Chapter Summary
- TEAM UP
It's bad. I can't do this on my own. If I want to get out of this shithole, then I have to work with her... This is crazy! But she's my only choice. - Kyle
NINE: DAWN BREAKS
The rich scent of iron hung thick in the air—almost hard to breathe. Everything was spinning in Crane's head. Like he had been intoxicated.
The strange, overwhelming scent of blood stoked something feral within, an almost irresistible pull to let go and embrace the power coursing through him. Something primal urged him to go after her. To kill her.
But another thing yanked him back. Something vile and citrusy hit his tastebuds and stopped him from sinking his teeth deeper into whatever soft thing he chowed on.
"Neuro-linguistic programming. Honestly, I didn't think it would work on an infected."
Of course. Played again. Not by the broken bait bags littering the arena, but by the damn crafty, silver-tongued woman.
"Not brainwashing. Just the power of suggestion. Helps break down the barriers. Keep us on the same page."
He couldn't tell if the lady was daft, insane, or incredibly clever. Maybe all three. Using codes on an infected like that? Anyone would think she had lost her marbles.
But, credit where it was due. She was daring; he'd give her that. To think of a plan like that while on the verge of death.
"If it stops you from biting my face off, then it works, Shy Guy."
Really, though, she was betting too much on him keeping control. It took every ounce of his willpower to aim for her shoulder and not her neck. Moreover, she wouldn't let him pull back after their tumble. Her hand gripped his torn shirt tightly, anchoring him in place.
They had to stay in character, after all.
"God, this reeks," he heard someone speak out. From behind. Leaving from the gate Crane had just been shoved out. "This is gonna take weeks to clean."
Not good. In a matter of minutes, they'd be zap him like cattle and herd him back to one of those cages. The other side in him told him to escape. Slingshot his way up and over the fence; that would be the best option.
His eyes peered to the gate the brunette had come through.
"Front's heavily guarded. You won't be able to make it alive if you leave there."
More problems. Of course.
Bzzzt! Sparks cracked behind him as the guards closed in, prods humming with electricity. Crane flinched, but her gloved hand didn't let go, even tighter than before.
Stay in character.
"Only way out is through that gate you came from. They brought you in here somehow."
But he didn't know how. He'd been out cold throughout his short captivity.
"Alright, you creepy bastard. Enough playing with your food," warned his captor.
Crane didn't move, keeping his head low as he kept a careful eye on the four men circling them.
He couldn't expose her talking to him.
"You can't do this alone, and neither can I," she whispered into his ear. "You can stay here and be their pet. Or follow my lead."
Crane glanced sideways at the woman. And this time, he found himself locked in her fierce and terrified gaze.
A pause. Her breath hitched. "I'm your only chance, Freakazoid. I know what you're capable of."
They were both on the edge of a knife, and they both knew it.
"Trust me."
Trust.
To Crane, trust was a double-edged sword. His time in Harran—and his past work—reflected the poor choices he made by placing faith in someone, especially under pressure. It was why he worked alone.
But as she saw something in him, Kyle saw something in her too. And she was right.
Things weren't the same anymore. Not in this new body. He could keep running, keep fighting, just as he had with the trappers. But no matter how hard he tried, he would always be hunted. Always seen as a threat.
But the crazy woman in red didn't see him as that.
Nobody noticed the small, almost imperceptible nod from the 'Night Stalker' except the 'dead' kickboxer. Nothing to lose.
The only problem was getting out of the arena alive!
"Hey!" the thug hollered.
"What are you doing? Stop playing with it."
"Just hurry up and move him! I wanna beat that stupid woman to a bloody pulp."
"Guy to your left," Jack whispered. "Busted up his shoulder earlier."
Crane peered back briefly, picking up as much information as possible. Sure enough, the thug in question had his arm in a sling, and a dark glare fixated on Jack's limp body.
"She's already dead, man."
"I don't care!" Sling-arm snarled, stepping close. "I'm gonna do every single horrible thing to her damn corpse. Now get off, you stupid freak-"
Without warning, the 'Night Stalker' sprang off the woman and spun around sharply. In a split second, the man froze at the sudden turn of events, his bravado gone in an instant.
"SRRAAAARHHH!"
The strange Volatile roared, the strong burst like a gale. Tendrils lashed from his claws and snagged the loudmouth thug. Bloodthirst turned to terror as the man screamed, helpless against the force that yanked him off his feet. Crane hurled him effortlessly into the cleanup crew.
"Shit-!"
A nearby prisoner snapped into action, leveling his weapon—a modified taser pole crackling with voltage. But before he could strike, the pole was wrenched from his hands.
His eyes widened at the sight of the 'dead' woman, rising up from the ground.
Not undead like the infected—very much alive, with a wide, toothy grin that promised trouble. Jack deftly gripped the long pole just below the sparking end. With a sharp kick to the man's stomach, she sent him sprawling and claimed the weapon for herself.
But first, she needed air.
"Gack! Gah!" Jack coughed and massaged her throat. If those teeth had sunk a little more deeper—or aimed a little higher—she'd be a goner.
"And here, I thought you'd really kill me!"
"Blegh! Phootey!" Crane spat out the disgusting, odd, iron taste from his mouth. "Why the hell do you taste terrible?!"
"Oh! I'm sorry I'm not to your liking. Want me to add salt and pepper next time?!" she snapped, miming sprinkling a shaker onto her wrist.
"I know! Stop rubbing it in." He already felt bad enough.
Crane soon found himself staring eye-to-eye with the last captor, expecting a quick jolt of electricity. Instead, the man stood frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide with disbelief.
A trembling finger pointed at him.
"D-Did, did that thing talk?" the trapper stammered.
Crane narrowed his eyes. What?
"No. You must be hearing things," Jack sang sarcastically.
Without missing a beat, she jabbed the taser prod into the bloke's chest. The very same captor that had shocked Crane earlier now got a taste of his own medicine; his muscles locked up by the high voltage.
Disappointingly, the weapon snapped in her hands as the man's dead weight yanked off the other end of the cattle prod. It didn't matter.
Throw everything they have at the mad fighter and the loose monster.
The arena above roared louder, the chaotic din splitting between panicked gasps and confused cries of "What's happening?!"
Somewhere in the fray, the Director had already vanished, leaving no one to quell the rising panic. The only people trying to assess the problem were the many guards scrambling along the upper levels.
Armed.
Actually, about time for them to hightail out of here. Jack changed her mind on the spot.
"Lady! Let's go!"
Freakazoid was already at the infected's gate—their only chance of escape. Neither he nor Jack noticed something shifting in the darkness behind the reinforced door.
"Let some of the infected out!" someone yelled.
BAM!
The gate shuddered violently as a Biter's arms thrust through the gaps.
"Shit!" Crane jumped back, narrowly avoiding its grasp. Had he hesitated a second longer, the infected would have grabbed him through the bars.
A few seconds' delay was all it took to make Crane and the brunette sitting ducks.
A few seconds delay was enough to make him and the brunette like sitting ducks. Beyond the infected's gate, the handlers scrambled, clearly preparing to throw more competitors into the ring.
The infected inside wailed in agony, their backs sizzling under the harsh UV beams.
"What are you waiting for?! Shoot them!"
It didn't help the situation that the two fighters would both be shot down at any minute. Jack counted. Two, three, four rifles aimed their way.
They had to shoot through the fence-
Fence?
"Fence!"
Crane blinked, thrown off by her sudden shout. What?
But Jack had already pillaged down on one corpse and snatched a grappling hook and a crowbar. Might even go so far as to say that those were her stuff.
"The fence! Pull it!" she yelled again.
It clicked to Crane and he immediately looked up. The arena's battered walls were riddled with dents and fractures from the Brawler's frenzied blows and the Demolisher's crushing charges. This place was holding itself together by luck.
Jack hurled the grappling hook onto one corner of the wired fence while Crane seized another section with his tendrils.
Just as the gunmen lifted their weapons at them-
Keee-keee-KLANK!
It took just one pull for the entire enclosure to come crashing down in a screeching cacophony of twisted metal and frayed wire. The section of the fence toppled forward, taking a portion of the audience and their gunmen down with it.
Like lemmings over a small five-inch cliff.
Ok, but was this a bad idea? Crane thought. They were adding more numbers to this pit.
Some panicked, they were in the same space as the infamous 'Night Stalker.' Others were too preoccupied with regaining their footing, disgusted by the aromatic, blood-soaked, metallic floor they'd rolled across.
One guard cursed and raised his weapon at Freakazoid-
"Heads up!"
Splosh! The blotchy meat bag hit its mark, bursting on impact.
"Gaack!" The rancid, red fluid sprayed across a fallen spectator's face, blinding him instantly as some of it slipped into his mouth. Nearby, others recoiled in horror, their disgust momentarily overpowering more pressing concerns.
When had the woman snuck a meat bag into the fight?
Two bags, actually—one had burst open earlier, drenching Jack's jacket during her staged 'death'. She'd held onto the second, waiting for the right moment. Which she chose now.
Crane's head swam for a moment, the blood's powerful scent tugging at the beast within. He shook it off, snapping himself back to the present.
"Lady!" Crane hollered out of frustration as he hurried after her. They were outnumbered inside the arena. If she didn't have another plan up her sleeve, he'd have to come up with one himself—and fast. While he still had a grip on himself!
But there she was, already at the next step of her scheme. Jack jammed the crowbar into the gaps of the infected's gate and pulled.
CLANK! Down went the gate, right off its hinges.
"Chow time!" Jack uttered madly.
"GAARGH!"
Two Virals swooshed through the opening, diving right into the red-covered crowd. They were famished, the night and the scent of blood bringing out their wild, savage side. Screams erupted as the infected tore into the panicked spectators.
Jack didn't stick around to watch the carnage unfold. The instant the gate was down, she darted inside, ignoring the wails and gunshots behind her.
So did Crane. He wasn't sticking around either.
He bolted after the brunette, biting down on the pain from the quick shower of UV light. It didn't take long to see two men blocking their way—the ones who moved the Viral cages.
Jack had already tackled one to the floor. Crane tackled the other.
"C'mon," he hollered, vocally and out of habit. But again, Jack didn't jump at the sense of freedom. Instead, she went to the first thing—the plastic box Crane had seen before.
In a flurry of tense seconds, the brunette gathered her gear and put it back on herself. Anything scattered belonging slipped out, she put it back into her bag.
Hurry up, Crane kept an eye out for any sneaky attackers.
"Before they change their mind and focus on us - H-Hey!"
Jack was already off, sprinting down the hall without a word. No explanation. No plan. Just gone.
With no other choice, Crane chased after her. The narrow corridor echoed with their footsteps as he passed by large cages packed with 'undead' contestants raking their fingers through the bars.
The search for an exit was cut short. After all, they were still inside the belly of the iron beast.
"There she is!" Popped around the corner was a new face. And the nuzzle of a pistol.
BAM! BAM!
"Shit!" Jack dove behind cover as sparks flashed from the bullets ricocheting off steel walls.
Of course, they weren't going to make things easy for her. Guns were nothing but a nuisance.
At the corner of her eye, something blurred past.
"It's coming!" a voice yelled, followed by the deafening crack of gunfire.
Freakazoid's presence made the perfect diversion.
Jack bolted from her hiding spot and charged forth, spying one distracted gunner. It was a one-sided victory—a swift snatch of his combat knife followed by a thrust into his throat. She twisted the blade for good measure before moving to her next target.
From her new vantage point, Jack counted six more enemies. But after her second takedown, four had vanished.
How fast was this Day Hunter? She caught a glimpse of him leaping across the walls like a rabid ape. And was that a blade in his claw? One moment, a thug had his head, and the next, it was rolling on the ground.
Then Freakazoid disappeared again like a flash.
"Where is he?!"
"It's a monster! Monster-GARGH!"
Barely a second later, another thug collapsed. A hand clutching to the wide gash in his throat. Jack blinked in disbelief—what killed him? A ghost?!
Despite the dwindling numbers, more reinforcements arrived. Took aim and fired.
BAM! BAM!
Jack dove for cover. For every three men they took down, they gained only a few steps forward. This was taking too long-
"Here."
The voice came out of nowhere, close by and from her right. Freakazoid's voice.
All of a sudden, she saw a stolen pistol floating in mid-air. Just like that.
Jack stared at the weapon, dumbfounded. She clumsily stood up and scanned the area. What—where's Freakazoid?
"What are you doing?!" his sharp voice yelped.
She felt hands pull her shoulders, pulling her back down to her hiding place.
Wait, how, what?
Jack searched again. No one stood close to her. It felt like a reenactment of The Invisible Man she'd once read.
"This is getting out of hand."
"How…" Jack pulled her shades down the bridge of her nose, squinting into the seemingly empty space ahead. She waved a hand around, as though trying to touch the air. "Where-?"
"Hey. I'm right in front of you." If this is another joke from the crazy brunette, Crane was walking out of the ship.
"Just what are you, a bloody chameleon?"
Chameleon?
Kyle looked down at his claws.
What he saw did make him reel back. Then he flipped his palms over, studying them closely. He questioned his own eyes, but just as he had eventually accepted his new fate as a monster, he accepted this new revelation before him.
He was invisible. Completely see-through.
No wonder the gunmen couldn't see him. That explained why that trapper in the alley hadn't noticed him—despite Kyle standing in plain sight.
It was a scary thought. And none of the infected or Specials he'd encountered had ever displayed anything like this.
Then again, anything useful in this nightmare was better than nothing.
"Hah.." he laughed softly. "Ok. This makes things interesting."
"I don't know whether to be amused or downright terrified of you right now," Jack blurted abruptly.
He jerked back at the remark. Neither offended or hurt. But still-
BAM!
A stray bullet struck a wooden crate nearby, sending splinters flying. Jack instinctively shielded herself, while Freakazoid's brief fright shook his invisibility right out of him. The sudden appearance of a monster in front of Jack, as though conjured out of thin air, nearly startled her, but she steeled herself.
"Dammit," Crane muttered, seeing more trigger-happy goons. Scurrying like rats in the walls.
During his 'ghostly' tussle with the earlier mob, he'd swiped a pistol. Not that he had much use for it. His fists were far more efficient than any firearm.
He tossed the gun to Jack, who caught it effortlessly. "You'll need it more than me."
She furrowed her brow at the gift in her hands.
"We can't stay any longer."
"The more the merrier, I say."
"Seriously?" he groaned. "Look. I'll distract them. You shoot them."
"I don't do guns."
Crane's eyes widened. "...What?"
Ka-click!
Without hesitation, Jack popped the magazine from the gun and tossed both of them away. She glanced back. "I. Don't. Do. Guns."
It left Kyle confused and shocked. Loss with words.
As Jack hopped out of her hiding place and into the chaos, all he could do—with his hands shaking at the sheer audacity—was shout, "What do you mean you don't do guns?!" He quickly joined her into the enclosed battlefield. "Everyone here uses guns!"
It was true. The four additional men charging into the compacted space were already aiming. But the tight quarters left little room for error or maneuvering.
That was their mistake.
Jack moved like a whirlwind, using the space to her advantage. She ducked under a barrel and swung her weapon at one shooter's jaw. Teeth flew as she danced circles around their clumsy, firearm-dependent movements.
Besides, she wasn't entirely their main focus. The moment the prisoners saw the sight of the terrifying Night Stalker, freed from its shackles, they changed targets.
Panic took over, their frantic minds racing to decide which threat to eliminate first. It was already too late. Both wildcards tore through them with ruthless efficiency.
"Get me that damn woman! Dead! And don't let her touch our cache!" a voice boomed over the speakers. That sounded like the grandiose bastard in the vest Crane saw earlier.
"That ain't good," Crane pointed. Before he could continue, suggest the best course of action, she was gone again. "Are you listening to me?!"
"Where is it?"
"What?" he breathed. Did she lose something? "Whatever it is, you can replace it outside-"
"I'm not leaving without that Antizin!" she snapped.
Antizin?
Wait. Had her symptoms already started for her?
He didn't get the chance to ask. Around the corner, two orange skeletons.
Rifles raised.
"Watch out!"
Jack was in a blind spot, oblivious to the threat. Seeing the charging Freakazoid still unnerved her so all she could do was let him grab her, and both rolled behind cover.
Tik-tik-tik-tik!
A close call indeed. Jack caught her breath as she glanced warily at the infected beside her. Protective stance.
She truly couldn't underestimate this infected's skills. Or maybe his human side. To be able to remember and strategize like a soldier that she actually believed he was one before he became Freakazoid.
Combined with being beyond human, he was a force of nature to be feared—both a predator and a tactician.
It actually made her feel lacking. Jack should up her game to keep up with him.
"Your symptoms."
She climbed up on her feet when Freakazoid grabbed her arm. The grip was almost too tight for the brunette's liking.
Jack tried to free herself, her mind locked on the danger. They were surrounded by men who wanted their heads, and now this monster was spouting nonsense in the middle of all this?
"When did you start feeling your symptoms?!" He forced her back down.
"What?" Jack uttered. What was he blabbering about? This wasn't the time for cryptic questions. She needed to find that suppressor drug.
But Crane wouldn't let it go.
The ship was too dangerous for her to stay, especially when his past experience with the seizures told him anything.
He had to get her out to safety.
"We can get you Antizin," Crane persuaded, enough to make the ex-kickboxer frown with both irritation and confusion. "Anywhere else but here-"
"It's not for me."
That stopped Crane, his shock-filled eyes snapped onto her. What she just said made zero sense to him.
What did she mean it wasn't for her? People who were bitten needed Antizin. He. Bit. Her.
Had she forgotten about that fact?
"I don't need Antizin," Jack repeated firmly.
"You don't-" He was lost with words yet again. "You were bitten!"
"Yes. So have a lot of people." She yanked her hand free and glanced out from their cover, counting the men flooding the cargo hold.
"Hold on…" He finally connected the dots. "That's the reason you came here?!"
She simply shrugged. "I'm taking back what was the Junction's. Those vials never belonged to these blokes in the first place."
"And what? You came here alone, thinking you could get them?"
"Wasn't a sound plan to begin with," the woman admitted, a quick whisk of her cheeky smile. Then the seriousness painted over it. "But someone had to do it."
"They're criminals! You're risking everyone's lives by pissing these people off," Crane uttered.
"I'm getting that Antizin one way or another."
No, what was the point of saying that? This woman was… He had to verbally say it out loud. "You're insane-"
"And what about you?" Jack interrupted.
A fine time to strike an argument—with bullets firing, infected out of their cages, and the ship going down. But hey! This damn Hunter and his need to preserve their lives were getting on her nerves!
"Hm?" she uttered, catching the stunned Hunter on the spot. "Why does a bloodthirsty Hunter like you have a heart?"
"What do you-?"
"Why did you save those Runners?"
At a moment like this, Crane should have shoved aside the questions. But she caught him red-handed. How did she find out?
"You saved them from those thugs that night. And you did more than just protection work."
Referring to her stolen phone and the supplies he'd gathered. The lengths he had gone to help strangers despite his condition. She wasn't letting it go.
"You can pretend all you want, Freakazoid. But you can't turn away when someone needs help. Even as an infected, you go around helping people."
Crane averted his gaze, but the truth hung heavy in the air. Because she was right. And he couldn't deny it; he did help people. He still wanted to help. He still wanted to make things right.
But he wanted her to stop. Stop prying, stop poking at the embers he had in him with a poker. Stop reasoning with him. He would make the same mistakes all over again.
His refusal to say anything, to budge, only frustrated her more. After everything—from chasing him across the roofs to cornering him at the hotel and now aboard this hellish ship—she had learned so much from Freakazoid. Enough to know she wasn't dealing with any zombie.
Freakazoid was a bloody freak with the same morals as any human.
So she pushed harder.
"Fine. Maybe it's pointless looking for a cure." Jack's words cut like knives, a verbal reminder of his cruel reality as a sentient zombie and what he had done to her.
The bite he gave her, her fate sealed by the Harran virus thanks to him.
"But everyone else is still trying," she spoke with conviction.
This time, Crane couldn't tear away from her intense gaze behind her sports sunglasses.
"How about you? Are you done trying?"
Trying?
He had tried. Again and again. Searching for the answers this woman was looking for as well. And trying got Crane nowhere. He came up empty-handed every time.
But...surprisingly, this annoying persistence of hers was catching on to him.
He wanted to try.
Jack frowned even more. Freakazoid was stiff on the spot in deep thought—all too struck with doubt. No going through with him, so she rose up on her feet. She had to find those Antizin-
A claw on her shoulder stopped her from leaving. A glance back and she spotted something new in those silver-blue eyes of his.
Freakazoid's eyes said it all. Alright.
"What do you need?" he asked. This time with his creepy voice, but sincerity.
Jack's frown melted into a grin, without malice.
"For starters," she chided, swinging her weapon into position. "What say we give these blokes a good reckoning?"
It was like a scene straight out of a cheesy action movie he had seen once: the brave hero ready to jump out of his cover. And yet it worked so well with her and their situations that that cheesiness was gone.
"Gladly," Crane answered, baring his teeth in a snarl.
"What are you all standing around for?!" the Director barked at the scattered, panicking men.
His prized arena had been turned into a warzone—the bellow of the beast being eaten from the inside. Each floor entrance became a futile barricade, only to be ripped apart by the loose infected contestants.
Everything was falling apart. The radio chatter had gone silent, and the single-minded backstage crew were shouting that Alexander had abandoned ship.
This arena was a source of profit, but the Director was quick to remind himself that it was only one source. There was no point in saving a sinking ship.
"I'm not paying you to be cowards!" he hollered.
"It doesn't mean shit if we're all dead!" Such tone from a spineless man! Some of his crew were calling it quits now rather than to wait it out and be killed.
Another prisoner appeared, scurrying through their barricade. Screaming, "Monster! Monster!"
"Someone shut him up! He'll attract more of them!" the Director demanded. Of course, there were monsters onboard. Thanks to Mad Jack running into the opponent's room and opening those cages-!
His eyes widened once he caught a glimpse of the red jacket down the hall. Still alive. But what made his blood run cold was the shape sprinting ahead of her—something faster, something far worse.
"There she is!"
"Shoot her!"
"What the fuck," one convict murmured, his gun drooping low.
"Close the door!" the Director bawled loudly. "What are you doing?! That thing is coming!"
But it was already too late. Before the first bullet was fired, the Night Stalker ducked right through the doorway. Right before the Director's very eyes. Sheer horror took over him while nobody in the frontline seemed to notice the beast in their midst.
"It's in!" he shrieked.
Some convicts turned, confusion etched on their faces. "What thing?" they muttered, their attention still trained on the woman.
Then it began.
The Director watched his men's weapons snatched away in an instant. Bodies were lifted and hurled like rag dolls. Sickening cracks echoed as necks were twisted and spines snapped. His only defense to buy him time and sneak away was down in a flash.
He was done! He had to get to the bow of the ship. They should be finished with the loading-
A whistling sound came from his right as he tried to escape through the back.
Shing-thud!
A sharp, blinding pain shot through his left hand, suddenly on the wall. Then pain struck again, more piercing than the first time, when he barely took a step. He tried to get his hand free, to see what was the problem-
A knife pinned right through his palm and into the crates.
Finally came the screams.
"Ahh! AHHHHHHH!"
The knife went in deep. The more he desperately tried to tug it out, the more agony sprouted from the wound. What made the situation worse was the hounding shadow of the ex-kickboxer.
Beaming with satisfaction as she closed in.
"You bitch!" he cursed. "I'll kill you! I'll kill-gargh!"
Out of nowhere, that hounding shadow shifted from behind Jack and pounced on the Director with an inhuman speed. His collar tightened as the beast's scaly forearm pressed down on his throat.
"Looks like that invisibility of yours doesn't work on everyone," Jack said calmly.
Invisibility? Who was she talking to?
"...Must have been a fluke."
"Ahh!" The Director glanced around quickly. Where did that voice come from?! "What-?!"
"A fluke." Mad Jack clearly ignored the injured man's panic. She was talking directly to the Night Stalker, all too calm that it hadn't gone after her. "What about the last two guys?"
The Night Stalker grumbled, even giving a pout. "I don't know. I still don't know what the hell I am now."
"I don't understand! T-This isn't real!" the Director shrieked. He quickly tried to take the knife out of his hand. No good. It was in too deep. "Someone! Help-!"
The plea died in his throat as the infected leapt on him again, this time slamming its forearm down on his windpipe. Those haunting silver-blue eyes bore into him, freezing him in place as if they could strip him bare.
"Hate to break it to you, Director. But your situation's looking pretty bleak right now," Jack pointed.
How? Did this woman manage to tame this thing?!
"Y-You think you've got me?" he sputtered a weak, bitter laugh, still defiant despite his peril. "Just because you got yourself a pet! Hah!"
The brunette tilted her head to the right; the Director's threat rolling off her like water on stone. But Aslan gleamed, convinced he could still turn the tables.
"Alexander will have your head on a plate!"
A scoff came from the Night Stalker. "...That knife's not clean."
"Oh no. Think I used it on a few Biters earlier," Jack replied to Freakazoid with casual nonchalance.
The realization began to dawn on the Director. Slowly, the terror sank deeper inside of him. Infested through. The Director was sick to the gut, wide eyes pleading that it was some joke from the batty woman.
Jack shrugged, grinning as wide as a cat. "Nobody has time to wipe their blade clean. We're in the middle of an outbreak, after all."
"Let me go!" Antizin! He had to get his hands on Antizin. "C-Call your pet off!"
Jack tilted her head to the side again, her grin looking just a tab longer. "Hmm. I don't think he likes being called 'pet'."
"I hate it," Freakazoid concurred.
"See? Really demoralizing."
The Director's wide, panicked eyes darted between them. How could he reason with her?! Even hearing a satisfied huff from the monster made it all the more unbelievable to Aslan.
"If you really want him off, you gotta be on his good side first," Jack continued.
His good side?! She had completely lost her marbles! But if it'd get the knife out of him, then alright!
"Fine! W-What do you want?!"
Jack purposefully let the seconds tick by. She 'pondered' about her answer. "Well, I did want my winnings."
"S-Sure! You can have it! Take it all!" the Director pleaded. "I can't feel my hand!"
"Hm-hm," Jack laughed softly. "I said I 'did' want my winnings." She relished the fact that the Director's face was drained of color. "I want every crate of Antizin on this ship."
"What-?!" That would ruin him! Alexander would come after him if the Director were to do that. And to this crazy bitc-!
"You heard the lady." The choke on his neck tightened, and the Director's face even whitened ghastly. So many thoughts raced through Aslan's mind, but the primal fear of those glowing eyes petrified him.
This was a monster. A monster!
"I-It's in the bow! T-They're loading them up to be taken elsewhere!"
The monster didn't unhinge itself off him. Those terrifying eyes literally speared into him, as if searching for any lie. Any excuse for the monster to rip the Director into pieces. Finally, the monster shoved him aside, giving some breathing space to the cowering human.
"Let's hurry."
"Right behind you, mate."
"H-Hey!" Both faces turned to the Director, back to desperately freeing his hand. "Aren't you going to take this out?!"
The ex-kickboxer blinked, feigning innocence, and that dug another inch of dread into him.
"I told you where the Antizin is!"
Jack turned back to the Night Stalker. "Did I say that?"
"Didn't hear anything like that."
"Must be my imagination."
"W-What-what?" Aslan was hyperventilating. It didn't help, watching Jack walk away.
No! No! He had to think!
"I-I'll give you anything!" It was a sorry sight, but the Director didn't care.
The stages of grief unraveled before Jack and her zombie friend like a tragic play. But not a shred of sympathy came from the brunette's expression.
"Name your price!" he pleaded. "W-We can forget everything that happened today! Bygones be bygones!"
Jack did stop trotting but didn't speak. Every so often, the zombie gave a passing glance to her and then to the director, waiting for her call.
"T-The offer still stands! I can still make you big! I-I can hear it now! The Wild Dog, back again!" he stammered, tripping over his words. "Y-You need me!"
Aslan couldn't die here. Not by the virus, not in this forsaken place!
"I-I need to disinfect it! I can't be infected! I-I-" No matter how hard the Director tried to control himself—to stop giving that woman satisfaction over his impending doom—it was all crumbling down. "This is supposed to be my show! My spotlight! I can't die here!"
The sound of Jack's shoes echoed in slow, deliberate strides—towards him. A predator worse than the Night Stalker. A force he truly underestimated since the name, Mad Jack the Wild Dog, had first echoed within these walls.
Each step felt heavier than the last, her shadow looming larger in his mind. She was more terrifying than the Night Stalker—a force he had underestimated since her name had first echoed within these walls.
Jack crouched down before him, smiling. Good! She wasn't so heartless-!
But instead, she picked up a hatchet that was dropped aside. A weapon he could have used if he had the gall to gain his freedom.
"I'm sure those were the exact words your contestants said before they died." Jack's voice was calm. "We're just stepping stones, after all."
Aslan's chest heaved—anger bubbling beneath the fear and agony. How dare she throw his own words at him!
"You bitch!" he rasped. Curse all he wanted with the last ounce of defiance he could muster.
But Jack ignored him. Freakazoid had already hurried off to look for the bow and the crates they needed. The Director was left alone to his disarray—pathetic and fitting. No one had any sympathy for a man who turned death into spectacle.
Jack's focus was singular: the Antizin.
It was the last stretch, and Jack could feel it in her bones. Her smile widened after a turn around the corner, where at the end of the hall was a secured cargo door.
"Close it! Close it!" shouted one of the prisoners on guard. Another rushed to push the heavy door shut.
Thud!
Metal hit metal. Jack's throw had been precise, the axe jamming into the seam just in time to stop the door from fully closing. Freakazoid barreled forward, his large build propelling through the gap and, in a split second, pushing the door back open.
Then he was gone again, invisible in a flash.
Jack sprinted into the bow. The doorman staggered back, stunned from Freakazoid's invisible shove, and the guard next to him panicked. He barely had time to raise his weapon before Jack was on him. Down he went to the cold floor.
Jack went back to her frantic search. Behind her, the second guard screamed for help. His cries were cut short, silenced by a deadly, unseen force.
"Antizin, Antizin, Antizin-" Jack's eyes lit up at the familiar medical logo stamped on six grey crates. "Antizin!"
The bow door had been mechanically opened up, revealing the cool night air and a starry sky. A small tender was ready to depart, all loaded with the grey crates. Wrapped up like a perfectly-done present with a bow on top.
The last thing that stood between them and their prize were a handful of guards.
"There she is!" Up snapped a pistol at her. "Wha-?!"
Before he could take a shot, the weapon was yanked clean out of his hand. His eyes widened in confusion as something gripped his arm and pulled him forward. In a daze, he tried to comprehend what had just seized his weapon.
"Infected!" one of his crewmates yelled and fired at something. Where?
"Shit!" A distorted, inhuman voice uttered from his right as something 'shimmered' into his peripheral vision. That something suddenly snatched the next man by the hand and threw him into the stunned prisoner—a move a judo master would do.
"Monster! Monster!"
"RUN!"
"AHHHH!"
Whatever courage they had evaporated. The remaining thugs bolted, scattering like startled rats. Some dove into the sea out of desperation.
"I'm starting to think those aren't flukes anymore," Jack droned.
The jab hit home, and Crane clenched his teeth. As cool as this new ability was with the satisfaction of taking down these cowards and upfront, it was concerning how just a few could see him before he'd jump in.
He eventually understood it wasn't full-on invisibility. Even the infected saw through the façade. Somehow.
It seemed only a handful of people fell for his little disappearing act. The brunette was one of them!
"I seriously can't get the hang of this..." he winced. He found it stupider when he said that aloud and vocal. Why was he even trying to get used to it?
"Count your stars. You have me to bail you out."
Crane shot her a narrowed look. Frowned even. Claws on hips.
"Oh really? I think it's been the other way around," he countered, and that didn't wipe the smirk off her face.
The commotion thundering above them, however, brought their attention to the fact that trouble was brewing onboard. Crane glanced up, counting three, four, five-
He lost count of the orange skeletons, massed together into a moving blob.
"We should go."
"Way ahead of you." Jack darted to the control panel, already working to release the boat.
While she handled the final steps for undocking, Crane moved to the door, picking up the axe. He jammed it through the latch, locking the heavy metal door tight. It wouldn't hold forever, but it'd buy them some precious time.
The sudden sound of splashing water caught his attention. Crane turned to see Jack already on the boat, yanking the pull cord.
One pull, two pulls, and the engine roared. He swooshed right in before she could shout at Freakazoid to hurry. No more time to waste, and he didn't need to be asked. Jack gunned the engine and steered the boat away from the deserting ship.
"Stop them!" yelled Celso. The fuming rage in his tone was music to Jack's ears.
Then came the gunfire. The sharp, rattling bursts of an AK-47 rang out behind the speeding boat.
"Get down!" Crane pushed Jack's head down, just as a spray of bullets whizzed overhead.
"Hey!" she protested but he couldn't have cared less.
Holy shit, the amount of firepower they were throwing just to get back their loot! Or even to sink the boat down—if they couldn't have it, no one would. Thankfully, with Jack's driving, they were all misses. Most.
Crane winced as he felt one graze his back. If he had to say one good thing about this new body, it was that he had hardened skin to pillow down the shots.
The shouting from the ship's deck was relentless, only for the anger to die quickly when other pressing matters kicked in. It was every man for themselves now. None of them had any notion to chase after the thief and the monster, who ultimately destroyed their fighting ring.
The further the duo sped away, the quieter the noises became. Jack glanced back at the fiery wreckage of the ship one last time.
She couldn't believe it.
They'd made it.
They'd actually made it.
With Antizin.
And Jack burst out laughing.
"AH HA HA HA! We did it! We got Antizin!" she hollered, ecstatic. "AH HA HA HA!"
Her energy was infectious, her ecstatic outburst catching Crane completely off guard. Stunned. They could have literally died! They had just barely escaped with their lives! And the crazy brunette stood there, laughing like a lunatic…
Yet, somehow, that laugh—the sheer relief and joy in it—gave him something he hadn't felt in a long time. Assurance.
Against all odds, they had survived, given what a bunch of thugs deserved, and to top it all off, they had stolen a large stash of Antizin. It was the kind of success he couldn't imagine succeeding. Not on his own.
He couldn't have done it without Jack.
He, a monster, couldn't help but crack a genuine chuckle.
"That's the end of it."
BAM!
Jack gave one last kick to the boat's engine, but it didn't sputter back to life. The gaping bullet hole in the tank was enough evidence that it couldn't go on. "And here I thought I could use it."
Her initial plan to get to Harran? Fizzled out after everything they went through.
But she wasn't upset.
It had taken a great, long mile across the waters for the duo until they both believed they weren't followed—then an extra ten minutes sailing. Next came the ominous gurgling sound from the back of the boat. That forced Jack to quickly veer it to the shoreline just in time to hear the engine's final choke.
Freakazoid then took to quietly perching on the red-tiled rooftop of a nearby restaurant to keep an eye out while the brunette tended to the busted engine. Once she was done fiddling with it, she pulled out her earpiece and dialed in.
"Breaker, breaker. This is Jack."
"Jack?" The young female voice echoed on the other end. "Where have you been?" Then there was a cough, as if the runner was hiding her concern. "You should have called us!"
"Had a busy night," Jack replied. "But I got Antizin. Ready for your Runners to pick up." She glanced around her surroundings. "I think this is a resort?"
"Wait, wait, wait," Siv uttered softly, almost disbelieving. Then it came back louder. "Hold on! You found Antizin?!"
"Six crates worth. That should last a while."
Laughter, a mix of disbelief and joy then burst from the earpiece. "I-I don't believe it! H-How?"
"Well." Crane didn't peek back; he could already feel the ex-kickboxer's eyes glancing at him. "I got help."
"Help?"
"A new face just passing by the neighborhood. Couldn't have done it without him."
That was surprisingly a rather nice compliment coming from her, and also weird to hear it from a person like her. He thought she'd talk shit about him. Or take all the credit to herself.
So, of course, Crane got a little suspicious of her.
"That's good. We need all the help we can get."
"Eeeeh, he's pretty much a shy guy. Don't think he'll be walking by the Junction anytime soon."
Crane scoffed aloud. Ok, now that was exaggerating. In more ways than one.
"I'll wake B-Team up and send them over. It's the Karst Spring resort, right?"
Jack searched for a name, anything to confirm the location. "I think it's the Blueside Hotel. Stayed for a few nights here."
"Got it. And Jack? Thank you. Really, I mean it. And that guy. Can you tell him that too?"
"I think he already knows."
The call clicked off, Jack joined him up on his perch; sitting right next to Beastly with her feet swaying over the edge. Her perky grin masked all the aches in her body. She refused to let it show.
"That was eventful," Jack broke the silence. "Could have handled it better. But we got out of there alive."
Freakazoid snorted; a human reaction. "Barely… I still can't believe it."
"Running away from gunmen and zombies from all sides? Sounds normal to me."
"No. Well, yeah... I mean getting Antizin." He peered back at the stack on the boat. Six small crates. That was the most he'd ever gotten. "I thought we'd be lucky to get a few bottles."
"Really?" Jack droned. "I thought the exact same thing." She hunched forward, glancing at the horizon—a mix of red-violet, blue, and a seeping orange. "I mean it, mate. I wouldn't have gotten them without your help."
Crane almost wanted to laugh—really? Crazy enough to take on an entire ship of convicts? But the calmness in her face stopped him. She meant every word and every form of gratitude.
"Just who are you?"
She turned her head with her Cheshire cat smile.
"Well," she began with a teasing lilt, "I'm your neighborhood retrieval specialist. I do what I can, when I can for people. Got to keep a good reputation for the Ravs."
"Specialist. Right. And this group of yours? They just… help people?" he asked with skepticism. "No way you're that charitable."
"And what about you?" she countered smoothly. "You sound like you had some history, 'helping people'."
He grimaced silently, but Jack didn't push.
"You said it yourself, Freakazoid," she continued. "You don't remember much about yourself. But you sure have a bloody conscience for an infected."
His conscience. Crane stared down at his claws, at the sharp tips.
She wasn't wrong. He should have been lost to the virus, a mindless beast like the rest. And yet, here he was—still quick, still nimble, still holding onto the fragments of his old morals. This virus inside him gave him a boost in surviving better, under whatever-right conditions.
Virus. That word hung in the air, stirring something in Crane's thoughts.
He turned his gaze to the woman with so many questions swirling in his head about her, but one stood out above the rest.
"You said you were looking into this virus. Why?"
It was there that the woman in the red jacket gave him a hard look. As if she were deciding whether to reveal a secret or not.
Then she simply gave a "hmph" of a laugh. "Yeah. Why not? Who's gonna believe anything from a zombie if I tell you?"
"Hey, seriously?"
"Alright, then." She was about to jump off and leave. "I'll save it another time. When you're not so sensitive-"
"No. Garh," he groaned. Man, did she love to mess with him. "You really believe there's something new with this virus?"
She paused for a minute. Just to be sure. But the expression Crane gave told her he was dead set to listen, with an earnest mix of curiosity and confidence.
And, more importantly, hope.
"...Alright," she relented. "For starters, there's been new types of infected appearing in the last month."
The brunette gave a side eye to Crane, smirking.
"You're one example."
"Geez, I'm flattered. What don't I know?"
"I didn't mean it like that, mate. It's just odd to see brand-new mutations in a matter of weeks. Almost like they're evolving."
Now that got his attention. Crane's brows furrowed as he mulled over her words and the gravity of her theory.
And Jack continued. "A Grad student I know thinks the regular zombie population came into contact with this new strain somehow."
Hm, ok. There was some ground to that logic. After all, as she said, Crane himself was one example.
"And it's not just the walkers. It's us infected survivors as well."
Crane glanced back at the word: survivor. "What do you mean?"
"First off, I'm in no way obligated to speak on behalf of my fellow comrades," Jack explained, deepening Freakazoid's frown with that jest of hers. "Too personal for some...and you'd think I'm mad as a hatter."
Aren't you already? But Crane wisely stayed quiet. "Ok. What can you tell me?"
She pondered. Deep and thoughtful behind that smile. The longer she took, the more it made Crane suspicious. The question was written on her face: how crazy would her answer be?
"I guess I can talk about myself. Yeah. Why not?" Jack chided. "I'm already infected."
"Obviously. I'm the one who bit you."
Jack's eyebrow peeked over her sunglasses. "Sure. And several others. You're not that special, Freakazoid."
What was this nonchalant attitude of hers?! "Doesn't matter how many bites you've had. I'm the one who infected you."
"You?"
The disconnect was so clear. The longer they talked, the more confused he became. He had caused her demise! Why was she taking this long to accept the truth?
The brunette lowered her shades down the bridge of her nose, giving him a hard look. She was just at a loss as Freakazoid was and yet the expression on his face showed nothing but sincerity.
Only then did it dawn on her. But instead of being furious at the Day Hunter being the culprit behind her infection…she gave a strange grin.
"Wait..." The chuckle may have been soft but he heard it crystal clear. "Have you been after me this whole time because you thought you gave me the virus?"
What kind of question was that? "Yeah."
Her brow shot as high as they could go.
Then she burst out laughing.
Crane couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was like a punch to his face. This entire time, he had been genuinely worried about this woman, straight up guilty for what he had done. And now she was laughing?!
"W-What's so funny?" he barked. "I bit you!"
Jack wiped away a nonexistent tear as she tried to collect herself. Now she understood the frustration her new zombie companion had been dealing with.
"Oh, Beastly," she said. "I hate to break it to you, but I've been infected long before you bit me."
His icy-blue eyes widened at the surprising news, and for a second, Jack saw the relief wash over him. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders—and yet, complete disbelief in those same eyes.
How long had he been haunted with the thought of damning her to the virus, Jack wondered. Since his bizarre awakening?
"You're serious?" Freakazoid blurted out.
"I've fought many infected before you, Freakazoid," she assured him. Take that sliver of guilt off him. "Don't go taking someone else's credit."
She watched the way his posture shifted, ever so slightly. He wasn't the one who'd doomed her, and that realization hit him like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.
"So...you...you were already bitten. Before me."
"Of course. My first bite wound was months ago."
Those icy blue eyes of his narrowed sharply at her. "Ok. If this is another bullshit joke-"
"Now when have I ever bullshitted anyone?" She paused, immediately reconsidering her words. "Don't answer that."
"Wait… Then…" It just didn't click for Crane. "You have to be on Antizin-"
He sounded so pleading; how sweet.
But she cut him off with cruel irony while still smiling.
"There was a time when we stopped getting Antizin in Harran…"
She spotted another clue out of Freakazoid's face, twisting with incredulity. He knew about the period when the Ministry of Defense had ceased all aid to Harran and decided to abandon the city entirely.
Thus, that sealed the fate of Harran.
"I haven't touched that stuff since."
Freakazoid's confusion was still swimming so much that she particularly could see the questions radiating off him. If that was the case, then what else? How was someone able to show no symptoms for months? Could he really take her word?
So she pulled another stunt instead before he could call it a blurr.
"And I haven't turned yet."
With that, Jack slipped off the armband from her left upper arm. She raised it so he could see. Right there, plain as day, was the evidence.
"And I haven't turned yet." Jack took the armband off her left upper arm. And right on the skin, clear as day was the evidence.
She had bite wounds. Some fresh, others only a few days old. But there was one very obvious mark—a very old and healed bite wound, almost gone from her skin.
What caught Crane's attention most wasn't the scar itself but the veins surrounding it. Blackened at one point, unmistakable signs of the infection taking hold. But that sign had also faded away.
As if something had naturally blocked it.
"What the hell," was all Crane could manage as he grasped her arm, just to make sure it wasn't an illusion to him. That he wasn't hallucinating the healed bite.
Jack, meanwhile, found his reaction amusing—how easy it was to read the doubt off his face.
"I'm telling the truth."
Crane was speechless, watching her stand by those words. Telepathically and through his mouth. But he managed somehow.
"H-How?" he stammered. "H-How are you able to stay human?"
He wanted to know. Desperately. Hopingly.
"I don't know," she answered in an anticlimactic way. "Maybe I'm not entirely human."
That earned her a sharp, skeptical look from the monster beside her. What?
"From the inside, at least. This virus did something kinda...peculiar to me."
Crane tilted his head, eyebrow raised. What did any of this mean?
Moreover, he didn't like that playful yet careful tone again.
"Peculiar how?"
"Made my body poisonous," Jack said with a straight face. "Anytime a zombie's gotten a bite off me or I bite them, they wind up dead."
What?
No, she really believed that, he thought to himself.
"We did some tests back home," she continued as if his doubt didn't faze her. "That same Grad realized my blood is somehow lethal to the infected."
And Crane rolled his eyes. This again. The arrogant, over-the-top attitude. And this story was unbelievable, too. She was trying to sell him that? Poison?
He had his hopes up too high, crushed under a madwoman's fantasy.
"Now you're being so full of yourself."
Yet...something was off. Jack didn't waver. If anything, her grin widened, almost unnervingly so. She leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"You said I tasted terrible, right?" she asked, her voice low but deliberate.
Again, Crane grimaced. The idea of her getting devoured by him left a bitter taste in his mouth. His stomach did uneasy flips. "Hey, look. I'm sorry I tried to eat you. I wasn't exactly myself then-"
"That's the oddest part about you, Freakazoid," Jack interrupted with a bit of a hum. Then her almost playful tone shifted to deadly earnestness at the drop of a pin. "You're supposed to be dead."
Her words hit him like a cold wave. He stared at her, utterly baffled. The word 'dead' hung with a tight, grim proverbial vice. But she really meant it.
"...I don't believe you." It sounded ridiculous even to his own ears. There was no way-
"I don't expect you to." Jack's tone stayed firm. "The Ravs couldn't believe it the first time around, either. But I wouldn't have survived this long if it wasn't true."
Jack raised her hands up to see them red-stained, even through fresh bandages.
"I barely survived six rounds of fighting zombies unarmed."
Crane was still processing everything he had listened to.
"So far, you're the weirdest infected out of all the rest," Jack sang, peering back at the strange creature. "You are the only one who's outlived my secret weapon."
"There's just no way…" He struggled at finding a rebuttal. Everything she said sounded like something from a comic book.
"Freakazoid, when we first met, I bit you." He reeled, his eyes widening at her sober face. "Really hard, might I add. I've given a couple of walkers my perk before you and they all went down. Every single one of them."
Yes. He remembered. And still had the bite mark on him. Crane massaged his neck as if the phantom ache had returned, fresh and vivid.
"It might explain why you're fine right now." Now that was something he couldn't truly believe. She simply shrugged. "Hey. I don't know how this all works either. You've lived twice. And twice, you've stopped being all feral and zombie-like. Something's working."
"Or it could just be a coincidence," he countered. "Who's to say a third time, this...poison of yours stop working on me?"
Wait a minute, Kyle. What are you saying? That meant he might lose it again. And for good.
"Then you might actually drop dead the next time round. Have you ever heard of anyone surviving a lightning strike three times?"
"That's a completely different thing," he retorted.
"Well, we can always test it out if you lose your marbles again, Freakazoid."
"You-" he held back a groan. "Fine. Let's say I believe you. How is it even possible?"
"Honestly? I wish I knew." Another surprise out of this woman. The silence hung tightly, yet she still persisted with her casual personality. "I know what bit me. But I didn't get this mutation until after we had a break-in back home. Woke up a week later when it all happened."
Oh.
Shit.
The details were vague but there was something raw in the brunette's admission. Crane had opened up something he shouldn't have. In the end, all he could usher was "...Sorry."
"Don't fret, mate. It's not the first time I've lost track of time." And now he was even more uneasy. What exactly did she mean by that? "But hey, I did gain this nice little perk out of it."
She gave her arm a triumphant shake, and for a moment, she almost looked proud.
Crane stared at her arm. Sure, if you could call being a walking biological hazard a 'perk.' But that alone was already a warning in the making. What else was this virus doing?
If the virus could mutate humans like her, what else could it do? New infected types weren't just random—they were a warning.
"...You really think there's something up with this virus?"
"It's something to look into," she explained. "The Ravs assigned me this little project. I'm supposed to monitor how this affects those new types out there. And if they survive long enough, I take blood samples from them and jot down the side effects."
"Like me," he said, his voice low.
Jack nodded. "You surprised me. More than what I bargained for."
"...Why?" he asked.
"Another group we know is working on a cure. In Harran."
Again, the Tower. But Crane swallowed his reaction, forcing himself to tread carefully. He had to play it safe. "Ok. What does that have to do with your little project?"
"It's simple, really. We want to make sure this 'cure' won't fail us."
Crane's mouth fell open with his eyebrows knitted tightly. And in fact, he was offended. What was all that running around for, trying to get that research back?! "It's a cure. How can it fail?"
Jack didn't share his skepticism. In fact, she didn't smile. "The Grad student I told you about? He's afraid that this new strain's adapting too fast for a cure to beat it."
The words hit Crane like a gut punch without even knowing it. Hell, it hadn't even crossed his mind. But the more he thought about it, the more he had a terrible feeling inside.
Before all of this, he truly believed that the research could solve everything. All it needed was enough time, resources, and the right people. Of course, he didn't have any knowledge of how pathology worked or the whole science behind an antivirus. That was Camden's territory.
But if the Harran virus could develop a resistance against the cure...that could spell disaster for everyone.
"So." The brunette's voice snapped him out of his grim thoughts. "I'm collecting all the data he needs. Once we have enough, we can send it over to them and strengthen the vaccine research."
This other group, Crane pieced everything together with what she'd just said. He was almost hesitant to continue, but he really needed to know.
"...This group you're talking about," He then added a moment of feinting ignorance. "The Tower, right?"
Jack nodded; this time, her fingers tightened together at the mention of the name. Still no news from Asem on that matter.
"What's there to worry about?" he probed further—spun the question around to gain more information for himself. "A cure's being made... All of this could be a waste of time."
"It's an idea worth looking into."
"That could lead to nothing."
"Same goes for this cure. Nobody knows the outcome."
Crane groaned. Loud. He was trying to fight a wall—who was also right. He had no idea how far Camden had progressed since he left Harran.
"Alright, how can that secret weapon of yours help?"
"Think of it this way. How is antivenom made?" Freakazoid stared at her, puzzled. When he didn't answer, she prompted, "You have an animal take a snake's venom to create…" She let the sentence hang, waiting for him to catch on.
"Antibodies."
"Exactly," Jack said with a confident nod. "This pet project is about creating immunoglobulin. And my body might be the key. At least, that's what Bones believes."
A key. That was the thing; both she and this Bones guy weren't entirely sold on their own theory. Or at least, Jack was just dressing it all up to make her half-baked idea sound plausible. Hopeful. The entire success of her so-called project was riding on her lone mission.
The more Crane thought about this, the less he felt optimistic about it. It wasn't a terribly long shot—it was a leap into the abyss.
"This is crazy..."
"Come now. It's just a little data-collecting. No harm done."
"Except for you. You have a death wish doing this," he scoffed, lowering his head. Boy, if he were the normal Crane before, listening to this lady's bizarre, loony objection, he'd be heading for the hills.
"And ask me to sit around and wait for any news?" she rebutted. "If this project works, maybe we can stand a chance. Maybe you can too."
Crane's head turned too fast. Don't give him that. But she had to continue pushing the right buttons.
"You're still an oddity in all of this."
"Heh!" Crane let out a bitter laugh. "Do I look like I need help?"
"Well, do you?"
That stopped him cold. His claws curled tighter in response, the denial coursing through him like a live wire.
He didn't want to admit it—openly, anyway.
Everyone feared him. He'd been treated like an animal, a monster. Crane couldn't forget that poor kid from the other night.
How on earth was he going to last like this...
"How about hiring me?"
Crane blinked, needing a moment to digest those words. Then he glanced at her: that was a bold and mad question. "What?"
"Hire me," Jack repeated, both cocky and somehow genuine at the same time. "Looks like you're struggling on your own. A Rav's gotta help people, after all."
"Hmph," he chuckled, almost buying this woman's dry sense of humor. So he might as well entertain her a good bit. "...I'm nowhere close to being considered human."
"Really? So chit-chatting with me isn't human? Wow... That's a first."
"And you're deranged to be talking to me, lady."
"Better than nobody, right? And the name is Jack. Call me Jack."
Crane was baffled. There was so much honesty behind this crafty woman that a person wouldn't be remotely sure if she was being sincere or not. "...You're serious."
"I'm always serious. Everyone just assumes I'm not."
"W...Why?" he forced himself to ask. "I nearly killed you. Twice."
"And here we are. Holding a conversation."
"What… How can you trust me that I won't go off the rails again?"
"Trust you with my life?"
That line hit Kyle like a freight train. He was almost certain the madwoman would laugh at her own statement. But she didn't.
"I'm the one asking for your help, Freakazoid. Not the other way around," she explained firmly. "I'm far away from my own people and no one except them knows what I'm doing. No one else can know about this project."
The weight of her words sunk into Crane. And this entire time, she remained unflinching.
"Now you know about it. That makes you the only person in the world I can trust with this secret."
When she put it like that, ok, that was a bit too much for his plate. She was really asking him to be her support? To watch her back without it looking delicious to him? He was close to a sheer drop the last time, and he could easily take her with him in one go.
Moreover, this lead of hers could end up being like the 'cure' he sought in the Countryside.
It was a colossal, reckless burden she was laying on him.
He opened his mouth to ask, "Are you sure?" but one look at Jack told him it was pointless.
She'd already made her decision from the very start.
"There's a catch, of course," Jack said in the most matter-of-fact tone, completely tearing down that brief moment of gravitas Crane had allowed himself to feel.
He breathed in and out. Unbelievable, it felt so surreal—that this woman was a part of his imagination that his frazzled state of mind had created. And as unbelievable as it sounded, there had to be some catch. Always.
"...What's the catch?"
Jack's grin slowly and steadily weakened, just a little.
"You being my Lifeline."
Crane narrowed his eyes on her. Out of obvious puzzlement.
Jack leaned forward. "The Ravs have their own rulebook. If you plan on leaving home, then you take a Lifeline. They hold your life in their hands just as much as you hold theirs in yours. And that comes with the job of stopping you when your time comes."
That was a dark answer he never expected. But maybe he should have.
"Same deal the other way around."
Crane's jaw tightened. That was a responsibility no one could stomach—something he knew all too well. And to see how nonchalant the brunette was made it even harder to process.
"Now...before you ask, yes. I did leave without one," she said quickly, as if reading his thoughts. "Nobody wants to take it on with a risk-taker like me… But that doesn't mean I can't ask for help now and then. And right now, I'm asking you."
Geezus, lady, he thought to himself. What a pitch. It had to be the heaviest task he was given. And she had the brilliant idea to make a killer machine her Lifeline. People would think she wanted a quicker death.
None of the stuff he had done in Harran—or even in his old job—could compare to this request. Yes, he had already made a commitment to end her life, being given the same offer from the very person herself hit very differently.
Her cheerfulness didn't lighten the atmosphere, either.
To her, it was just another job.
"You're absolutely insane," Crane blurted out, as if to drive that point home.
"I've been told that," she admitted with a wry grin. "You've been doing a fine job tagging after me for that one reason."
Crane recoiled with a sliver of guilt. That the entire time he had been after her was because he believed he gave her the virus.
"Why not keep at it?" she asked. "Help me figure out everything about this variant, including what's going on inside you."
Crane sat there, stunned. Then he gathered himself. The job he was given? It sounded exactly like any other job he'd gotten before he became a mutant. Only that this time...he wasn't doing it alone.
The question burned in his mind: was he really going to throw himself back into the fire again?
"Sun's up."
The eerily breathtaking orange light bathed the Coast like a wave. The night was over. The terrifying things that preyed on humans rushed back into their dark hidey holes.
Except Crane.
The sunlight reached an awning he was under. But with the angled casting of the rays, he still felt the heat hit his skin.
The horrid burning, however, wasn't as bad as before. If anything, it was...bearable. He had a moment of pain in his eyes once the sunlight pierced over the mountains, but they adjusted far faster than they had on his first day as a Hunter.
It was almost like his body had developed a resistance—just a small, fragile resistance—to the daylight. Not enough to make it tolerable, but it was something.
He glanced at the woman, Jack. She took in the beautiful sunrise, shades shielding her eyes while she smirked cheerily. She survived another night, and it was another routine to her now.
Overconfident, much. But maybe, Crane thought, having her around might actually be something of a change in this bleak existence.
"Alright," Crane gave his answer verbally. His quietly monstrous voice only made a dent in Jack's overzealousness. But it was a small blow to his pride. "I'll take the offer."
Jack chuckled, clearly pleased. "Guess that makes you an honorary member now. Welcome aboard."
"Really? You give membership like that?"
"Unofficially. If you want dental care and five vacation days, you'll have to go through Talo." he stretched as she stood, her joints giving small pops. "Alright, Freakazoid. We start at two."
Crane raised an eyebrow at the casual dismissal—mainly, the time—but she had already dropped down to the open-air parlor. "Where are you going?"
Now it was Jack's turn to look at him like he had asked the dumbest question in the world.
"To bed. What? You think my service is 24/7? I've been up all night, and right now, I need sleep. And a bath. And some first aid." She strolled off with her rambling and a stiff gait in her walk. "Maybe some painkillers. Aspirin. Anything for this killer headache."
What an odd person. A little kooky in the head and a bit too trustworthy, now that Crane really thought about it. But she was a better pick than most of the choices he had in the past.
Crane jumped down to the lower floor-
And suddenly, his vision warped.
Everything spun around him with shapes twisting and bright light swirling. It threw his balance off; barely catching himself before he hit the ground. Bracing on his knees, he waited for the dizzy spell to pass.
What the hell was that just now?
This was different from the usual fits, yet strangely... familiar. He tried to pinpoint the sensation. When had he felt this before?
And for a fleeting moment, he could have sworn he saw Jack's figure morph. Instead of the red jacket with the dog emblem on the back, long flowing robes draped as she walked away.
The Mother.
The dark whispers came back. Something was wrong-
"Hey. Freakazoid."
Jack's voice snapped him out of it. Like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head.
His whole world realigned in an instant. And Jack was Jack again, looking back with a look of mild concern behind her shades.
"You ok?" she asked.
Ok?
Was he?
No. That was his mind playing tricks on him, right?
He wasn't sure. What was he supposed to say?
In the end, he did what he always did.
"Y-Yeah," he lied to Jack. "I'm alright."
END of PROLOGUE ARC: WELCOME TO SCANDEROON
A/N: 3/7/20 Heyo all. And yes. YES. YES, I've finally finished revamping the ninth chapter of Descent, and the last chapter of the first arc. It has been a fun ride revamping these first chapters for this arc. Also, no. That statement doesn't mean I'm ending here even if it sounded like it.
I do want to reinforce one thing to you readers: while I am very grateful by the number of comments, favs and follows for this fic and the tremendous amount of support for a fic I never imagined to put a lot of worldbuilding into, I have noticed some of you being concerned that I may be abandoning this fic but I assure you I have absolutely no intention to drop this fic, especially when I have lots of fun writing this. I want you to take note that I am not the fastest writer, nor am I really the most clever in writing. As an example, this chapter took the longest to work on because two parts had to be revamped severely and a new part had to be added. It takes a lot of my free time to not only work but also plan and brainstorm for a coherent plot. I also do have other fics in the works but again, that does not mean I won't work on this fic again.
I ask if you be patient from here on out however. I have mentioned this at the beginning that I am writing this fic in arcs, the first completed here and also before this fic was uploaded, I had been working on a plot document to work out its elements carefully. I have abandoned fics or went back to revamp an old one because I had always fallen into a problem where I used to write a story without a plan and end up getting writer's block. This document is to help me with that. That said, the next arc(s) will take time for me to plot them out. So again, please be patient. I will do my best to get them up asap.
That said, I do have an idea to keep you guys engaged during dry periods. I have always wanted to write side-quest stories but didn't know how to integrate them into the story. But I now know how by simply making them be their own chapters and in between arcs so not to break the flow but also give you guys something to enjoy. Hopefully, this will be good enough until the next arc is up.
Anyhow, enjoy this chapter! Any update or issues I have, I will post them over at my Descent blog, dlthedescent at tumblr.
Enjoy!
Also, I'd like to give a shout out to one fic I've been enjoying alot, Shadows of a Dying Light by UranicSubseter34! He's an incredible writer, working on a "Monster Crane" story a bit like mine and you will enjoy it as much as I have. Fanfiction Link: s/12780940/1/Shadows-of-a-Dying-Light
7/2/21 - Added new lines, fixed mistakes and edited parts according to new timestamp from pilot.
12/3/21 - Reedited for mistakes and added a small aesthetic change to Crane's design.
24/11/21 - Reedited for minor mistakes.
21/2/22 - Went over a full chapter edit with some fixes, retwists, deletes and adjustments. Edited some dialogues.
5/4/22 - Minor edits.
7/7/22 - Fixed lines and edited dialogue
19/4/23 - Fixed lines, added some details and edited some dialogue.
4/1/24 - Final fixes and changes, I hope
24/1/25 - Reedted some parts to be more streamlined and removed some unwanted text.