning to creep up her spine and threatening to override her usually cool demeanour.

It became immediately clear to them both that the little show of cops and assassins had been for his and Charlotte's benefit.

"Lose the sword."

Reluctantly, Adam dropped the weapon. It landed somewhere at his feet; he couldn't see it under the carpet of white smoke. Myst smiled, feeling confident enough to step closer, wading through the fog at his knees.

"You've got brass ones, I'll give you that." He smirked, looking Adam up and down with a self-satisfied sneer. "But I bet you've never had to eat this much lead. Ready to die?"

He didn't reply. There was a strange glint in the single blue eye shining in the dark that, if Myst could be honest with himself, sent a chill down his back. Something must have finally clicked in that mongrel's head. It was the look of a man totally at ease with himself, with nothing left to lose. And those men, he found, were always the most dangerous. It took the criminal a second to recover, to smother that primal sense of inner doubt with a sneer.

The alleyway was still. Charlotte shifted her weight besides Adam, uncomfortable with the tension, and no doubt the guns trained on them at the end of the alley. She could feel sweat beading on her brow, and hoped no one noticed. If this was her final moment, she didn't want to give them the pleasure of seeing her afraid.

"Sorry, were you talking to me?" Adam pretended to stifle a yawn. "I haven't had much sleep. Can we speed this up?" Staring at the face of his supposed death, Adam felt an emotion bubble up inside of him, a feeling he had thought thrown away the day he cast off his former ambitions and left Menagerie, one that powered his sarcastic mask. 'I'm already a dead man,' Adam reasoned. 'Might as well try to take them with me.

"You bastard!" he yelped. He glowered at Adam. Charlotte could only look on with a sense of morbid horror. "What is wrong with this guy? He either has nerves of steel or a mental condition. Either way, Myst had had enough. "You arrogant punk!"

He bared his teeth. "I've got sixteen triggermen." He jerked his thumb on his free hand behind him. "The city's police captain in my pocket. And every one of these bastards here is armed with Huntsman-issue stain makers. So here's what's going to happen. Tonight, you're gonna die. And no one around here is gonna disrespect us like you did again. See you in hell." He raised the sawnoff and leveled it at Adam's head, the uniformed officers following suit.

Fortune however, had other plans.

A loud clang, a deafening screech and a yowl came from above them. The bottom of the fire escape consisted of a ladder with a weight on the bottom, "to discourage burglars", Charlotte had once claimed proudly. To everyone else who saw it, especially Adam, it was a rusted waste of space that was as destined for demolition as its surroundings. Time had proven him right, it seemed, as it was this weight that came loose now, breaking free of the ladder, hitting the ground and shattering against the cobbled stone.

"What the hell?!"

The noise startled the gunmen.

The moment played out to Adam in slow motion, each man's rifle followed the arc their bodies swung in. He had only seconds to act. Hooking Wilt over his foot, he kicked it upwards, sending it spinning into the air and with his free hand, he threw Charlotte backwards, sending her flying into the safety of the darkness.

By the time they had noticed the blur of sudden movement out of the corner of their eyes, he had caught his weapon with just enough time to ready himself and draw it free before Sullivan pulled his trigger, and his men followed suit. Hundreds of bullets, well over a dozen rounds volleyed toward Adam and Charlotte, kicking up a dust cloud that soon swallowed the alley.

The guns sputtered out what felt like hours later, the magazines spent. Myst smacked his lips as the captain and his men lowered their spent weapons.

The silence was deafening.

Myst fired several shots blindly into the fog in quick succession, leaving a final pair of shells in the chamber. "Have you gone to hell yet?" There was no answer. He must have hit them. Had to, at that range. Find the bodies, go home, and knock back a few drinks to celebrate.

His confidence returned. He could practically taste the celebratory beer running down his throat.

"All right, boys!" Myst said to Sullivan and his men. "That bastard wasn't so tough after all." The police captain cackled and wrapped his sausage-like fingers around the revolver that hung at his considerable waist. Fresh sweat pooled everywhere.

"Check for the bodies and let's get out of here. I want that bastard animal's head on my wall."

At his nod, Sullivan's remaining men approached the dust cloud cautiously, wary of friendly fire, but the men couldn't see a hint of their targets. He himself stepped carefully through the smokescreen, looking for Adam. A light breeze dissipated the veil. Then something caught his eye.

A single body, lying phone on the ground, with crimson blade in hand.

Myst smiled.

Easy as pie.

---

Incidentally, the not-so dead corpse was thinking very similar thoughts, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. It took a lot to not smirk, giving away his position as he lay dramatically spread eagles, clutching his blade in one hand. He listened quietly, waiting as patiently as he could for the pieces of his plan to fall together.

While Myst had been gloating and monologuing, Adam had been planning. And as he had been scanning his surroundings, the weaknesses of his enemies' hare brained scheme became quickly apparent.

The alley way was narrow. That meant there was nowhere for a normal person to move. The door back inside opens outwards which limited that space even further. It was dark, and none of them were faunus. That meant that visibility was low. And finally, the alleyway itself only had one opening, and his men were all at the far end.

It was the first and last facts that would prove to be Myst's undoing.

Because Adam had realized in order to confirm the kill; which from everything Charlotte had told him of Myst, he certainly would, they would have to come into the alley to do so, throwing away their advantages.

On an entirely unrelated note, the red haired faunus only really needed one thing to even the playing field.

He needed a chokepoint.

And wouldn't you know it, Myst had just given him one.

So he played dead when the bullets flew, watching, pushing Charlotte behind cover as the bullets flew around them. There was no time to communicate the plan, so the most he could offer her was a brief twitch, letting her know he was quite alright, and hope that she saw it. Even so, falling very still as his senses recovered. Finally, he heard them approach, listening to them point their guns at him. He could vaguely make out words, and they became more coherent over time as the blood rushed into his ears.

"He's down." said a man, kicking at Adam's ribs. "Now to handle the other on-"

Good enough.

Following the sound, Adam launched himself skyward and opened his eye.

He leapt off the ground and landed both feet atop the shoulders of the nearest man, stabbing his blade into his neck. The surprised gunman tried in vain to shake him off and as he jumped, he levelled his blade and slashed at his legs, severing the limbs at the knees and leaving his screaming victim crumpled at his feet.

In moments, he tore through the second even as gunfire at last exploded towards his direction; he evaded, lunging like a bull and bouncing from the walls with surprising agility.

Each swing of his sword began generating unsettling visions in the back of Adam's mind – a child huddled in the dark and a face covered in blood – crying. "Mommy."

"Mommy!" Adam renewed his attack, enraged. He was no longer a helpless child. He had the power to kill; he had somehow lost the ability to cry. " He continued his savage attack with everything he had. He was so consumed by his bloodlust that he failed to notice the steadily building carpet of corpses beneath him. In a calmer mood, he might have recognized what he was doing, at least taken the time to restrain himself, hold himself back from killing them.

But perhaps… Perhaps that was part of the problem. 'Humans. Faunus. All are your enemy. What do their lives matter? Does the plough mourn the worms that get caught in it's harvest? They are nothing to you.'

It wasn't a voice he recognised. He could not wholly claim it was his own, and in truth, he barely heard it at all, but it felt...instinctual, if that was the word.

'They are nothing to you.'

Those last words repeated on a loop in his mind as he fought, getting louder with each foe slain. Cold efficiency had been his modus operandi this far, but the feeling the words invoked, they made him feel different. Good different.

Another approached, a woman, bringing a rifle to bear. His lips widening into a grin, Adam clutched his sword ever more tightly in hands and completely swept her off her feet with a brutal swing of his blade – the woman went flying – and he brought one heel over her stomach, sending her crashing to terra firma. With his sword raised high, he stabbed it into her neck and twisted, chuckling with dark laughter as he kept her pinned under one foot and eased her head off with a simple twitch of his wrist.

Charlotte could only watch on as Adam sidestepped an attack and smashed in the nearest face with the butt of his sword. "Too slow!" He swung a knee into the belly of another officer and followed up with a roundhouse kick and a thrust of his blade, felling it pierce flesh with little resistance. He gestured for the remaining gunmen to attack him. She remained frozen in place. The world had stopped making sense. But Adam seemed to thrive in this surreal environment. A dark passion blazed in him now, the likes of which Charlotte had never seen in anyone before.

"What's the matter? Scared?"

Ten bodies lay at his feet, soaked in red. Sullivan's mouth opened and closed like a fish's as his eyes registered the lithe figure standing alone in the alley, who spun his blade like a windmill, batting away semi-automatic fire as though the bullets were nothing but flies. Myst aimed at the melee and pulled the trigger of his own weapon. The weapon roared, and three of Harris' men collapsed.

"You freak! Hold still!" Harris spat out.

Adam was nonplussed. "Is that the best insult you people can come up with?" He mocked in his distorted voice, neatly slashing a foe approaching with a lightning dust baton cranium to crotch in a flash of scarlet. "You really should do something about that poor vocabulary of yours." He was beyond thought now, and too far gone to feel fear. Instead, something inside him seemed to revel in his situation.

He lashed out as another moved forward. In a flash, Adam brought Wilt sweeping across him in a skyward arc and the man fell backwards, stumbling carelessly on his feet before he promptly fell apart, having been sliced into two neat halves. Adam was not burdened by the blood, and focused on the next assailant. Another man suffered a kinder fate – Adam slashed him across the chest before finishing him off with a stab through the gut. Aanother lackey was sliced through the waist cleanly, Wilt passing through fabric, flesh and bone like a hot scarlet knife through butter.

Covered in gore and blood, Adam held up his blade but made no effort to throw away the bloody remains off the burning, glowing steel, or his clothing , instead opting to keep them there fresh and dripping.

"Done already? Not much for a warm-up, huh?"

"Shut up!" Harris snarled deep in the throes of denial . He gestured with the revolver. "I've still got more men left! We still outnumber you..."

Adam lowered his sword, further enraging the corrupt vice officer. "Good for you, you can count. And here I thought the school system around here was failing."

Rage chased away the last of Sullivan's fear. He tightened his finger around the trigger. "I'm gonna shut your arrogant hole for good! If you've got anything else to say, now's the time. Think of it as a last request."

He pulled the trigger, sending a shot ringing at Adam, who casually batted it away, as though he had been dealing with a particularly clumsy mosquito. The red haired faunus raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" He sighed dramatically. " You might as well just mail me the bullets if you're both that lousy shots."

The man swore and tossed the useless gun to the ground. "Why the hell didn't you bring more ammo?" Myst snarled.

"Don't you dare make this my fault, you ass!" Sullivan retorted, spittle flying from his maw. "You told me we were going after some wannabe punk! Not a Huntsman!"

With a manic, twisted grin etched on his bloodstained face, Adam turned to the remaining men. "Well?! Who's next?" He snarled, "First come, first serve."

A wave of realization and terror washed over the rest of the corrupt cops. They would never be able to take him on without weapons, no matter how many of them rushed him at once. In the midst of their heated argument, and the sounds of screams, the two men heard the clatter of empty weapons falling to the ground. One by one, a few men began to back away.

"What the hell? Do your job!" Myst roared. It had little effect. Finally, someone in the back broke ranks and fled. It was the trigger. Within moments, the smarter men were hoofing it away from the alley into the night, leaving less than a handful behind.

"I pay you, you bastards! What's the big idea? Fucking hit this guy! There's ten of you and one of him!"

"He's too fast!" He could hear the rest of the remaining idiots screaming, cursing up a storm seconds before being cut silent. Myst growled. 'Well, if it aint broke…' Just before the fog swept in again, he saw the freak clear for a moment: a dark shadow with a glowing red eye before he heard more screams. The idiots that still had ammo left wouldn't shoot cause they'd hit each other, but the damn bastard didn't have that problem. He could hear the sounds of snapping bones, hear some of them begging not to get hurt before they were smashed against the walls of the alley or the sickening squelch of metal piercing and severing flesh.

'Useless idiots!'

Black and red flashed from the end of the alley, near the bodies of over half of his men. Another gunshot , another streak of red, and another thug sprawled onto the pile. He carved through them. Eventually, the last of his foes fell, and the faunus swordsman stood alone, breathing heavily. The shadows and the fog that had threatened to overcome him were gone. As was Myst. Adam felt his rage smoulder deep inside. He held his sword out, scanning the alley, before his gaze at last settled on the last of them, Sullivan. He pressed the tip of his sword against his throat.

And then Adam spoke again, and the deadly tone to his voice was the toll of a death knell. "Your turn."

"Please! Not me!"

Harris did his best to crawl away, shuffling backwards on his rear, before the faunus kicked him over onto his back. He looked oddly like a beached turtle, limbs flailing as he tried and failed desperately to find his footing. "You've got to understand— I was just doing as I was told! If I didn't..." He trailed off, seeing Adam raise his sword. "I can pay you; I can give you whatever you want! Please!"

The blade came down in a flash of red.

A loud shot and the shattering of glass tore the air. The scream came again, desperate, terrified... human. Hearing the noise was enough to tear him from his battle lust and sent electricity through Adam's veins, such a jolt that it had him to his feet faster than he could think. The blood drained from his face, and before he was even aware of making a conscious decision his legs were pounding furiously down the sidestreet.

The voice was wrong. One life still mattered.

And he couldn't let her die.

---

Charlotte was panicking.

When the shooting started, and she'd taken the time to hide, she'd been horrified to see Adam fall to the ground lifeless without even trying to defend himself. Watching from behind a dumpster as his hand tighten imperceptibly around his katana had eased her mind considerably. Even when he started fighting for real, she had frantically sought a way to help, but the quick close quartered nature of their fight would only make things more difficult. She was decent in a scrap, but she wasn't bulletproof, and she wasn't so good that she was willing to risk getting in Adam's way, especially not when she didn't have a prayer of keeping up with him in a physical encounter. Metal repeatedly clashed against metal in discordant scrapes and pings that pricked at Charlotte's skin like the stings of riled hornets. She didn't want to cower and hide. But what could she do?

She had always had the ability to think quickly and function damn near flawlessly under pressure; that was how she'd survived in the Spiders as long as she had, and she had been doing it under the noses of professional criminals then. She needed that ability now. But she'd gone soft. She was stuck playing defense here, trying to last long enough and not die.

She hated being played; hated being made to feel vulnerable and outmaneuvered. Raw terror melted into shame and reignited as scalding anger. Her cheeks burned with fire.

Adam had pushed her out of harm's way, in the direction of the doorway. How in the name of the gods she hadn't been turned into a bullet sponge as she crawled away, over the cobblestones and trash and through to the (relative) safety of the bar, on her hands and knees, was anyone's guess.

It had been an instinct,one that had screamed at her from the moment the bullets started flying. Survive. She'd picked up one of the knives that one of the thugs left earlier. It was heavier than she was used to, but it was a weapon, and simply the act of holding it made her feel a whole lot better than without.

She seized her budding rage, wadded it up and used it to piece her composure back together.

And then she heard the footsteps.

From behind him he could hear the sounds of gunfire and screaming, but he paid it no mind. That was the point of hiring these low-rent hacks; why waste a perfectly good Family soldier when you got greedy cops who'd throw their faces into meat grinders if you paid them a few extra lien?

It would take some time before the mongrel brat came out on top, if he did at all, and he still had one other piece of business to attend to. He looked around the darkened room with squinted eyes. He knew she was in here, he'd seen her; so what if there weren't any damn lights? She had nowhere to run. He could deal with it, so long as he could rearrange her face with a gunshot or two. "Where the fuck are you?..." He grit his teeth and stepping over his still unconscious men, followed the natural light leading to the front exit. The stooges at the back could deal with the rest of the cleanup there.

He had used up the last of his goodwill with the rogue JSC to find backing for this recent attempt, hatching a meticulous plan and promising them money, muscle, and gear in exchange for the attack. Striking out like this had left Myst with no friends and nowhere else to go. This wasn't a loss a man could just walk away from. And he wasn't leaving without something.

"Come on out, Charlie. I just want to talk."

Charlotte gasped from behind her cover as she heard him pull closer, gun raised. The unmistakable click of a jammed chamber jarred through her body with piercing cold relief. Knowing that her life, and Adam's depended on her accuracy lent a rock steadiness to her arm. He was so close now, so close that even a blind man couldn't miss. The footsteps were nearly upon her when they stopped. Charlotte prepared to burrow the knife into Myst's neck. launched out from behind her cover and swung savagely.

He swung his fists at his assailant in a rage, grabbing at her long hair but his hands met nothing but empty space. Spinning the knife into a reverse grip, her fist still holding the steel blade, came at his stomach and he heard what sounded like a muffled curse in response.

"Nice try!"

Bodies crashed into a pile of debris. Wood cracked and splintered. The gun discharged, sending a shell through one of the windows as it hit the floor. And she'd screamed. Like a baby in a tumble dryer. Garbled, muffled, intermittent, but no less distressing and intense. Or embarrassing.

She tried to push him off, but she wasn't exactly a muscle-bound powerhouse – he had size, weight, and sheer physical strength over her, and they both knew it. Myst kicked the knife from her hands and knelt down over her, hands closing around her throat. His fingers squeezed down, and raw panic flashed through her like ice – she worked her jaw wordlessly as she gasped for breath, groping blindly for something, anything. In desperation she finally kicked upwards with all her strength, planting her heel into his groin and using the opportunity to roll out from under him as his grip slackened. She pulled away, but he was already back on his feet. They faced each other again, both breathing heavily. "Choking?" she gasped, capitalizing on the sudden lull. "Didn't think – you had the guts to get all – close and personal with it. You always struck me as more of a 'knife in the back' kind of guy."

"You're one to talk, Charlie," he wheezed. "You just punted me in the family jewels."

"Oh, I'm sorry." she choked out, trying to regain her breath. "I didn't realize you were planning on using those!"

He sprung at her again with frightening speed. She narrowly brushed under the attack, but failed to evade the kick that followed it. She fell to the ground, winded, and there was nothing Charlotte could do when he bore over her, grabbed one of her exposed arms and broke it in two places. She howled in anguish, spitting and kicking. He reared back again, allowing her to scramble away as best she could, nursing her injury.

Her breathing was erratic and raspy, but something deep inside pushed her past the pain. She wasn't sure she liked her odds before, but now, it was becoming clear. The heft of a weapon and her anger at being caught so unawares had given her a fool's confidence. The truth was, she was cold, scared, and outgunned. And they both knew it.

"That's right, bitch." She saw him raise the gun. Her legs were useless; she'd never be able to move before he fired, and cover was too far away even if she could. "You weren't a bad sparring partner, but the game's over now."

But the end never came.

The gunfire outside had stopped.

The slam of the door came like punctuation. Before it, she had no hope and after, she was filled with it. A figure warped in shadow came barreling through the side door and into the bar, blade drawn and winded but none the worse for wear. His skin was charcoal black, his eye glowing a pupiless scarlet; the colour of his sword. But It was Adam. She knew it was. She'd never been more happy to see that glare in her life. Myst understandably, did not share her feelings. His left hand jerked up holding the gun to fire again, even as his right, hauled her to her feet by her hair, forearm pressed into her throat, keeping her as a barrier between him and the bloodthirsty swordsman.

"You don't fucking give up, do you!? You should be dead!"

Even as she felt the cold mouth of a gun against her temple, she was still thinking quickly. His energy seemed to stem from anger, maybe even fear; perhaps he was more shaken by Adam's presence than she had initially thought.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you." Adam said, his voice came, distorted, and gravelly. He wiped at his mouth, following his prey's every movement as the man tried to circle him, as if he meant to put his back to the exit. Adam remained slightly hunched, this time ready for an attack. "I'm just not very good at dying." He could see Myst, a trail of blood around his mouth. Adam hoped she'd at least knocked out a tooth or two.

"Let's fix that, shall we?"

The gun kicked as it fired, knocking the man back and Charlotte back a step. Yellow fire erupted from the twin barrels and streaked through the darkness, momentarily blinding the swordsman as his nocturnal vision struggled to adjust to the sudden flare. Adam came to his senses first, noting the smoking holes in the wall next to him, about a metre wide.

"Damn you!"

Charlotte had fared little better, the muzzle flash and loud bang disabling her for a fraction of a second, but she was the one to react first. She grabbed the man's hands and bit down. His face contorted into a form of incredulousness and painful regret as he pulled back, screaming more loudly than he had in his entire life.

But it wasn't enough. Even as Myst released his hostage, the pain caused him to clench his clammy fingers around the trigger.

The next pair of shells hit Adam in the chest in a small burst of crimson light, sending him spinning into the wall and his sword to the ground as the loud report echoed through the bar.

Charlotte was on her assailant in an instant, struggling, kicking and spitting in his grip with a renewed vigor. Myst twisted, brought up his arms and caught her around the middle, carrying her up and over, before throwing her to the floor away to the other side.

The pain in Adam's chest flared and he found it difficult to breath, 'Damn it, not now!' He tried to force himself back, but his legs refused to cooperate. His vision wouldn't focus, and everything his hearing had been replaced by a rush of blood through his ears. It could only have been seconds, but time seemed to stretch itself out impossibly until he was finally able to feel along the floor until his hand came into solid contact with his sword, using the blade to steadily push up onto one knee.

Myst was standing over Charlotte. She wasn't moving.

There was an overwhelming anger coursing through Adam, a pressure so tight in his head that it almost felt like it would explode. He wanted to rip him apart.

"Leave her alone," the faunus hissed, anger twisting his features once more.

Myst snickered, taking a step forward. "Or what? You'll kill me? Or do you just want her for yourself?" Another step. "Tough. She's used goods, mutt."

Closer.

"What kind of lowlife shitheel are you?" Adam growled. "This is between you and me."

Closer. The man sneered, only a step away now.

"That's where you're wrong, friend. This here is old business. And besides,from what I hear…." he smiled, showing his teeth like a ravenous wolf. "Girls like her scream the best."

It was too much.

Galvanized, Adam felt white hot lightning course through his veins. Sensation returned to his arms and legs. He felt a surge of force enter his body, flowing through his muscles as a a red wind began to flow around him. It happened in a fraction of a second. Like the crack of a whip, his wrist shot out and with a roar, a shockwave of wild crimson energy was released in a flash from his blade, a wave of unrestrained power slicing jagged between the cervical vertebrae, blood spraying in a black fountain in the dark, severing the top of the spinal column and a significant part of his lower jaw.

The headless body stumbled forward through sheer momentum and finally began to collapse. What remained of Myst's body twitched, jerked, and pitched forward, falling limp on top of Charlotte, who quickly shoved him off, scrambling backwards . There was a sickening gurgling sound that came from the remains of what had once been his neck for barely a moment, before it fell silent. Dark blood pooled on the floor, staining the floor an even darker crimson.

The unfamiliar shift in his body caused his knees to give out under him. He fell to the ground, just catching himself with his hands, his blade clattering to the ground. He felt the air rushed from his lungs, leaving him breathless as he gasped for air.

Her face was a mess. Her heart pounded in his ears. Hair splayed out everywhere, sticky with blood and brain-matter, the horrendous fluid splashed over her face as well. Adam pressed a hand to his own face, wiping away the still-warm blood. His breath was still coming out in harsh gasps. He stared blankly at the sight of the corpse, still half-delirious, waiting to feel... something. A sense of guilt. The feeling of wrongness of it all. He'd have settled for a sense of accomplishment. But instead...instead there was nothing.

Was he a monster?

"H-holy shit!"

Suddenly, he remembered he wasn't alone. Steadily, he wove a trail of bloody footprints as he approached, limping over to Charlotte, while using his still-glowing blade as a crutch.

He reached her quickly, kneeling at her side, and doing his best to hide his relief.

"I wasn't sure if you were still alive. I was going to ditch you here if you had bitten the bullet."

Sensation washed over her– her sight and hearing rushed back to normal levels. His apparent nonchalance stamped the last vestiges of shock and adrenaline out of her system. Her muscles felt stiff as stones. "Don't be so dramatic, Hornhead. Do you really think I'd be silly enough to die and leave you behind with my bar? With your customer service?"

Charlotte took Adam's outstretched hand and rose to her feet. Her heart was still pounding. Cold sweat drenched her armpits and back. But her pride forced her to teeter on her own two feet.

The ghost of her loathed enemy's final moments stood stark on his face, and his lifeless eyes reflected nothing at all.

It was over.