Chapter Summary
- SETTING UP SHOP
I still can't believe it... We survived. We got Antizin. And this woman...wants a freak like me to be her Lifeline... There are a lot of questions about her and this poison of hers. It could be something. Or nothing. But I know that if I want some answers, then I'm gonna have to stick around with Jack. - Kyle
INTERMISSION: SETTING UP SHOP
"So…this group of yours. You call yourselves the Ravs?"
What was this? Was this small talk she was hearing behind her? Out of a sentient revenant with the preposterous biology of shooting tendrils out of his arms and a crafted blade out of bone. More surprises Jack could ever handle receiving than...well, a normal person should.
The duo briskly walked out of the Blueside Hotel while she searched for a safehouse to sleep in. She didn't mind the silence between them, but for some reason, Freakazoid was the first to break it.
Frankly, she had thought he wasn't the talkative type, given his circumstances in the first place. Moreover, she had an inkling that he didn't make talk even in the past unless it was getting to the point. If anything, he wanted info. But not 'in-her-face' kind of approach. He took a lot of effort to keep an arm's distance. Which meant to her something really screwed him over in the past to have this level of trust.
So she might as well entertain him. See if Freakazoid could pry the information he wanted out of her as easily as he'd think he could.
See who was the catcher in this conversation.
"Yes. That is our name. Don't wear it down."
"And you're from the Outskirts?"
Harmless question.
"Lived long enough to call it home."
"And there are survivors? Alive."
How curious the way his tone went there, and he did it out of confirmation. He knew about a place in Harran, but that could easily be debunked as being common knowledge.
"What's left of us. We're a pretty knitted community. With all the trees and rural places." Jack stopped to glance over her shoulder and toss a smile right at Freakazoid. "Why? Are we supposed to be dead?"
"I...might have remembered something about that place having no survivors." That was a good dodge, right?
"Is that so?" Jack chuckled, not at all offended. "The Ministry writes us off while the Ravs clean up their bloody mess."
"Been meaning to ask about that name. What do you do? Have rave parties all night to keep the morale up?"
Jack snorted. What an interesting imagination he had. "It's short for Ravens. Grad students were the ones who decided we should go by a nickname. Tell the folks that we're good and make our enemies think we're bad."
"So you're the law," he pressed on.
"Nothing of the sort Just the local neighborhood watch."
That answer surprised Crane but he got it—the same case as Scanderoon and anywhere else in Harran: people forced to defend themselves.
"The outbreak happened. The Community changed. Then Asem made the Ravens and it became a service for hire."
Not what Crane had in mind. But he didn't know how to feel about that. 'A service for hire'. He couldn't help but feel apprehensive, comparing them to Rais' men.
"Let me guess." Seeping out in his tone shook a moment of distaste but he didn't hide it. "You get Antizin for your services. Maybe loyalty-?"
But a laugh from the woman in red stopped him. "Loyalty doesn't pay anyone in this kind of crisis. You think I'd throw myself onto the train tracks just for that?"
Ok, Crane could understand that. He wouldn't jump into a Volatile's nest to clean it up if he wasn't getting anything in return.
"And I've already told you. They stopped giving Antizin in Harran months ago." She continued along her light stroll, her choice of route purposefully to drag the conversation on while the Freakazoid kept talking.
"Then why do it?"
"Do what?" she pried 'cluelessly'.
"Help others," the Freakazoid clarified. "Everyone's looking out for themselves. No time to worry about strangers."
There were slight pauses. Like the creature behind her was picking his words carefully. Did he do that as a common habit in his previous life? But he should have already known how observant Jack was. Any sort of hint couldn't escape her eyes. Or ears.
"True. Every man for himself."
The groan exhumed out of Crane's lungs showed that her dancing tune wasn't the answer he wanted. She dodged the question. "So why send one of their own out to the middle of nowhere? Or put all their eggs into one basket on this...poison perk of yours? "
"I've already told you why."
"You know what I mean."
"Aren't you a curious zombie. But you already gave the answer."
Crane tightened his eyes frustratedly. "Which is?"
"That everyone's looking out for themselves. That's why the Ravs have to help people."
He frowned at the roundabout answer, getting a little drained. Just be patient, she's just like any person he has dealt with.
Sure, she was a pretty lady...but her attitude.
Thankfully and unfortunately, she was a blabbermouth.
"The Outskirts was a lost cause. Nobody came to save anyone. Nobody could leave either."
Which lined up with what Crane had heard before he had dropped into Harran. The following week came the news: no one was alive in that area.
Then it was a blatant lie by the Ministry if Jack came from the Outskirts, alive. The people there were left to rot, with no one outside wiser.
"Then Asem said she had enough. She got in charge and gathered as many hands on deck as she could. We banded together and rebuilt the Community from the ground up."
He softly huffed to himself. It sounded too good to be true. Every group he came across was barely hanging on the thread. And this group had a similar approach to a recent one he joined: the idea of helping the people, just with the so-called divine actions from their 'God of the Sun'. The Ravs were built on ashes, and not the hopes of a prophecy but still hope regardless. Hence, the similarities left a bad taste in his mouth.
There was a catch, wasn't it?
"Keeping the Community alive is our revenue stream right now," Jack explained. "But the recruitment progress, well... Requirements are quite strict."
"Which is…?"
"People brave enough to leave the Community. People with a death wish. And people infected with the virus." Jack faltered, gesturing a wave of her arms at herself. Presenting to Freakazoid the ideal kind of recruit for the job of a Rav member. The shock and disgust on his face was expected to her. "Surviving in the Outskirts long enough can mess people up."
Wasn't she just describing herself, he pondered. If anything, it didn't sound any different from any other faction, especially one that decided the idea of a 'Lifeline' was a person's euthanasia.
"Sounds like a bunch of 'saints'." It was mocking, but Crane couldn't help himself.
"Saints. Sinners," Jack jested, picking on the sarcasm. "They're pretty much the same word. Just different perspectives."
"Alright," he uttered. "So which is it then?"
"We're survivors. Just like everyone else in this city."
Again, she put him in a hole he couldn't get out of. Because it was all true. But he didn't lower his guard—too many questions on his plate about this one group.
"That being said, there's no going alone with the Ravens. No being a hero either. You stay low, stay safe," Jack quoted. "That's their motto. Once you're a member, you're part of the Community. Like family."
Bzzt!
Jack hadn't expected her earpiece to buzz. She wanted sleep. She wanted a warm meal. It hadn't been five minutes or so when they left the hotel, and already, someone was calling her for another request. But she wasn't one to deny a call.
"Hello?"
"'Ello, Jackie."
"Your favorite traders here. At your service."
The frown on the brunette's face deepened, slanting to one side at hearing the two voices.
"Ender… Riza… What a surprise," Jack said through her clenched teeth.
"She's not happy."
"How rude! Even ruder for not welcoming us. After we said, "Yes, Asem. We'll gladly do everything for Jack"."
"A bit of appreciation goes a long way, y'know."
"Of course. I appreciate your riveting chatter and wonderful service tremendously," Jack replied. "Back home."
It was an odd scene for Crane to see. On first assumption, it almost seemed like nothing could chip at the cheeky brunette's persona. But before his eyes, just a crack surfaced. It was like the last call she had gotten from this group.
Maybe it was better to compare them to say, the Tower or Jasir's Farm.
"Too bad. We're by the Bayside. Meet us there for a reunion."
"You'll see our sign."
Actually, it looked more like Jack was dealing with kids.
"Now wait-" The line died. The ex-kickboxer mumbled to herself defeatedly, squeezing the bridge of her nose.
"Friends of yours?" Beastly asked.
"You could say that... Two Ravens too far away from home."
"I thought you were particularly family."
"Of course. It's like having a few unwanted relatives coming over," she swiftly said to Freakazoid. So much for catching forty winks.
"Fine," she groaned. "Can't keep them waiting."
It was a response that meant she was going to make sure whoever they were would turn around and go back home. Before they'd start doing something they shouldn't. There was no more need to ask about these newcomers; Crane could see it for himself when they'd get to the Bayside.
The lady was off, using the rooftops and platforms to avoid the infected below. He took to the shadows, through the buildings, as he kept as close as he could to her. Jack was the one leading here—she seemed to know the city far better than he did anyway.
It was around the tenth rooftop when Crane spotted the red smoke of a flare. The particular spot in the Bayside wasn't the best place to set up—no sane person would with the walkers sluggishly roaming around under the sun.
And where the flare was, he spotted an orange skeleton standing on the roof of a convenience store. On the side of the building was a wet graffiti sign done in a hurried manner. But somehow, it gave a sense that the symbol had been done numerous times—a white bird with wings up to the sky.
"That's a giant 'notice me' sign anyone can come to."
"How else are we going to get our business name around if nobody knows about us?"
The pacing behind Jack came to a crawl. A turn on her heel, and Jack spied the Day Hunter refusing to move any further from the shadows' border.
"Oh, come now. They don't bite."
"Like you did?" he rebuked with that deadly, cold stare.
Jack shrugged. She wasn't going to deny that. "I bite." She pointed two fingers at herself before gesturing one of them to her faraway allies. "Those two are just Grad students."
"I can see now how you earned the title, 'Wild Dog'," Crane sarcastically remarked.
"Why, thank you. I brighten up anyone's day with my pearly whites." Jack grinned wider 'just to prove a point'.
"That wasn't a compliment." He groaned. Loudly. He had grown tired of being frightened by his own voice. He just didn't care—new faces meant he was a new face to them. Which meant they'd see his mugshot, and that would spell more trouble for him. So he stayed put. Arms folded.
"Seriously?" she uttered with arms gestured out. With Freakazoid refusing to budge from his spot, Jack slapped them to her sides and strolled onto the rendezvous point.
"Hey, Jack."
At least from his vantage point, Crane was able to see and hear everything. A young female adult leaned over the edge of the rooftop with a wave back at the brunette, a filter gas mask draping around her neck. A typical runner in her early twenties and shorter than Jack. Her attire stood out in an urban trend with something stained—was that paint?
"Riza. Ender," Jack greeted.
"Nice to see you're still alive."
A third voice. Crane couldn't tell if it was a guy or girl; maybe it was a guy? Regardless, out in view on the rooftop was the second runner. Like the first runner, the other survivor wore a similar fashion, except they were completely covered up: goggles, hood, and a face mask. Not a single facial feature for Crane to make out.
"You didn't even say goodbye," the spunky female runner said, acting all hurt.
"We were heartbroken. And Lenny's furious," her androgynous friend spoke, leaning over the edge.
Jack just shrugged her shoulders. "I had to go see family. Simple as that."
"But here in Scanderoon?"
"Ender. I crashed here," she began. "And what about you two? How did you get here?"
"Please. You, of all people. You can't underestimate Ender," Riza spoke out proudly. "If it wasn't for him, we'd have taken longer."
"Yes, and I do wanna remind you two about the circumstances. Again," Jack muttered tiredly.
Ender snorted in retaliation. "Yeah. We can see it around us." He swung a hand out at their surroundings—the smoke, the undead, the chaos around them. "You worry too much."
"Then I take it that the way to the Outskirts is good?"
The two younger adults looked at each other. One could almost say they were like twins, or their minds were alike. "Nope. Still caved in."
"Wait, then how-"
"Same way those zombies are moving between the Outskirts and Scanderoon now. The maintenance tunnels."
Jack grimaced. Hearing two young adults, fresh Grads, go through a very dangerous area was enough to give her a headache. "Really, you two-"
Riza cut her short. "We're still alive, aren't we? And you have a way back if you wanna go home. Everyone misses ya."
"Except Lenny."
"Yeaaah," Jack mumbled, despite wearing a smile as always. "I don't think I should just yet. Not without his boat anyway."
"Yeah," Riza chuckled. "Lenny's gonna kill you."
"Everyone's already put bets on how it's gonna go down. My money's on him."
Jack looked insulted. "What about me?"
The two runners just shrugged their shoulders in sync. "You're Mad Jack," Ender continued. "But Lenny's some hitman."
"'Presumed'," Jack enforced the word into their conversation. "We don't know what he did for a living."
"That's what makes it fun," Riza added. "It's a guessing game."
Jack uttered a loud and long groan through her teeth. Sheez, do these kids make her feel old and unappreciated…
While she grumbled at the lack of gratitude, the young girl squinted her eyes and tugged at her partner's sleeve to get his attention on something she noticed in the distance. So did he.
"I see you're not alone." Ender pointed at Crane's hiding spot. "That's the new guy Bones was telling us about?"
Hang on. How did they see him? Crane was in a good blindspot from where he stood.
Jack wheeled back, glancing in Freakazoid's direction. Then she turned back.
"How much did he tell you?" the ex-kickboxer asked.
"Nothing much."
"Asem said he's important or something."
"Kinda. He's my new partner." Jack kept it vague. No point in beating around the bush until she has heard Asem's word that it was an OK. It'd only complicate things. "And my Lifeline."
Both runners jerked back their heads at Jack's reply.
"He's your Lifeline?" Riza asked.
"Yes."
"Omph. I feel sorry," Ender confessed.
"Excuse me. I'm following the rules, am I not? I found myself a Lifeline. And a good fighter at that. You've nothing to worry about, mate," the older adult assured.
"I didn't mean you. I meant him. He's got his work cut out."
Jack's frown deepened and stretched to one side. She couldn't get a break. Meanwhile, Crane at the back narrowed his eyes while in a fit. What did they mean by that? What did he sign himself into?
"Well, if that's the case. Aren't you going to introduce him to us?" Ender pried.
"He's rather shy. Hasn't warmed up to us Ravs yet."
"Oh, shaddup," Crane mumbled. Only to himself, less he wanted anyone else besides Jack to hear his loud thoughts. If he were there now, he'd gladly shut the chatterbox up.
Jack still continued singing her tune.
"Right now, it's simply business. He's only sticking around until we're done with our agreement."
"Business, huh…" Ender said, glancing back at the stranger in the distance.
Bit by bit, the two runners leaned far right to have a better angle at seeing Crane. But he stayed in his spot—no way would anyone fall for the idea he was a 'friendly monster'. He clearly had the look and build of one. The spikes, talons, and, hardened skin were a dead giveaway.
"He looks like a creep," Riza whispered.
"More like a stalker," Ender added. "What is he wearing?"
"Hey!" Crane really, REALLY wanted to speak up. All he could do was pout and fold his arms.
"Looks can be deceiving," the brunette explained. "Give him time."
It was Ender who gave a bothered look in one way or another, his gaze passing from Jack to the creep in question, then back again. There was an aura of respect he had for the older adult, but a tug of concern pried him to ask.
"Did you tell him about Bones' project?"
It was a whisper. Unbeknownst to them, Crane already had caught wind of their entire conversation, thanks to superhuman hearing.
"I explained everything to him. That's why he's on board in the first place."
The two runners' heads turned to each other; they didn't seem to like that answer from Jack.
"Bones said we had to keep a tight lip on this 'project'," Riza pointed, emphasizing the keyword with her fingers. She only received another shrug of the shoulders from Jack.
Tight lip. Crane hadn't forgotten what Jack had said—no one outside the Ravs knew about this pet project of hers. But was there really such a heavy need for secrecy?
"Was Asem ok with this?"
"I'll talk to her about it." Crane caught the brunette smirking back at him. "He's actually helpful."
"How?"
"A lot of things," she hummed. "I assure you, he's more than what he seems. Might even surprise you."
Again, the two runners didn't seem to agree with her. Or disagree. Kyle could read it off the female runner—again, trust was on very thin ice. Outsiders was another thing altogether. He had met many people and worked for small groups and factions, but neither group has ever or rarely cooperated with the other. With the fighting over scarce supplies and fear at every corner, infected or human, how could anyone work in harmony?
The Ravs were no different. That was why he couldn't accept Jack's vague description of a faction as 'graciously generous' for outsiders. The Tower gave a helping hand but on tippy toes too.
As Crane said to Jack before, everyone looked out for themselves, even himself. But there wasn't any harm in keeping one's friends close and one's enemies closer. He had gained as much trust as he could in order to gain more info. Intel was key. So if he wanted to learn more about the Ravs, he'd have to gain their trust slowly.
...He almost wanted to laugh at himself. He'd be dead before he would ever talk to them.
"Now," Jack's unbreakable cheeriness broke the awkwardness between the two runners. "Asem sent you here for a supply run. You brought those fancy syringes?"
The two runners gave a passing glance at each other, defeated to persuade anymore on the previous subject. Ender was the first to admit it by tossing a small knapsack at her. "How exactly did you manage to lose the first lot?"
Jack examined the goods first—four special syringes inside the medical knapsack. They were the powerful kind, sharp enough to penetrate through hard flesh and fast enough to draw blood without the hassle of the reluctant donor. A nice find, but rare to come by in the Outskirts.
Four vials to collect four blood samples.
"It wasn't intended," Jack defended herself. "I just so happened to come across a roadblock… That sort of knocked my bag overboard."
"In other words, you lost everything. Including Lenny's boat," Riza added. "Oooh, he's gonna be pissed-"
"I did not lose his boat. I'm looking for it right now." There was a difference.
"You know these syringes aren't easy to get? Doubt we can even find anymore in Harran," Ender explained.
"Couldn't I just ransack a hospital?" the brunette asked.
"Nope. Regular hospitals don't have these."
"Right. Only at those special Hotspots…" Crane picked up a hint of dissatisfaction in Jack's voice. "Sorry if it opened up a can of worms for you two."
Ender was the one who shrugged. "It's been months already. Nothing's at the old campus anymore."
"Hm. Right." She wasn't convinced. So was the other girl, with a look of concern as she rubbed her arm. There was a story there Crane could see between the lines but could only guess how it could have gone.
"So don't go losing these," Ender exclaimed, his modest attitude breaking the grim air. "Then we won't go back to that place again."
"It's a promise."
"You still remember your objective, right? Or do we need to remind you again-"
"Oh, shush. Stop treating me like I've forgotten. I go find a Special, test my secret weapon on them and if they act funny, I stab them with these thingamajigs to get their blood samples." Jack repeated her goals, clear as day.
"Hm," one of the runners hummed. "Think she's ok?"
"Doubtful," the other whispered back. "You know how bad her memory can be-"
"Anyhow!" Although Mad Jack's face kept smiling, her foot was down. "Now we're all done here, you can go back to the Outskirts."
The two runners didn't budge, 'visibly' surprised at Jack's statement.
"Go on. Off you two. The faster you get to those tunnels, the better it is off my chest." Still nothing. "C'mon. Chop chop. You should be home before night falls."
Ender snorted. "So back to our talk earlier," he spoke to Riza. "What do you think?"
"This place isn't any better than Harran. I had a peek at that Junction place. They're barely pulling."
"Yeah. This outbreak happened like what? Three, four months? And mostly everyone's upped and abandoned this side of the city. Scary."
"Same goes for the freaks. They look a lot more vicious than the ones back home…"
Both runners had a strange glimpse that Jack didn't like when they turned back to her.
"We're staying."
The smile on her face fell flat, and Jack's sunglasses dropped down the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry?"
"This city's particularly a gold mine now. With the infected and baddies running amok?" Riza started, almost singing. "Lots of clients need trade. We should be giving something to the people to believe in."
"And it'll look bad on our resumes if we were to bat an eye and turn away. Can't pass this opportunity of a lifetime."
"You want to set up shop... here? " Jack pointed a finger to the very ground she stood. This city.
Ender popped two thumbs up at her. "Why not? We got you." He patted her on the shoulder. "Your partner's welcome to help."
"Now I'm helping you two?" Jack beat Crane to the punch on that thought.
"It'd be like the first day for you," Riza assured Jack. "You can do that, can't ya?"
"Ok. You two must have lost a screw on the way here. And that's coming from me. Ender's the problem if he stays. No offence, love."
Ender wasn't offended; he just accepted that fact from her. Still, he counterattacked. "Asem made us your local traders. And you're the best specialist we know."
"Basically. You're stuck with us until Asem says otherwise," Riza continued.
"Of course. She did. Of course..." Jack grumbled under her breath. "I can't win this."
The two Grads passed a quick glance at each other.
"Nope," both replied together.
Jack sighed heavily with a roll of her eyes to the sky. But no amount of persistence would change their minds. "...What do you need?"
"Leave the frameworks to us. We'll approach the locals. Start business with them. All you have to do is raise our reputation in the city."
"Let them know the Ravs are here to help. The more buzz we create, the more jobs people will offer."
"Well, I won't say no to any job. But let me remind you, Ravs aren't supposed to go loud and-"
"We're not in the Outskirts," Ender cut Jack short.
"Relax. We know what we're doing," Riza remarked. "We pick our friends carefully."
"And our enemies very carefully."
"I'd rather you didn't pick any enemies," Jack pushed, which seemed to fly over the two Grads.
"That's rich. What about your partner then?" Ender jabbed a thumb at Freakazoid, before dropping to a whisper, "If he gives you trouble, don't hesitate to radio us."
"I'm not like that." Then Crane decided to retract his quiet statement with a shake of the head. "Stop talking like you're normal. You're a frigging zombie."
"Should be the other way around," Jack exclaimed jovially. "One last thing. Got a spare?"
Crane squished his silver eyes, unable to tell what she was up to. Jack had tapped a finger at her ear, and silently, the two runners knew what she wanted. There was an exchange of hands and that finalized the entire meeting.
"We'll be around the neighborhood block, Jack."
"But of course. Ender. Riza."
They went their separate ways. Jack departed, jumping off the roof, a turned-over car, and onto the pavement. The two youngsters went back to discussing on the rooftop, readying themselves for the next step of their establishment.
"See? That wasn't so hard," Jack said as she joined her partner in the shade.
"This time. They're in over their heads if they're anything like you..."
"They're good with their words, not fists. They know when to bail if the worse comes"
True enough. Kyle wouldn't fight a monster that was like his new self if he was his old self.
"And what's this about 'setting up shop'? Aren't you all a bit too comfortable with everything going on?" In fact, it sounded like their priorities were everywhere, in Crane's opinion.
"Ender's right, though. Gotta make some business out of this chaos while they still can. You can't be going off into danger without some benefits to your belt."
"So your group profits off this outbreak."
"Isn't anyone?" Jack answered straightforwardly. "I won't lie. I don't do charity work if there's nothing out of it."
"Hmph," he answered judgmentally. And Jack could spot the tone in his thought-speech. "Sounds too much like him."
"Someone I should know? Or someone you just remembered?"
He grimaced, quickly realizing his mistake. Play the infected with memory loss, idiot! "Nothing. I'm just mumbling to myself."
That seemed to work, although Jack had a moment of doubt - which looked like a deep reading into his soul.
One thing that left a bad taste in Crane's mouth was her line of thinking. It reflected a little like that man's logic... He actually wished he could forget about him.
Kadir "Rais" Suleiman. The sadistic, violent, and irritable bastard who terrorized most of Harran. A man with a psychotic philosophy profited from the outbreak by hoarding the Antizin and exploiting the struggles of others to carve a terrifying name in everyone.
He was now six feet under.
"For someone who doesn't remember his past, you sure have a lot of history."
He stayed silent. Averted his gaze. So Jack gave up prying.
"Well. While you bloody pout there, I'll be off looking for work."
"Whoa. Hold on a minute." He jumped swiftly out of his spot and stopped her. Just a skin touch of the sunlight, but his mind was too fixed on one thing to care about the little sting. "Aren't I helping you? "
She tilted her head curiously to one side. "Oh. I just presumed you don't like volunteer work."
Crane growled in response. This woman… "Look. I admit it. I don't like your group. I don't like you much."
"Really? Even after our bonding moment last night, I'm not trustworthy enough?" she asked exaggeratedly.
Oh, no. That tone. Crane scowled, trying not to show he didn't have a fit from that playful ploy of hers.
"You're still questionable."
Well, at least that gave Jack an idea of his distancing. Freakazoid was alright to tag alone to be her lifeline, but with an arm's length on her. Was that the case with anyone he's met in his human life?
"Same goes for you, Beastly," she pushed, cocking up a cheeky grin. Beastly—another nickname Crane didn't think she could tag on him. He couldn't tell if it was out of sarcasm or if she meant it. "If we're gonna work together, we can't have any walls between us. Misery loves company."
Sure, and misery had to give Kyle this loon of a character. Beggars couldn't be choosers. But that didn't mean he shouldn't know more of her true motives, her real self behind that mask of hers.
Just so he could know: truly a friend or a foe?
"I'm only sticking around for this cure."
"Heh," the brunette sang. "At least you're being honest."
"My point is!" he remarked. How mentally drained did he feel with her. "I'll help you. But if I do anything I don't like, I'll walk away. You got that?"
"You're the client. Your word is law."
Again, Crane grunted. Just how true of a word was that coming from her mouth?
"So. What does the client want? You obviously have an idea."
He hesitated, almost waiting for some smart-aleck statement to come out of her. It was scarily strange to see a person like her give him leeway.
Eventually, he spoke up. "How about divide and conquer?"
Jack raised an eyebrow at the surprising suggestion. Still, Crane continued.
"I can't talk to people. Can't even show my face. And you have one big mouth."
"I'm touched."
"But you can talk to people. You pick the jobs that people needs help the most. I take care of the problems. Bad guys included."
"So you want me to be your wingmate, and you do the legwork."
Whoa. A front would have been a better wording. "I wouldn't go that far to call you a wingman...wingwoman, whatever. But yeah. Sure."
"Hm," Jack chirped. "...That's not a bad idea."
"It's a sound idea."
"We'll see about that." Sound, Jack thought. Coming from Freakazoid over there. "I can't let you do all the work. You hired me, remember?"
"We can share the workload. Ok?"
She smiled with a chuckle. "This is going to be a beautiful friendship." Jack tossed something into his hands. Claws. And visually pointed to her ear. What she had given was a new earpiece set for two-way communication—the kind he had used when he was a human.
So he really was going to do this: jump right back into the fire. Crane willingly set it up.
"Alright." She slapped her hands together, announcing their time to depart together. "First thing first. We need to make you presentable, Freakazoid."
And now, it got weird. "...What?"
"Presentable. You can't go running around looking like that."
"Wait. What do you mean?" Which page was she on when he was still on Page one?!
"I mean updating your wardrobe. Look at you," Jack explained. "A pair of clean clothes might do you some good. Maybe make you less grumpy."
It still didn't sink in him. Kyle was completely baffled at how unnaturally calm she said all that with a straight face. "Do you hear - what kind of-" He had to take a second to regain himself. "Why would any of that be important?"
"Freakazoid, you're now a reformed zombie. You can't go looking like one terrorizing people. You've already spooked the folks at the Junction," Jack explained as she strolled down in the direction of the street market.
She seriously meant it. But Crane took it as a cruel joke.
"Thanks for reminding me," he scoffed, only to get a 'you're welcome' nod. "You're forgetting that I'm not even human anymore. What's the point in...dressing up like anyone else? " He presented his form to her with arms wide open. Crane couldn't go back to what was 'normal'. Henceforth, the look on his bleak future left a displeasing taste in his mouth. "Or looking human."
"You got a point there," she answered without denying that fact. "Maybe what you need is convincing the right people that you're still all there inside."
That was a tall order to do. An impossible thing to do.
"You've already convinced me. That's a start."
Then the discord in his chest became light. Crane had almost forgotten there was one person now who has fully realized he wasn't a beast. After all, anyone would deem her nutty.
He gave one hard look at Jack. "I can't figure you out."
"What is there to figure out?" she chided. "I'm just telling the truth."
Her truth. It blew down the truth he was forced to carry in a powerful way that he could almost forget his dilemma. He appreciated it... Hearing it from someone instead of having to lie to himself.
But he wasn't going to tell her that.
SIDE QUEST: CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN
First order of being a Rav is looking the part. We can't have Freakazoid walking around looking like that, now can we? Luckily for him, we're not too far away from a few places we can pick clothes at. - Jack
"There's a street market not too far from here. We can start there."
"This is the craziest thing you can suggest to me. Wardrobe. On a zombie."
And by the crazy lady too. It couldn't compare to the time Crane collected glowing rocks for an alien conspirator. Or the time he found a cave with hidden treasure that was rigged with booby traps by a kooky old gunman. Mad Jack truly lived to her name, putting even that self-proclaimed witch and her potions to shame.
No, he quickly thought to himself. Harvesting infected organs to make some bizarre tonic for temporary invisibility was still the weirdest thing out of everything Crane had ever done in his life.
Jack darted across the roof shingles carefully, her gaze looking out for the landmark she had passed through a day ago. "Wouldn't you want people to see you as less of a freak? They might not even try to kill you."
"Sure. Sounds like fun. Then I can lose my humanity again and hurt them."
"Semantics. Have you forgotten about me? One bite, and you'll be right as rain."
Right as rain? Right as rain?! The lack of perseverance from this woman made him uncomfortable. He would never, ever want the beast inside him to take over and go on the hunt again—on innocent people! It didn't help that Jack had such a defiant attitude towards the idea that he could attack her without cause.
Before he could retort, Jack turned back to him, bold as ever. "Besides, do you really want to be walking around in those rags of yours?"
He glanced down, only noticing what he wore. Or at least what happened to the last set of clothes he had on him. There were holes and tears, sure. Nothing that...terrible from weeks of being feral.
"What's wrong with them?"
"For one, you look like a hooligan. Have you been like this since the start?"
"No," he defended. "I think they look good on me. Helps me blend in with the crowd."
"Hm-hm." The brunette wheeled around on her heel, dropped down into the streets, and continued towards the abandoned flea market. "I believe ya, mate."
She didn't.
It was rather uncanny, however. He couldn't pick what was wrong with the scene before him. Was it the woman simply strolling about like there had never been an outbreak? The fact they were literally getting clothes for him? Or that a woman was helping him get a pair?
This sort of thing would be something he had seen in movies: the reluctant guy dragged around to carry shopping bags for his shopaholic girlfriend. But this was real life, not some movie scene. That was why the snaking normality didn't suit him right while he watched Jack browse over the messy displayed traditional garments and knock-off brands. Moreover, if her taste in fashion was what she wore on her, then he wasn't going to let her pick.
"Don't you have better things to do than window shopping?" Crane murmured. "How about finding bad guys instead?"
"Gonna be hard to find anything that fits your size," she droned, almost drowning out his complaints as she came back to him with three tops draped over one arm. Without taking into consideration that she was trying to dress up an infected, she held a shirt up to him, shoulder to shoulder for comparison.
"You don't know my size," he grunted, pushing her hands away.
"You're a bloke, right? That's good enough. Here. Try this."
The first pick wasn't what Crane had expected. A decent buttoned shirt in a color he tended to wear on duty.
"Go on." Even more awkward to be ushered to wear something of his taste. Was she psychic or something? Jack went back to searching, combing around for a bottom.
This was ridiculous.
Crane could ditch the idea altogether. He didn't need to subject himself to human rules. Plus, he didn't look that bad. Jack was being overdramatic.
However, he sniffed his clothes. And cringed back. A bloodthirsty zombie with a heightened sense of smell that could be compared to a bloodhound revolted at the disgusting odor.
Never mind. He still didn't have a gauge of how long he had gone under, but his 'rags' sure reflected the estimated weeks behind them. It smelled like he was wearing a decaying horse!
No more denying it. He really needed a change.
Just get it over with, Kyle.
It started off as a delicate operation but turned into a struggling battle. And he hadn't put the new shirt on. The first thing he did was try to take off what was left of his...jacket?—that he had on his strange, mutated body. There was some leeway that he could feel the fabric slip but still...
"The one problem is those bumps of yours." An exaggeration there; those were spikes on his body. "You're fine with a few holes in these new clothes, right? I've heard that's in fashion nowadays."
Riiip!
It was a loud sound. That he and surely Jack heard loud and clear. Disappointedly, Kyle glanced down at the torn-off sleeve in his talons.
Moreover, he could feel the eyes on him. A peek back confirmed it as the brunette examined the scene before her with bewilderment.
"See? Those rags were about to go."
Don't try to hide it. She was laughing at him from the inside.
Jack pondered for a second. "Gonna need something sturdier than the cheap stuff."
And off she went, to the beat of her drum. Something had already gotten her attention, and that meant more reluctance from Crane. He followed with the shirt in hand...claw.
"Ah-ha. That could work."
The ex-kickboxer stopped at a tilted tour bus further down the road. Something practical and fashionable had to be among the abandoned luggage.
"You're telling me to wear dead people's clothing."
"What? They don't smell." She then took a whiff of a tank top in her hand, and her nose wrinkled. She pitched it away and tossed a pair of pants to Freakazoid. "Or you could walk around half-naked like these walkers-"
"I'll pass."
The pair of pants did look firm, just as she said. A dead man's pants. That alone didn't sit well on him but...honestly, he was an infected who shouldn't complain about that one detail.
When did this become a walk for men's clothing with Jack presenting herself as the clerk? But Crane might as well entertain her just so she could quickly stop this game. He examined the leggings, only to spy Jack looking at him from the bus' doorway.
"Do you mind?"
She cast a look of surprise. Or a fake one. "Oh, sorry. My apology. I'll give you some privacy." And she went back to scavenging.
He shot her back a swift glare, just to make sure there wasn't any funny business or a single peek.
Then it dawned on him that he was going to see his hideously ugly body.
Could he bail right now and make a run for it? But the old, ruined jacket was now making him uncomfortable, and it prompted him to take it off anyway.
Crane flared his nostrils and looked back at the damage. Could he salvage anything out of this?
He grumbled to himself. Why should he be thinking like that? You're not human anymore!
The next obstacle was the worst.
His shirt underneath was almost unrecognizable—dirty and completely shredded. Seeing his abdomen in a dark, scaly texture with pulsating veins made his stomach turn. He tried to ignore it and went to pull off his shift. But the holes were even more embedded with what felt like spines on his back. Worse than his jacket.
Frustration got the better of him.
"All ok back there?"
"I'm fine," he mumbled. "I know how to wear clothes-"
Teeerr!
Another torn fabric in his claw. "Well, that's just perfect."
What on Earth did he rip this time? Jack wondered. She was tempted to look back—watch the poor zombie wrestle a piece of cloth. That would be fun to watch.
"Come on, you stupid piece of-!"
Riiiiiiip!
"You sure you don't need help?"
"Graassh!" the beast growled. He purposefully hissed back. And he would most definitely lunge at Jack if she were to glance back one more time.
"I'm just offering."
"Bullshit," he muttered, without realizing Jack heard that clear in her head. He wasn't going to let her ogle his whole, horrible body.
Then he came to his next obstacle. Wearing pants.
Another low and bitter exhale. Why, Kyle. Why couldn't you have stopped before you started? He stared up to the high heavens, knowing full well that if he stopped, he would never hear the end of lunatic Mad Jack's blabbering.
"We are in a flea market," she poked again, stepping out of the bus with her head still averted away from Freakazoid. "I could look for a pair of scissors. Maybe a blade."
"Not. Helping."
"See. That's the problem with you men. Don't want to bother with a little tailoring. It doesn't hurt to have a bit more fashion sense."
"Excuse me. I have excellent taste in fashion." He wasn't stuck to just one outfit over the course of his time in Harran. He could make it work with the right set of clothes—urban, rural and formal. Crane even discovered a nice special agent set one time. He was suave in that suit. "I can pull off a suit if I wanted to."
Sure, that said attire had a bloodstain across the chest… But he still made it work!
"Hm-hm. I bet you can do a lot better than my cousin could."
"You're one to talk. Wearing that flashy jacket like a bullseye."
"If you want to debate fashion design, you can discuss it with the guy who made it."
Crane peeked back, almost fumbling with trying to slip into the new pair. He had one more look at the street-ready emblem on her red jacket's back—the bleeding head of a feral dog snarling at anyone who watched her back. The words printed on them read: Dream Wild. Die Free.
"He would talk you up a storm. Lad's a passionate artist."
"Definitely can see that."
"Can see him making big in America. Got a scholarship and everything ready," she droned. The tone, however, hung. "I found out later that he didn't take the plane when the first outbreak hit. Went back to Harran instead."
"Why?"
"His family's there. His friends are there. I was there."
She heaved a sigh, a little crack into her confident persona.
"He's just that kind of person. Too smart for his own good, but cares a lot." Jack gazed afar, trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of Harran's tops. But all she saw were the mountains over the horizon.
She was worried, even if her grin hid that from Freakazoid. One wouldn't have thought the pretentious madwoman had connections. Or other emotions.
"Call it a bullseye all you want. 'Least he can see me coming a mile away."
That explained it. Crane retracted his earlier assumption about her jacket. The person indeed made something that candidly reflected that wild spirit of hers, even visually loud for anyone to see. She was a threat; she was a target; she was an aspiration. That was how she wanted it, if it meant being noticed by the right people.
Man, she was crazy. But he couldn't deny how valiant she was too.
Teer!
And there goes another seam on that shirt he tried on. The good moment fled, and in a fit, Crane threw the ruined top away.
"Maybe this was a bad idea," she muttered to herself.
"You think?"
She shrugged at the snap tossed in her head. Damn, his hearing was good. "You could have said no."
"Yeah. I'm done." He wore back his 'rags'. Or what was left from all his attempts. One deep, tired glare was thrown at Jack as he stepped away from the bus. "Can we go?"
It was like dragging a child around a mall. Freakazoid would really kick it off with that artist indeed, she thought to herself.
"There are other options."
"Really?" he scorned impatiently. "Just give me a damn curtain and call it a day."
"Won't that drag you around, mate?"
The Day Hunter's face scrunched up, the glare almost piercing through the indestructible grin. "That was deliberate, wasn't it?"
All he got was a chuckle. "Follow me, Freakazoid. We can do better."
"We can?" Seemed like they were doing worse.
"It's been years, but I think that store is still around." Jack had to take a minute to recall her bearings. Scanderoon had changed quite a bit the last time she was there, but the old roads and familiar sights were present for her. How funny that in three years, small things changed and others didn't.
Her grin widened as she spotted the outlet. Deserted like most buildings, but its doors were wide open.
Crane read off the store's name. LEGEND.
"The best place for fighters and adventurers. Used to sponsor me before I retired." She gave a knock on the padded leg guards she wore, demonstrating the shiny toughness Legend's products had even after years of enduring. "Very generous with their freebies."
There was no point for her to explain about one of the largest sports corporations in the world but Crane kept quiet. He had briefly visited the branch back home for the more comfortable tops and one or two pieces of practice equipment for judo sparring. Legend had everything—like Jack said, Legend sponsored not only the best fighters in most sports but also adventurous souls who battled against urban and rural nature. He had heard they'd held a few official parkour tournaments in recent years.
Inside, the outlet was torn apart like anywhere else. Rotten bodies on the floor with broken shards. Half of the stock had been stolen during the first weeks of the outbreak, while some of the clothes on the shelves stunk of an old smell.
"All yours, Freakazoid." Jack spread out her arms, courteously welcoming him to do his own window shopping before she spun back in for the browsing.
Kyle wasn't hopeful, however. He was more than ready to witness himself rip yet another article of clothing. Even brushing his fingers on one t-shirt made him a little cautious that those big talons of his would tear the threads up.
"Here. Try this on."
It took Crane by surprise, all of his will forcing his primitive instinct not to duck away. Or to bite Jack with retaliation. The polyester fabric of a windproof scarf draped over his head as the woman casually tied it up.
She took a minute to marvel. A small adjustment there that frankly made Crane go, "Ok, can you stop? You're not my mom."
Jack raised her hands high to give him his space while he took it upon himself to loosen the tie. One sharp-eyed gaze showed, as if examining that there was something wrong with the picture before Jack said with a smirk, "it's a start."
"Right. A scarf magically makes me less of a monster." He tried to tear the scarf off, only to loosen it and let it sit around his neck.
"At least it hides those big teeth of yours. Here you go." It was a bundle of clothes, neatly stacked together, that she had put together and then placed right into his arms. "You can choose your delicates on your own."
He snarled softly, again in retaliation, but she simply ignored him. Off she went again, back to searching through the hangers.
"Changing rooms at the back. Holler if nothing fits."
Grumble, grumble from the grumpy zombie.
Fine. One last time. But if this didn't work, he would march for the door. With heavy feet and the chosen clothes, he forced himself into one of the changing rooms.
Then Crane stopped himself.
For a brief moment, he thought there was a zombie in the same booth as he was. He had to stop himself again.
God. His face. It forced him to swallow, to not look away in disgust. He almost didn't recognize himself. Another hit of a bat from reality about his circumstances.
With a sliver of courage, Crane reached out to his face. Hurt unnaturally-blue eyes stared back at him. Sunken cheeks and raw patches along his jawbone prompted him to quickly cover his jaw. There were even molars showing through one exposed side.
He had never wanted to see just how terrible it really was; if the rest of his body was already bad. Looking at it more in the mirror, his mutation looked like it couldn't decide what to look like, but a fraction of his original appearance somehow surfaced under all the changes. Barely. And hair? He was in a buzz cut before he fell into Harran, but he couldn't tell if his skull might never grow anything again. One thing for sure, however, was that what he saw in the mirror couldn't be labelled anywhere near a Night Hunter or a Volatile. It was a new type of mutant.
Was this the face Jack and everyone else had been looking at the entire time?
"Man… You're one ugly freak…"
He really did want to punch that freak in the mirror. His fist curled up-
"What's the holdup?" the brunette called. It was almost like she knew when to pry in at the right time when someone was at their lowest. That stopped him from throwing a right hook. "If you're having cold feet, laugh back at it. Works every time."
"...Still not helping," he muttered. Another sigh out of his chest, and Crane turned away from his cursed reflection.
"I'm just saying. Having a change is refreshing. Think of it as a clean slate from your whole feral phase. You're one step closer to looking normal."
"Normal. This isn't normal."
"Neither is a zombie outbreak. But here we are, infected and stuck in this hellhole."
"So what? Make all of this the 'norm'?"
"It's called adapting. You've been doing it this entire time. All we can do is keep going and turn things around."
Was that even possible? Adapting was right on the money for Crane but that was when he was human. An abomination shouldn't keep going. The number of clothes couldn't hide that fact from him or anyone stupid. Glancing down at his hands-
No. Claws. The hardened texture on the palms and fingers made sure there was not a single trace of the fine, thin lines on the skin.
Everything about him was a constant reminder. He was forever stuck like this. And there was nothing he could do.
The question easily seeped out of his mouth.
"Am I really able to turn back…?"
Quiet. Of course, Jack couldn't answer a difficult question like that. She thought on it, though. Long and hard.
"...Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie to you?"
And that was a surprising answer from her. But either side of the coin just left a bad taste in his mouth. While he would like the brutal honesty, it was just prolonging the inevitable. A lie would be more gentle, but in the end, it was going to hurt him one way or another. And other people... He knew from experience.
"It's pretty obvious."
"You're asking the wrong person here," Jack exclaimed. Oddly calm out of the wild woman. "I've seen a lot of strange and crazy things throughout this outbreak."
He really didn't like her answer. But there was some merit. "...I know the feeling. Seen too much shit that I can't tell if I'm sane or not."
"Maybe that's a good thing. Would any madman admit that they're insane?"
Hearing that from a person like Mad Jack, just wow. "Really?" he scoffed. "You're with a freak here."
"And? Surprisingly, it makes for good company."
The joke couldn't usher out a laugh from him. He was deflated. Defeated. And dissatisfied.
But Jack pushed anyway.
"...I've been through all sorts of fights, Freakazoid. So I know from experience."
"...Shut up," he snapped tiredly. "Turning into...this...it's not experience."
"Getting infected is another battle of its own," she reminded him of her ordeal. "Only thing you can do is pull yourself together and press on...
And if not for yourself, then you can do it for others... You might have forgotten your past. But I reckon there's at least someone still waiting for you."
No, the people he forgot weren't waiting for him. But he didn't say that out loud to Jack.
His excuses stayed in his mouth.
Jack's own words were awfully powerful, sticking to his ears. And his train of thought steamrolled.
Slowly, surely, his doubt sank further down. Again, Jack was right. The Tower would be waiting for him to come back from the Countryside. They didn't know what had happened to him. Lena, Brecken, everyone would never see him coming through the doors at the Tower. Not in the same way that the artist of Jack's red jacket could see her coming their way, alive and well.
Even if she was on roll call to be the next zombie in line, Jack was willing to go the mile. The reason was simple the more Crane thought about it: so that they wouldn't be plagued by the idea she was gone.
The thought of leaving everyone at the Tower to wait forever for a dead man heavily weighed down on him more than his reluctance to go. To show them what has become of Kyle Crane. It seemed wrong in one light or another. Then he laughed softly. Why should they keep waiting for a bastard like him?
A sigh followed.
He had wanted Jack to stop. This fight in convincing Crane that he was fine. He was sane. He was himself. And luckily, she didn't stop this entire time.
Then again, she was a stubborn woman. A self-proclaimed retired kickboxer who didn't stop the punches. He could imagine it nevertheless: the number of times she had fallen and risen back up in the ring. Like any pro fighter.
He glanced down at the bundle of clothes and only realized the first top looked very familiar. He even ran the fabric between his talons.
Right. He had worn this long-sleeved shirt before—the day he parachuted down in Harran. He did like the pattern on the back very much. Too bad his got ruined with blood on day one. Was it a stroke of luck to see his favorite shirt or a taunting reminder of his past?
But like him, it had worn down from time. The eagle had faded off, the other sleeve was already in tatters, and there was one pocket gone.
But he didn't find the will to toss it out of the booth. Even though it was just another top, it proved to him as evidence that his old self even existed: he had liked this jacket, and finding it in his claws, he still did like it.
It was his past. But the past was the past. It was one more moment of persuasion that helped Crane solidify his decision. In the end, there was no way he could go back to the past.
He had to move forward. Adapt. And poetically rise back up like a phoenix.
The first thing he did was make some adjustments to try and salvage this new 'memento mori' with the help of a hoodie Jack put in the bundle. Experiment here and there, see what worked or didn't, and create the final result of his new attire. Once he finally dawned it over, Crane finished off the last touches to his outfit, tightening the scarf over his face a little, adjusting his collar loosely, etc.
He had one final staredown with the beast in the mirror, a straightened back, and a puffed-up chest to boost his self-esteem. Make the monster inside his head back away from him.
Almost. He could almost pass as a human. The extra layers managed to hide most of the tall tale signs. As long as no one went absolutely up close to his face, then he could be fine.
Jack was right, however. The clean slate did make him a little better.
Feeling a little pleased, he stepped out of the changing booths while tugging at his wraps.
Then he noticed something was off.
"Jack?"
It wasn't her lack of presence inside the store that Crane first noticed. He expected her to be ready to say something cocky. Anything.
It was all too quiet.
"Hey."
"I saw them! They went right into this outlet."
The voices were new. Crane swooshed quickly and silently into the shadows just before three prisoners brisked through the front doors.
Jack must have seen them coming but couldn't call out to him. He could see her dark-orange skeleton ducked behind one of the aisles, near the cashiers. Watching.
"I don't see anyone," one of them barked.
"No! They were just here. A woman and some crooked-looking guy."
The team leader groaned. "Check the aisles."
Good, Crane thought. They split up. If he and Jack could get one man at a time, this could go down quietly.
One problem. As he slowly slipped to the left, his broad shoulder bumped into a basket of something. Did they look like staves? Whatever, they made a lot of noise.
Thud! Kud! Thud! Clank! Thud!
Shit.
"Come out now!"
The thugs didn't even give Kyle enough time to prepare, having already rushed towards the origin of the sound. A light flashed in his direction and exposed him.
"See! I told ya!"
"Heh. So you were right." The weapons were at dangerous levels. "Alright. Move it, pretty boy. Give us everything you got."
"And the lady too. Tell us where she is."
Crane's forehead creased. Wait. Did they really buy this look?
"Say...doesn't he look freakishly tall?" one of them whispered nervously.
"C'mon! Don't stall!" Even one dared to come near him, putting the machete close to his neck. "You're in Alexander's turf, friend. So show us some respect-!"
The eyes squeezed thinly at him that it actually gave Crane goosebumps. Then as quickly as the prisoner had tried to seize him, he quickly backed off.
"Shit! Yuk!" the lackey hollered in disgust. "What are you?! Some kind of leper?!"
He even went so far as to wipe his hand on his pants, as immature as kids who caught the cooties. His friends grumbled at the sudden reflex. One barked aloud, "Just get a glove and grab him."
Are you serious? This outfit was actually working...to a degree. Crane was even more astonished to be called a leper.
It had to be that these numbskulls were stupid. It could be because of how dim the outlet was. Something. Anything.
There was no way three humans bought his outfit!
"Hey! Do you have a screw loose or something? I said move it!"
All Crane could do was look at the jailbirds with bafflement. As the patience drew ever so thin in his icy-blue eyes, he spotted Jack stepping out of her hiding spot and standing in the way of the doors.
"I hate to break up this little gathering, just to see how far you buffons can roughhouse him," Jack sang, bringing all three men's attention onto her, "But Freakazoid and I don't have all day, gentlemen."
The trigger to getting everything rolling. One of them shouted, "Hey! You-!". Another charged at her with a pipe.
Suddenly, one prisoner felt himself pulled back before his eyes shot down to the bone-like blade pressing against his Adam's apple. Gone out like a light, his two cellmates didn't notice his death.
Jack already jumped on her attacker before he could take her down. A quick disarm, and the pipe was hers. Two weapons on a woman were dangerous, especially one who knew how to dual-wield. But instead, she gave a hard swing of the pipe at the second guy's legs, tripping him over before jumping on the other guy with a knife into his back.
The remaining convict pushed himself back onto his feet, minus a bruised leg. Then he felt no ground. Jack did another spin with a leg kicking at his. Down he went, but only halfway with someone grabbing his shoulders. Boy, was he glad his pal caught him-
It wasn't his pal. The silver-blue eyes stared horrendously down at him under the hood. That was the last thing he saw—the talons grabbing his face and his head down to the floor with a loud crack of his skull.
Crane gruffed back at the fallen men. That was what they got for thinking they could try to pilfer off him. He had nothing but the back of these new clothes. How many did they try this on too? That just pissed him off even more.
The little fuse inside smoked out once he turned to the brunette. Among the small massacre of crooks, Jack stood smiling with her hands in pockets. She must have done it a million times in the ring and on the infested streets.
"Lookie here. Who's this handsome-looking devil who walked into my life?" Jack jested. "People are gonna eat you up."
"Hmph. Flattering," he jousted. As admittedly nice as it was to hear the compliment, he wasn't going to fall for the ruse again. He hadn't forgotten about the hotel room. "I'll remember that when they're screaming at my face."
"Really? After everything and still so broody." Crane narrowed his eyes at the comment. Broody? Him? "You can't deny it's a lot better than wearing those rags," she uttered, taking a bit of pride in helping with his fashion.
"Sure." He nodded. It did feel snug to be in something that didn't burst at the seams. "You know...one look at me, and they'll run for the hills. Or shoot me."
A shrug from her fully expressed just how right he was. Jack had the same anticipation as he did, which really didn't help. However, she didn't fret about the notion. In fact, the catty grin on her face told Crane it was a challenge she looked forward to seeing.
"So why don't we test it out, then, mate? Clothes make the man, after all."
A/N: 18/7/2020 Hellow all and this is a very interesting update of a chapter.
So I had mentioned that I am currently planning and brainstorming for the next arc, which will take time. And that I planned to write "side-quest" chapters to entertain you until the arc's chapter(s) is up and ready. It was a lot of thinking how I wanted to present such chapters but it did help me think over one issue I've had. The main reason why I haven't continued and have been more revamping the previous chapters is because I've intentionally combined my 'side quest' ideas within the main story plot. It sorta broke the flow at moments that I felt like that should be in their own chapters and not intertwined with the main plot. Thanks to the end of the last arc, it gave a good placement where to start side-quest stories as well as organizing the next arc's story.
There will be quite a number of changes from here on out, now that I've pinpointed what are my most important points for the next arc. While taking out what can make for good intermission chapters. Some things will remain almost the same as the original version but do expect from here on out, the direction will differ differently.
Moreover, it was fun writing this chapter and putting Ender and Riza in their own spotlights in this chapter. Even more fun creating a side-quest based around Crane's 'difficulty' with a new look. It really pushed a lot in character development with some added humor mixed in. This was a part I really wanted to rework, to really emphasis the kind of exchange Jack and Kyle will have to do in their new 'line of business'. Divide and conquer.
This will be how I'll arrange my chapters and my arcs and I already have four short stories in mind. I'm not too if certain quest stories will be between arcs or halfway through depending on conditions such as if areas are unlocked by the time the arc is done. That example. So it will be a challenge to see how I pace this story overall. If sidequest stories aren't your thing, all sidequest chapters will be labelled Intermission so you can skip them and move on to the main story.
Anyhow, few shoutouts: I wanna give a holler to UranicSubseter34's Shadows of a Dying Light, Megan's The Cured series and Helenth's DYING LIGHT: The Sunset of Harran. These are excellent fanfics for you to read while waiting for the next update. You won't be disappointed! And hey, time flies when you're enjoying a piece just as I have with these. Give them a read in AO3 and FFN.
Anyway, hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Catch ya again!
7/2/21 - Added new lines, fixed mistakes and edited parts according to new timestamp from pilot.
3/4/21 - Reedited for mistakes and added a small aesthetic change to Crane's design.
22/2/22 - Went over a full chapter edit with some fixes, retwists, deletes and adjustments.
7/1/24 -