"..."
"..."
"... Hell are you staring at?"
A gentle force flicked his nose. Andy blinked a few times, focusing back on the fiend's pale face.
Nothing but the night wind's gentle howl could reach his thought-stuffed brain. Nothing could pierce the thin veil of serenity he found within this moment. Lying atop a cliff, surrounded by the singing pines and the twin moons' soft glow. With a friend nestled against his shoulder, tightly buried in the croak of his neck, he felt at peace. Genuinely at peace, for even just a moment. Even if it only fed into his delusions, if it only ruffled his already scattered-brain head and sent all sense and logic soaring like atoms frolicking wildly across the field that was the very air he breathed. In this war-torn land, there was no time for peace. No time for stargazing, no space for daydreamers. Yet there he was, staring down the open plains of Kazdel, the mud and the ruins, remnants of life, rifle on standby.
And it was all ruined by an annoyed flick to the face. He blinked a little and recoiled back.
"Ow? The hell?"
"I asked, what the hell were you staring at?" The devil crossed her arms in exasperation. "You were eyeing me up."
"I wasn't." Andy mumbled back and turned away from her bright, crimson horns and focusing back on the rifle's scope. As embarrassing as it was to admit, his gaze might've swam away from the night sky, lost in some distant daydream about red hallways and closed doors. In this dream-like state, it was possible that it latched onto her face or uniform. Though, as he kept telling himself, the uniform wasn't hers. It was W's, and this… THING wasn't no W he knew.
"C'mon, Lawdog, it's okay to give a girl a compliment, y'know~? Just, maybe, don't get 'round to doing it like a complete, fucking creep."
"I wasn't staring at you. How- I mean, how are you even so self centered…"
"You were gawking at me like a little Caprinae into the headlights of a twelve ton merc bus."
"... I wasn't."
"Oh, I wasn't! I wasn't! W, I wasn't staring at your cute little face and drooling all over, oh no, I wasn't!" That's what you sound like."
"That's far from what I sound like, you ape."
"Ape? Really? Not even "devil" or something?" Her disappointment was clearly heard in her voice, as she turned to her side, resting her head atop her open palm, the pillar of her forearm pressed against the ground. Both of them had been lying there for Law knows how long, overlooking the muddy sea below in hopes of picking out a marching band of misery. Why? Moolah. Why were the two of them sent here by themselves? Hedley's sick joke. Or an excuse to be left alone with Ines for a few hours.
That, or he really wanted the angel gone for good.
"You want me to call you a slur that bad?"
"I dunno. I keep calling you Law-dog, seems only logical that you return the favor."
Andy turned away from her smirking face, pressing his eye into the tiny, magnifying thingamajig atop Vinny's steel hide. By not calling her that, he was morally above her. Better than her. That's what he kept telling himself, over and over.
"Mmm, yeah, just turn away. Gods, you're a pussy." The girl groaned, falling back onto her stomach to nestle her face in the tiny pit in between her crossed arms.
"I'm watching the f-... The road for that band, moron. I'm not gonna entertain you." He mumbled back, scanning the mud-fields for a mere glimpse of a skin-drum or even a balalaika.
"... You do realize who you're sitting next to, right?"
"A moron."
"More. A crazy moron." A smile creeped onto her face in an instant. Not the kind of smile he'd see gracing Lemuel's lips during his nightly ventures, but a wide, toothy grin, putting all those sharp chompers on full display.
Without wasting a second, W rolled over, climbing right on top of the boy.
"W-... The hell are you doing? Get off me!" He protested letting go of Vinny and flailing his arms around. He tried forcefully shoving the fiend off by lifting himself from the cold dirt, but his body simply wouldn't budge. W, with all her pockets and pouches weighed probably almost twice as much as he did, not to mention that she did everything in her will to keep him underneath.
"Get off! L-... Law, get the hell off me, what the fuck's wrong with you? (Ow!)"
"I'm entertaining myself." She purred, pressing her elbow right into the boy's spine. With a little whimper, he tried reaching back, grasping at the loose strands of her cape, anything, everything he could to make her stop.
"Okay, stop, stop! Stop, I'm serious!"
"Serious? Me too, you don't just neglect a lady like that, y'know?"
"Dude, stop! St-... OW! A-... STOP! W, STOP, STOP, ST-..."
"What? It's just a spine, they grow back…" She giggled and nuzzled her elbow even further into his flesh. "... Besides, this isn't even real pain."
"... What?" Andy turned his face upward, as much as the fiend lying on his back would let him. He got just a tiny glimpse of her orange eyes glowing brightly in the night's embrace.
"Lemme show you, Lawdog. Lemme show you something. Something you wouldn't understand."
He was trapped. Utterly, completely trapped under her weight. Her elbow was digging deep into his spine, legs covering his, tail slowly wrapping around his left arm, her other hand clutching the right.
"... You wanna bitch about something? I'll give you something to bitch about, alright…" Her voice slid from her lips like poison seeping down a snake's fang, dripping with malicious intent. Andy felt the elbowing-assault growing nigh, as the fiend reached for her ankle.
"... What're you doing? What…-" He cut himself off right when the sound of steel sliding against leather grazed his ears. Eyes went wide, halo dimmed. "... W, for fuck's sake, what are you doing? (O-Ow.)"
"Entertaining myself." She whispered back, eyes locked on his hand. Her grasp around his wrist only tightened, as a swift motion cut a deep ravine of crimson across his forearm. Andy wailed in protest, biting down on the grass in front of his face to muffle his cries and dampen the pain. It hurt like hell, despite the wound being quite shallow and very precisely constructed. Almost affectionately, in a way.
"F-... Fuuh… Are you… Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you-..." He cried in confusion, wiggling around like a fish fresh out of water.
"You're letting me do this. You're not doing anything to stop me, you're fully letting me do this." She threw back, almost as if explaining something very, very obvious to a child.
"You're… A sick, twisted fuck… (Ow…!)" He kept mumbling and mumbling in between bites of grass. It felt nice, cold against his boiling hot breath, calming his rampaging heart a little.
"Mmmm. I've heard worse." She slid the knife back into its holster and reached into one of her endless pockets. "Anyhow, lemme show you something real. Something genuine."
"Wha-... What?" He felt her shifting and twitching, pulling something from her rig and clutching tightly. His arms wouldn't budge, her tail had a steel grip over those lanky limbs of his, unwilling to unwrap itself for even a split second.
Andy tried his best to get her off him, he really did. Unfortunately, W had other plans. She pulled a tiny pouch from her rig and pressed its gaping hole against the fresh wound sprawling across his arm. He didn't know what it was, but a splitting, almost killing pain spread across his entire body like a shock of electricity, like a thunderbolt sent from the heavens above, the weight of an entire catastrophe tumbling down and crashing upon the boy. He wanted to scream, to yell and flail around whatever he could, but his organism wouldn't let him. How could it? Why should it? The dead tell no tales, the dead don't wail.
His throat refused to give voice to his pain. Only his eyes, blowing wide open, nearly popping from their safety caves, could somewhat join him in this silent moment of grieving, a moment when he truly felt like death was right by his side, whispering into his ear. Lying on top of him, giggling and pushing the pouch against his arm, clutching his wrist with its iron grasp, unwilling to let go.
"Feel that? Feel it, Lawdog. That's pain. That's real pain." The reaper purred right into his ear, pressing their cold, shapeless body down onto his. It was cold. Cold and soothing, like a chill bedsheet at the end of an exhausting, summer day. The embrace he's waited for his entire life, finally there, finally his to accept and bask in.
And then it all disappeared. The pouch, the pain, the cold. Only the devil on top of him remained, now dousing his arm with a clear, colorless substance pouring in waterfalls from a metal flask. It stung, sure, but nowhere close to the kind of pain he experienced a moment ago. Biting the ground hard, he pushed himself forward, finally managing to throw her off his back. That, or she willingly let go.
"..." Breathing like he just finished climbing one of the tallest Yanese summits, Andy stared at her in utter confusion and pure anger. "... What the fuck is wrong with you? (Ow.)"
And there she was. All smug, lying on her side, head propped up on her elbow. The very same elbow that was digging into his spine just a few moments ago. "A lot. A lot's wrong with me, Lawdog." She responded with an overly sweet voice, utterly void of any sincerity. "I thought you knew that already."
"W-... What was that? What was that thing? That pouch? What the hell was that?" He kept asking, clutching onto his mutilated arm to examine the wound, as best as his current disposition would let him. It was still bleeding profusely, yet some places seemed to have already started to epithelialize, with the skin there being unnaturally pale, as if splattered with white paint. Needless to say, it burned like a motherfucker.
"This?" She tilted her head in glee, pulling the tiny pandora's box from her pockets. "I don't know, to be honest. I sprinkle it into my mines to make the explosions bigger."
Andy froze. From head to toe, his entire body went completely limp, as his eyes nearly damn flew out of their sockets.
"You poured originium dust into an open wound?"
"What? N-..."
"Are you out… ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? ARE YOU…" With his brain getting filled by mindless panic, he lunged forward, trying to reach the fiend's horns and slam her face against the floor. Before his arm could even breach the border of her personal space, W grabbed him by the wrist and pulled forward, pouncing on top like the agile cat she was. She kept holding his arm back, twisting it in a very, very uncomfortable fashion.
"Ow… Ow, fuuh…"
"Listen to me, Lawdog." She seeped through her teeth, inching her face dangerously close to his. "... That's not ori powder. As much as I'd love to, Hedley would be REALLY mad if I made you into an infected, capiche?"
"Y-You're fucking subhuman…"
"Tch."
With a swift move, she twisted his arm even further back. Hard.
"You don't see it, do you? You don't see the world for what it is, Lawie. You barge into a war that's not yours to fight with a head full of innocent, childish little dreams. And then what? And you… Look at you, you break the moment you're forced to challenge that insane reality. You break, 'cause you're still all so innocent and Lawful, you moron! You're not nearly insane enough to be here, can't you see that? Seriously, can't you fucking see that? You haven't felt pain, you haven't BEEN through what I have. You haven't seen what I have."
From every word slid a poison more potent than any toxin Terra has ever seen. It poured down her mouth, oozed from her uniform, from her horns and antennae, her arms and legs. And it swam through the air. It swam straight into his gaping wound, into his ears and eyes, into each of his senses, into his spine and very core.
Poisoned him, fully. Killed from the inside.
"..."
And he couldn't say anything. What even was there to be said? To agree? To beg for her to stop? To tell her to fuck off?
Silence. There was only silence, broken by the boy's little whimpers of pain.
"..."
Silence, broken by her sigh.
"... But now you have." She spoke, softly. A moment later, she let go of his arm to form a finger-trumpet by her lips. "Tu-turu-tu~!" The instrument rang out in triumph, as she fell back onto her side by the battered angel. "... Now you've felt real pain. Now you're a man, Lawdog! Congrats on your manhood."
And she flicked him one, right between the eyes.
"..."
But Andy was left shuddering in place. Holding onto the memory of pain, still fresh amidst the ocean of worried thoughts and shores of anger. Whether she was right or not, he did not know. Couldn't know, no one knew. It was just them. Just the two of them, like always. Like they used to, with the former W. W and Andy. Black and white.
He nodded. That's all he could muster. Nodded and returned back to Vinny. Vinny, my dear friend! Sorry for leaving you to die in a wasteland. Now get over here, it's time to shoot some band-freaks. Speaking of, do you hear that?
"... You hear that, Lawdog? Listen. Listen, listen." She shushed his inner ramblings with a tap to the shoulder. Pointing out, down towards the sea of mud, her finger caught a few tiny dim souls marching joyfully through the barren wastes, flames as their servants, instruments of misery at hand. Electric screeches, the assaulting banging of drums, earth-quaking vibrations of basses, it was all there. All right in front, as the marching band blew apart a few amplifiers and speakers, just with a simple riff or two.
W smiled. How happy she seemed, eager to sink her teeth into those unsuspecting morons below. How her gun clanked in glee, pockets swooshed wide open, spilling mines and grenades along the way.
"You ready, Lawdog?" Oh, how her girly voice sang, how gleeful and idyllic it was.
Andy nodded back and uttered a quick "Ready." How could he be not? He was a man, after all. He just experienced the reaper's embrace and came back to haunt Terra as an annoying pest unwilling to die. How many times has he died already? Once? Twice? A couple more? He's lost count by now.
What he hasn't lost, however, was the memory of that splitting pain. That incredible, skull shattering sensation of W's boom-powder pouch pressed against his arm. Arm, torn apart by her steel claw not even a couple minutes ago. And that was the worst pain he's ever felt.
.
Up until that day. That wet, bleak day.
.
Amidst those four walls of gray, locked from the inside, shielded from the twin moon's soft gaze. They didn't deserve to be subjected to the sights contained within. No one did.
No one but him. Poor Andy.
He sat. Simply sat and waited. Sat, feeling the life-wine slowly seeping from each and every part of his body. From his very soul. He sat, hands tied behind his back, chest bare, his war-scarred sweater and Pontifica Cohors Lateran jacket thrown somewhere to the side. Assorted nicely into a sad, little pile of gray.
He, himself, was quite a lot like that pile of gray resting in the corner of the room. What was he, even? He was barely a human at this point. More like a pile of minced meat.
Face, once so bright and happy, now turned to a bloody, mushy pulp. Some tiny, black marks here and there, like moles. But those were no moles, no. Those were the remnants of a cigarette butt tightly pressed against his skin. Against those wounds, licking the blood off with their fiery tongues and leaving an ashy gift behind, a gift that nuzzled itself deeper into his battered flesh and burned ever so brighter.
Hands? Nails, forcefully pried from their resting place, letting his exposed flesh breathe freely, each brush of air against the meat, like the gentle touch of a white branding iron. Fingers, many crushed, many shattered, a few broken. One, even chewed on.
His eyes? They've seen a lot and the two gentlemen "interrogating" him knew that well. They were kind enough to let them rest for a moment, to close them for him by battering relentlessly, until his cheeks and brows puffed up with violet to a point where he could see nothing anymore. Those poor, gray spheres of dimmed innocence, those crystals of light that have witnessed horrors they should never have seen, they laid barely in place, more liquid than solid, beaming with red, swimming in pools of crimson. He cried blood, for the salty tears had already stopped coming.
And the beacon of hope above his head? The ring of light?
Desecrated. Damaged. Tainted by rusty nails. Pierced clean through all along the brim. A messy job, taken up by Sarkaz hands, because no other creature could ever hold this much resentment towards an adornment so full of innocence and light. The poor halo wailed in pain, crying tears of golden tar cascading down the boy's bloodied curls. He couldn't look. He couldn't breathe at all. He could only stare at his own lap, at the plains of torn skin, the many cuts and bruises, some of them familiar, some of them foreign. A few of them, fresh, cut with W's razor that they took from him at the entrance. Those pained him the least, each one bringing a shaky memory of a violent smile and the tender touch of her fingers. The moment of their parting.
His skin had nigh turned purple. Covered by the blanket of red and melting gold, the familiar feeling was back once more. The reaper's hug. The cloak of cold being unwillingly draped around his shoulders, placed softly atop his burning forehead, cooling the thoughts, calming the mind.
It would soon end. Soon, all would end. All promises, they would disappear in an instant. What promises? He owed no one nothing. That blueberry freak, what good has she ever brought him? None. Just worries.
Soon, there would be no worries. No worries at all. No thoughts. His head would throw out the bags of "I didn't do it" down the garbage chute, forget about this blood-soaked room once and for all.
The table in front, it was so disgustingly tainted with red. Parts of his face laid there, motionless, unmoving. Foreign to him, now. Bits of skin, crushed teeth, snort and blood. A few strands of hair they cut, the nails, all scattered around the meadow of steel, the collector of misery.
"I didn't do it." He whispered for the last time, voice gurgling through a lake of blood forming in his mouth. Like foam from a feral dog's jaw, it spilled down his throat, trailed down that soft, innocent neck. He'd thank whoever would be willing to tie a noose around that flesh pipe at that moment. He just wanted it all to end.
"... Didn't do it." Murmured the reaper. "Zhou, pliers."
Constructed to follow orders, "Zhou", death's accomplice, bent down to pick up the flesh-removing gizmo. He was on his second pack already. Already halfway through, most of the cigarettes landed either in the boy's mouth or his face after he was done.
Andy shuddered. His muscles tightened in protest. His legs wanted to shove the chair away, but he knew it would only result in a few kicks to the face. He was well trained by now. An obedient puppy, a voodoo doll to prickle and hurt all they want.
And as his eyes remained closed, covered by the thick curtains of violet skin and grayish-red curls, a pair of footsteps grew close. Too close, again, too eager. That cold steel once more pressed against his skin. What shall you take now, plier-friend? What part of my body should I say goodbye to?
Seems like the eager machine picked his right trigger finger. Goodbye Pacific Empire, goodbye shooting with a click. Droz, you won, you fat son of a bitch.
Crack.
Metal bore into his skin, crunching against the bone. Andy didn't even bother flinching. Why? He's had worse, not even an hour or two ago.
Cr-Crack.
Deeper and deeper. Blood spilled. Nerves severed. That was it.
Cr-... Click-clack. Thud.
That wasn't no bone breaking. That was the sound of a lock giving out.
The cold pressure digging into his finger let go at once. His head shot backwards, unwilling to look towards the source. Yet his ears remained vigilant, listening in on the conversation. Might as well get some entertainment in before he shoots towards the sky. Or the opposite.
Some annoying buzzing tore through his focused veil of ascending forth. If he could, he'd groan a little, but his organism refused the request. It refused and listened.
"... That's him?" An older voice spoke up. A voice strangely familiar. Strangely… Ursine.
"That's… оh боги… какого черта? What… What in the fuck did you do? What the fuck…?" Some younger buzz couldn't contain his shock. "Are you out of your fucking minds…?"
"How the hell did you…? Sergiy? That you?" The gentlemanly Sarkaz-Lung threw back, confused.
"..." And the young smoker remained as silent as ever. It wasn't the time for him to speak. Not his moment.
"SF62 to you, you piece of subhuman houndshit. What is this?" The old voices now split in two. One, very Ursine, the other, just the interrogator.
"What the hell did you do to him? Who the fuck let you? Didn't you get the memo? I… Duflot sent you a fucking memo! Everyone got a memo!" The youngling perked up again, filling the space with his warm, familiar chirping.
It was Dani.
"I didn't get no fucking memo! I don't give a shit what Duflot says, I see scum riddling the city and I act!"
"This… How… How dense are you? How fucking dense are you? Do you realize what you've done? One call. I swear, one call, Duflot makes one call and you're on the slab. Do you understand?"
"Dani…" Sergiy started, but was promptly cut off.
"No! Not now, дядя, please."
"..." The old Ursus gave in with a sigh. Dani won, good boy.
"... You're on Duflot's paycheck. One call, you're off to mansfield. Or eaten by the rest of Yenwu's dogs." He continued making his stand against the Sarkaz-Lung scum. "Just for this, you… Gods, you turned his face to minced meat… How did you even… How? Just how long have you had him here…?"
"Long enough, bear-boy."
"Don't fucking "bear-boy" me! You're paying for this! You ARE paying for this."
"I'm not paying shit! Law-fucker stepped out of line and got what he deserved. 'Sides, most of these bruises, he already had on him when we dragged him in."
"You put nails in his damn halo!"
"And?"
"Do you even realize… Are you even human? Or are you really just a pig, like everyone calls you? Which is it? L.G.D. scum… Come, unc."
Footsteps. Much lighter, much more foreign, yet much more familiar than the two Lungs. Andy felt a gentle force enveloping his sides, carefully lifting him up. He shuddered at the touch, mumbling something unintelligible. To soothe his nerves, presumably Dani pressed his soft hand against his burning forehead.
"It's alright. It's okay, Andy, it's me."
And that's all he needed to hear at the moment. All he needed to let them pull him up and take him away, as far away as they could.
"Here. Get him dressed." Sergiy spoke up once more. Andy recognized his voice well by now. They drank a bit that one night after making Pacific Empire a tad more known. Good person. Good person. Never knew he worked in the law-dispensing biz.
"Fuck no." The older Lung spewed back, hiding behind a curtain of eyelids, hair and puffed skin. Andy could still see nothing but the warm, primordial darkness.
"I said, get him dressed. Make me repeat myself again, I'll write you two personal reports to Ch'en. You'll be homeless by the end of the week."
Phew. Solid threat, considering it was Saturday already.
A few begrudging mumbles followed, along a gentle warmth slipping onto the boy's battered, mauled body. The softness of his lovely sweater, the one that's been with him through hell and back. Reunited once more, to never part, except for washing purposes.
And then the coat. Lovely, stolen valor.
"... The tags, too." Dani reprimanded the two Lungs, his voice so rough, so cold and assertive. Andy never knew this side of him.
"Tags? What tags."
"On the table, idiot."
"This? "A. Ricketts"? Oh." He grumbled a little and threw the lieutenant's dog tag over his neck. "There. Everything."
"N-... Ngh…" The pitiful mess wailed in pain. That was not everything. They forgot a parting gift. "... K-... Knife. Knife." He whispered, hoping the Ursus boy would hear.
"... Knife? You got his knife?"
"..."
With a groan, the Sarkaz-Lung shoved the knife into his pocket.
"... Now it's everything."
"This is far from everything. You're gonna hear from me. I swear, you're gonna hear from me, a lot." Dani hissed, making an effort to wipe some blood off the boy's face. He somewhat succeeded, somewhat not, leaving a bunch of dried up life-wine and scabs riddling the surface.
"Dani…" His uncle sighed a little and shifted, presumably to touch his shoulder.
"Who in their right mind would…"
"Dani… They get it. I'll deal with that later. Duflot will, not you."
"..."
A sigh escaped his young lips.
"Fine. Fine, but…"
"But? Take that gun-fucker and leave, if you wanna. And you,"
The Sarkaz-Lung shifted. Close, too close.
"... You, Lawie. We're keeping an eye on you. You're lucky you're with the Union, but…"
"Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up, already." Dani seeped through his gritted teeth, leaving the angel's side to step up. His uncle gasped and threw himself forward as well, letting go of poor Andy, who just fell to the floor.
Thud.
Ow. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
"Dani. Dani, c'mon. давай. C'mon, behave."
"You… YOU'RE PAYING FOR THIS, YOU LIZARD-FUCK! YOU ARE!..."
"Daaani…"
"What? What, c'mon, unc, let your nephew take a hit. C'mon, bear-boy, touch me. Dare to touch me."
"I JUST MIGHT!"
"Dani… Your friend's on the floor."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"... You're lucky. You're really lucky."
"Yeah, yeah, yap, yap. Get the hell out of here. And, Sergiy, send me a cleaning team, hm? Classified guys."
"Fuck you. Lick the blood off, you animal. C'mon, Dani, help me get him up…"
Puff. They raised him again. His feet dragged along the tiles, along the concrete and carpets, along the wood and steel. He heard a lot, but saw none. Machines beeping, people talking. Some Lungmenites chattering, radios broadcasting, a few women yelling out very loud curses and a whole, whole bunch of footsteps. From time to time, one of those pairs would stop and ask, they'd trail along behind the two Ursine saviors, an avalanche of questions spilling from their mouths.
.
"... Hell happened to this guy?"
"Who is that?"
"Suspect? Victim?"
"Battery? Want me to write him up, SF62?"
"SF62? Everything alright? Hey Dani, how's school? Oh, dropped out…?"
"SF62, need a hand?"
"Is that his blood?"
"What's with the nails…?"
"What's with THOSE nails? Why'd someone nail his halo…?"
.
And to each of them, Serigy, or SF62, would simply flick his hand. A silent response, a quick "Now's not the time." It truly wasn't. Andy felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness with each second spent being dragged through the station. A glimmer of light appearing at the end of his tunnel, only to be violently snatched away by the reality of life returning and pouring down onto his shoulders with all its might.
Thud.
The main doors swung open. Carefully, delicately, they carried him down the fancy, decorative stairs.
"... Careful."
"I know, Dani, don't worry."
"... You're dragging, wait."
"Dani, it's…"
"No, you're dragging. Lemme slow down, wait."
"Okay."
"Okay? Yeah, better."
"..."
Tap, tap, tap.
Ten steps, twenty steps.
And then the concrete pavement. Thank Law.
The soft, bouncy sidewalk. It felt like a cushion, compared to the surgical tiles inside the interrogation room. Andy dropped to his knees, wriggling out of their grasp. His arms barely managed to hold him up, barely keeping the tiny weight from plummeting face first into the floor.
"...?"
The two stopped in confusion, eyes locked downwards, staring at the bloody mess. Andy could feel their gazes on his flesh.
He just needed a moment. A second or two, to kiss the ground, to thank Law for bringing him two guardian angels. To make sure he was still alive.
"... Andy, c'mon." The Ursine boy whispered softly, carefully wrapping his arm around the merc's. "C'mon. We'll get you home, okay? You can even stay with us, if you wanna."
"... N… N-Nm…"
Mumbles. How pathetic of him, he couldn't even create a sentence. Not even a word. Get it together, Reiff.
"... It's okay, Andy. They won't bother you anymore, okay? You're with us. With the Union. As long as you're here, they won't bother you…"
"..."
And he let himself be lifted. He let himself be carried. He let his eyelids slowly doze up, he let himself regain sight. Not much to see at night, but the bright sea of advertisement and commerce. There they were. Wingless, halo-less angels, like two peas in a pod. Short haired, short eared, nearly identical in terms of facial features. To his right, the boy from the Yanese food joint, the poor dockworker. To his left, uncle Sergiy, a good man. A very good man.
"... T-Th-ank you." He whispered. With each move of his lips, a little crimson spilled from his mouth, but neither of the Ursus seemed to mind. They kept carrying him forward, carrying him home.
"No problem. No problem at all" Sergiy returned, with a pat to his bruised back. Surprisingly, it did not hurt at all.
What did hurt, however, was the reality he was faced with. He wanted nothing more but to find himself in the embrace of someone close. Someone very close.
"... W-Wait."
He mumbled, mouth full of blood.
"...?"
They turned to listen, but did not understand.
"... I n-need to make a call."
"What? Call? ... Shit, forgot my phone. You'll call whoever you wanna call at home, alright?"
"..."
"... Andy?"
"... Dani, you don't understand. I n-need to call someone. Now."
"..."
They didn't understand when he told them to leave him by the telephone stand. They did not understand at all, when he asked them for a few Lungmen dollars to make the call. They refused, they wanted to forcefully drag him back home, but he wriggled from their grasp again.
With the very last of his strength, he stood by the phone, his halo beaming far more bright than ever. Gone was the golden substance oozing from the nail-holes, gone was the pain. He needed to make a call, whether they understood or not.
"..."
So they left.
They gave him the money, soothed his needs. Kept the questions to a minimum. Andy really liked Dani. Liked him even more at that very moment, when he took his uncle's worried gaze away and led him down the street. Near almost loved him, when they disappeared behind the corner, leaving him on his own by the stand.
All alone.
Wheezing, spilling blood with each breath, he clutched tightly onto the pole. This was his safety raft. The raft that would save him from drowning in the deep sea of pain and worry pulling him deeper in with each blink and twitch.
Everything hurt. Every body part was mutilated. Every inch burned.
And so did his organs. So did his heart. The only remedy to his pitiful misery remained locked in that tiny ori-powered box to his right. Last glimmer of hope.
His fingers shook when he picked out the number. As painful as it was, he slid the numbers in and pulled the receiver to his ear. It buzzed.
And it buzzed.
And it kept buzzing.
And buzzing, forever and ever buzzing.
Please, Law.
Please, Law, grant me this, just once more.
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And then it stopped. It all went silent.
She picked up.
And his ears were immediately greeted by a distorted, muffled tune. There was loud music playing in the background. Too loud.
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"..."
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"... H-... Hellooooo~?"
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Slurred. Tainted. Poisoned. Her voice was different. Inebriated. She was drunk and he could tell.
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"... L-Lem?"
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It was a mere whisper. Everything his battered mind could muster. The most his lips could push through.
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"Yeaaaah, this is me, who's… HIC!... Who is that?"
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"... It's… It's Andy. It's me."
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"A-... Aaah… Ah, An-deeee~!... Andy, why're you… Why're you calling me at this hour, you rascal~?"
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His breath hitched.
That question. He couldn't really answer. Not in any way that would make sense. Why was he calling? To hear her voice? To tell her he's just been forcefully dragged through the few lowest rings of hell? To ask for help?
All of it. He wanted everything. He wanted to see her before him, to hear her soothing voice and bask in her warm embrace. To feel her fingers in his hair, those soft, soothing touches rubbing against his skin, caressing so very gently. Exactly like in his dreams. He needed the Lemuel from his dreams. The one he spent so long obsessing over. The one he truly, indisputably loved. For all the times he's been with her, when she fell silent and stared blankly at the photograph, he now needed to be the one who's silent. The one who gets to cry on her shoulder.
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"... I, um… I just wanted t-to ask you for something."
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He uttered, barely keeping himself from collapsing under the weight of his unsaid words. So much he wanted to pour into that receiver, so much he had to hold back.
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"Y-Yeaaah, ask away. I'm a bit… HIC!... A bit busy right now, sooooo~..."
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"I know. I know, I'm s-sorry, but… But, could you, um…" He stopped to take a tiny break. To think it through. What did he want from her? What could he have? What did he deserve from that girl? "... Could you pick me up?"
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An uncomfortably long silence followed, only the muffled sounds of a party poured from the phone to keep him company.
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"... Pick you up? Can't you, like… HIC!... Can't you take a bus? Or the metro?"
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It was as if she had suddenly sobered up. As if all that usual warmth and soft fluff of her voice snuffed out and disappeared in an instant.
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"I… I c-can but, it's just, I've had a bit of a b-bad day and… And I just wanted to know if you could pick m-me up."
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"..."
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"... Lem?"
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"... Yeah, I'm here. But, uh… I'm drunk Andy, you know? I can't… HIC!... Drive."
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"... Is Texas there, with you?"
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Again, that same silence creeped from each of the telephone lines connected to the receiver.
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"Yeah."
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"And she's… Is she drunk, too?"
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"..."
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"Lem…?"
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"... No. No, but… Really, can't you just… Can't you take a bus?"
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"I can, but I really wanted to see you. I really need to see you."
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A desperate whisper. An empty plea.
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He could hear nothing for a while. A while longer than before. A tiny sigh buzzed out, a message from the other side.
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"Andy…"
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"...?"
"Andy, look, I'm… I'm really busy. We're really busy."
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"... Please. Please, Lem, p-please, just this once. Please, just today."
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"..."
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"..."
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"... I'm… HIC!... I'm busy. I'm busy, Andy."
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"..."
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"... Some other day. S-... HIC!... Some other day, okay?"
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"... Please d-don't do this."
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"Andy, I can't. I'm busy."
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"..."
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"... Andy?"
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"..."
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"... Andy, talk to me."
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"... I just w-wanted to see you."
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"And you will, okay? Just… Just not today. Some other d-... HIC!... Day."
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"..."
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"... Please, say it's okay. Andy, don't go silent again."
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"... O-Okay."
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"..."
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She sighed. There was relief in her breath.
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"... Okay. I'll hang up now, alright?"
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"..."
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"... Andy."
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"... Alright."
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"... Okay. Night-night?"
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"... Night-night."
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"..."
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Click.
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It fell.
Clinging to its cable, the receiver banged against the call-machine. He left a mark on the dark-blue surface. Trickles of red, a messy coating of blood.
Now, it was just like him. Exactly like him. All alone and covered in blood.
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It hurt. For all the pain of today, this hurt most.
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He couldn't stand anymore. His legs just… gave out.
A mess on the pavement, a stain on this world. That's what he was.
Holding onto nothing. Feeling null. Like a void, the empty words thrown along the wind.
Utterly meaningless. Small and insignificant.
A grand cathedral burst to his side. Pierced the concrete, erected its marble towers high. Way beyond his reach, reserved only for the living, not the dead.
And there he was.
Small and alone.
King nothing.
Without a kingdom, without a reason to push on.
Tears slid down his pale skin. Salt climbed into his open wounds.
It burned.
Water washed it right out.
Cool, calm.
He sat there and cried. Cried like a child without its parents, without any family to hold onto. Like some tiny, gray, street cat without a past nor a future.
Wallowing in pity. Drowning in tears. The pit of misery growing and growing, expanding with each second, each tear strolling down his face and disappearing in that torn, tattered sweater of his.
Sobs. Sobs filled his ears. As sticky from blood as they were, he could very much so hear his own misery, his own wished-up pain.
It was so familiar, in a way. Him, again, alone and sobbing in the dark. Countless nights under the stars, under his tent's tarp, hours spent crying into his jacket, clutching onto a picture or a memory. It was Kazdel, all over. Nothing's changed.
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Tap, tap, tap.
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Some footsteps arose to the right. He couldn't even lift his head. If it was the reaper in a homeless disguise, so be it. Andy would let him take what's his.
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But it wasn't.
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"... Gee, these bastards really took their sweet time. To hold a lady for "questionin'" for a few hours? C'mon, what happened to good 'ole manners, ah?"
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"... Ah, baws? Baws? Ah. And to think I ain't even a suspect, just that I work fer a company… That yer company works fer! How's that fair, ah?"
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The steps moved even closer.
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"Ah?"
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"... Ah? Baws?"
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"... Baws, ya there? Hoooowdy? Ya alive? B-..."
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And suddenly stopped entirely.
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"..."
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"... O-Oh, gods."
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The girl shuffled a little closer.
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"Oh g-gods, ba-... Andy, are ya…? Andy? Andy, what… What did they… Do to ya…?"
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"..."
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And he finally lifted his head. Let his gaze fall onto her, share the weight of today.
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She was right there. Standing above him. How lovely it felt.
She was horrified. Utterly shocked and disgusted by the sight sprawling before her own eyes. Too hesitant to move closer, too afraid to step back.
She just kept staring at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
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It was just like when they met. Him, on the concrete, crying, and her, towering over this shaky mess of a person.
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"... Andy?"
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She whispered, barely audibly. All the hesitance, all the disgust washed away in a moment, making place for something else. Much different.
Pity.
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Andy nodded. Just a tiny nod, it was enough. He nodded and gathered all the strength he had left to pull himself up.
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"I'm alright." He thought, but didn't dare speak. As a good employer, it was his duty to never lie to his employees.
As an employer, it was his duty to be a beaming example for all those beneath him. A beacon of hope, a lighthouse amidst the raging ocean of life. A safe haven. Someone to lean on.
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But he just couldn't. Not now.
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His legs drifted forward. Closer to the mess of confusion and pity in front. His arms slithered around, hesitantly reaching behind her back.
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And he hugged her. Close. As close as he thought he could. As close as his mind allowed him to. Barely at all, undeserving of anything more.
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Why?
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He was cold.
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The reaper's gloom never left. It was there, still with him. Always with him, from the very moment Gin pushed the boy's rifle against his forehead.
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He closed his eyes. To await the moment she shoves him away and yells, in grim anticipation. To spare himself from seeing her disgusted face when it eventually comes.
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But it never did. They stood in complete silence. Two souls, sharing a tiny moment. Some warmth.
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She hugged back.
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Without a word, without a single glimmer of unwillingness. Her grip was strong, like always. Firm, but gentle. It wasn't the breath-squeezing hug he experienced, once.
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It was tender. Calming. Crushing, in a good way.
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Crushing his hesitance, pulling him as close to herself as she could, without holding anything back.
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And it was everything he had at the moment.
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Everything he could ever want.