Chapter 4: The Pact

Summer breeze blows at the flower field. In the middle, there's a willow tree and a little boy in a white outfit lies under its shadow. He's watching something on an old TV that's unplugged and running on its own. And Biserka stands beside her.

"So, it's here today," Biserka says, looking down at the little girl.

"Why are you here?" he says, watching the program that seems like a war movie.

"Visiting?" Biserka says softly, trying to make him look up.

"I told you to not come back. Not till you have it."

"That's not possible."

"Did you eliminate them?"

"No. We don't do that," Biserka says in a firm tone to remind the boy of something.

"Yes, we do. That's what we do," the boy says nonchalantly.

"No."

"What about them?" he snaps his finger, and the flower field turns into a pile of dead bodies, young and old. "We eliminate the enemy."

"No stop…stop that," she looks away, biting her lips.

"Look at it."

"No."

"You're a coward. You really came empty handed?" he looks up to Biserka, who's still looking away.

"Not empty," Biserka forces a smile without looking at the field, takes the blueberry pie from behind her, and gives it to him. He huffs but accepts the offering.

The human pile is, once again, replaced by the flower field.

Biserka follows him playfully. Her distance from the little boy becomes longer and longer with every step. She runs on the floriated road; a bed of white tulips and lilies is ahead of her. They wither and break as she stomps upon them. White catchflies grow behind her as she continues to run. Biserka reaches out her hand to get closer to the little boy, but he's only getting further and further away. The catchflies stick to Biserka's shoes and pants as she tries to walk between them. The big house at the end of the road begins to come to light. "No, don't go!" Biserka shouts, but her voice fades into the ever-growing flower bed. Now turning into a sea of roses, Biserka struggles to stay afloat. The sharp thorns of yellow roses pierce her skin while the little boy floats on top of the dark red ones.

Before she knows it, the little boy stands at the top of the big house holding a flaming torch. He drops the torch, and the building goes up to the flames, swallowing the little boy. The fire burns the flowers down to ashes, smoke rises, and the floral path turns into a devouring slime, sucking her in. The more she struggles, the more she sinks in till she disappears. From afar, she can see the little boy smirking at her.

She reaches for air only to choke on the moulded smell of blood. But can't find the source of the scent. A faceless person, an adult whose face keeps glitching, is sitting on top of her, wrapping their skinny hands full of old burnt marks around her neck. "None of this would happen if you just listened," the faceless adult laments. Biserka can't move and is stuck to the ground. She begs, "I-can't-breathe," but the grip only becomes stronger and stronger. The moment she's able to raise her arm to push the person away, her hand turns into a sharp blade and cuts through the chest of the person on top of her, now back to the burning boy again.

"What about me?" the boy whispers fading away.

Feeling the weight of her body, Biserka tries to move herself, but she's paralyzed. On the second attempt, she tries to raise her arm; she still can vividly see the little boy from her dream. She's still standing there, somewhere, laughing at her. The dream is gone, but reality has not welcomed her yet. She's stuck between the two realms, the world of 'ifs and the real world. Her body has betrayed her; maybe her eyes will stay by her side. She tries to open her eyes, but something heavy is covering them. Something that softens her agony. A familiar sensation. It was a familiar and welcoming feeling, unlike the little girl, one that made her feel at ease, washing her sleep paralysis away. She's trying to remember where she is. She remembers an uneasiness, a moment of ambivalence where she saw all those colours and decided to ignore them. Right. She's met with the Levi guy and…ended up at Worick's slum. She concludes with herself, wondering if she's on the couch or the bed. Or rather, what's covering her eyes.

Now, she's awake enough to recognize the slim, strong, and massive hand on her eyes, even without the aura. It's just Nick…JUST NICK…the realization finally hits her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She quickly pulls herself down, opening her eyes. Blood rushes through her veins as she sits up, biting inside of her cheek.

Nick is sitting beside her, nonchalantly reading a book and not bothering to look at her. Her mask is gone, and her clothes have been changed. Looking around, everything else seems fine except the tea table that's gone. Which only means one thing: it's broken. She grits her teeth, tilting her head. A shocking scene, but not a new one. It could've gone worse. It has gone worse before. But now, she must pay Worick, or he won't shut up. Her lower eyelid twitches as she attempts to pull herself together. She may be the best at pretending, but there is a small circle that can read through her sham. Before she can make more speculations, Nick extends his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder, pushes her back down on the couch, and covers her eyes again. As if he's pulling a wet cat stuck in the cannel out of the water.

"Hey! I'm awake!" she protests as if he could hear her. She raises her arm and snaps her fingers in front of him, or where she assumes be near his face. But her desperation is shot down by utter silence. Nick's disability gives him a superiority compared to others. He can ignore her without trying. The only person that can breach through her. The only one after that person.

Defeated, she waits another 15 minutes, hoping he shows some mercy and gives up. Then, she makes another attempt. She raises her arm, "I'm awake. Will you let me go now?" she moves her fingers. Only signing with one hand, so it won't be too into his face. Nick looks down at her and huffs. "Oh c'mon!" she shouts, pointing her palm at his in frustration. He narrows his eyes, thinking it through, and finally raises his hand with a low growl.

She quickly sits up again. "Mind telling me what happened? Where are the others?" she says, pointing out the empty house.

"The usual. Alex is at Bastards and Worick is about his thing. It's the weekends," he explains.

"Oh, it's the weekends so Worick…Wait A Minute," her eyes widen, "It means I was asleep for two days!" she lets in a scream. Not that Chad will fire her, but now that midget has something to mock her for. She was supposed to be there on Friday.

"It's your own fault, you know," he shrugs, "you were so drunk on sleep that that shorty had to drag you here," he rolls his eyes. She couldn't remember that at all. She recalled that she was exhausted by the end of their work. And she can remember a faded trace of Levi's voice complaining about her sleeping habit. But that's all. This is even worse than she imagined it. She needs to take action before Levi can use that against her.

"Anything other than a broken table?" she asks. He shakes his head. "Who did it?"

"I did it. Alex was arguing with Worick."

"Oh my god, Nick! You dumbass. I had to go to the PD! Why didn't you wake me up!"

"You're a pain in the ass, That's Why," he signs at a dramatically slow speed. "Don't worry. That midget called to see if you're alive. So, we told him you're taking a day off."

"People don't take day off in the first day," she firmly smacks her head, restraining herself from smacking him on the head.

"Don't forget to pay for the table," he smirks before returning to his book.

"Shut up," she moves her two fingers across her lips, zipping them.

"It's okay to search for them there," he says and pats her head with his book. She doesn't respond, staring down at her hands. Only if you're welcomed there, she thinks to herself, remembering the betrayal in the face of burning flames. She could still feel those skinny fingers around her neck.

Deep down, she hoped Nick would close her eyes again, snatching the dream away. But he'd not do that. He's never been the type to insist on anything. The only line he ever crosses is overdosing on celebres. After all, she's just another Normal. The thick wall that separates them will never disappear. It's the weekend, and she still has time before leaving, so she might as well waste it all contemplating. Now that she's back, pretty soon, she won't get much time to herself like this. Not only because of Levi but also because her gut is telling her something. Something that's not visible through colours, and she only has to wait to see what it is.

Biserka takes a deep sigh, lies back down, grabs his hand and places it back on her eyes. Nick doesn't even flinch and goes on with his reading. A silence that carries a thousand words and makes her wonder: how did it all start? This inexplicable and one-sided feeling that she has for him, where is it rooted from? The burden that half of this city carries—the burden of bloody hands, the burden of being an outcast, or having seen the world outside the Ergastulum—is as ugly as the one inside. She could never choose one. Maybe it's just how they met. Not the first time they saw each other, not the first time they killed people, not the attack of Second Hunters. When, again, Worick brought her back to the game; after she lost that person—her person. Maybe it started there or that's when she has realized; even so that wasn't the first time. To her, she has had more than one "first meeting" with these two. The last and probably real one, when everything, yet nothing, has changed. Yeah, it's perhaps then.

Biserka rubs the side of her right palm, down from her pinkie, caressing the tiny stitch mark that's fading away. She can still feel the burn from the "missed" bullet that was shot. The nauseating smell of that gunpowder is as fresh as the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the next chair. Nick's cracky-hoarse voice that was high celebre, grinning, rings at her ear even to this day.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her right hand, burning her skin. Next came the sound, the sound of a bullet that was shot, and she just remembered the bang followed by her cup that fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.

"If you don't get to the point, next time my hand won't slip," Worick warned, "Who hired you?"

But she didn't get to the point. Because there wasn't any. At that point, Worick was as deaf as his bodyguard. Nothing she said went through him. Yet, she kept trying to keep her defence until Worick's mark. And before she could react, she was thrown to the corner like a football by Nick's kick.

"Benriya's…cooa-pration...with you...is over..." Nick's cracky and hoarse voice was the last thing she heard before the nightmare began as he unsheathed his katana. That was the second time she had heard his voice. And that was one of the few times she saw mixed emotions on his face. He was there to kill her because Worick wanted that. But he probably didn't want that. Or maybe he felt betrayed, and he wanted that too.

The time between the first shot and the last blade felt like a lifetime. Even now, any part that lacked a human voice remains blurry in her mind. Just like watching two birds from behind an opaque window glass, she only remembers what she felt closely back then. She couldn't feel a thing all the time she was clashing with Nick—not even pain—before she knocked him down with a high dose of downers. Nor can she remember it now. Even trying to remember every time their blades clanked against each other, every time her blade cut through their flash makes chill run down her spine. But she can remember her fight with Worick as if she's the Storage himself. Her mind has no plan of blocking any of that. Every single word she exchanged with him plays in her like a broken cassette. Unlike a cassette, no pen could fix her mind, be it one twirl or thousands. She can only fill the voids with more and more 'what ifs.' What if she has never blown her cover, would they still be standing here? What if her plan hadn't worked, would they really kill her? They probably would. But Worick was smart enough to realize there's more to achieve from the so-called 'lowlife' like her.

That was the day they met once and for all. The day it all was unveiled. No more secrets from either side. It was a pact that they made. An invisible pact that was not to be spoken of. No oath was taken. No blood was spilled. Even though blood was everywhere, it was all filthy and disgusting. They simply came to understand where they stood. They are tools. He could ruin her, and so could she. And she began to understand Worick better. That he gambles every second of his life. Worick is like this city; he'll follow it whichever way it falls. He'll protect it if the city can survive. But he won't hesitate to jump ships if the city finally begins to fall. And if this city ceases to exist, he'd stand up high and watch. That's what an outcast does. What about her? Would she stand and watch? What about Levi? What about him? Why is he even in the conversation? Because there's more to Levi than just a Corsica exile. She can feel it, and she's going to figure it out. The case of suspicious murders that Chad's given them. This may be the case that sorts the outcasts once and for all.

A/N: Happy reading :) Comments and criticisms are appreciated