Chapter Summary
- SETTING UP SHOP
I still can't believe it... We survived. We got Antizin. And this woman...wants a freak like me to be her Lifeline... There are a lot of questions about her and this poison of hers. It could be something. Or nothing. But I know that if I want some answers, then I'm gonna have to stick around with Jack. - Kyle
INTERMISSION: SETTING UP SHOP
"So…this group of yours. You call yourselves the Ravs?"
What was this? Was this small talk she was hearing behind her? Out of a sentient revenant with the preposterous biology of shooting tendrils out of his arms and a blade out of bone. More surprises Jack could ever handle receiving than...well, a normal person should.
The two walked briskly away from the Blueside Hotel while Jack searched for a safehouse to sleep in. She didn't mind the silence but to her surprise, Freakazoid was the first to break it.
Frankly, she hadn't pegged him as the chatty type, given his situation in the first place. Moreover, she had an inkling that he didn't make talk even in the past unless it was getting to the point.
If anything, he wanted info. But not 'in-her-face' kind of approach. He took a lot of effort to keep an arm's distance.
Whatever had happened to him in the past must have shredded his ability to trust.
Fine. She'd entertain him. See how much information Freakazoid thought he could easily pry out of her.
See who would become the catcher in this conversation.
"Yes. That's our name. Don't wear it down."
"And you're from the Outskirts?"
Harmless question.
"Lived long enough to call it home."
"And there are survivors? Alive."
How curious the way his tone went there, and he did it out of confirmation. So he knew enough about a place in Harran, but that could easily be debunked as being common knowledge.
"What's left of us. We're a pretty tight-knit community. With all the trees and rural spots." Jack glanced over her shoulder and tossed a cheeky smile right at Freakazoid. "Why? Are we supposed to be dead?"
"I...might've remembered something about that place having no survivors."
Very good dodge there.
"Is that so?" Jack chuckled, not at all offended. "The Ministry writes us off while the Ravs have to clean up their bloody mess."
"Been meaning to ask about that name. What do you do? Have rave parties all night to keep the morale up?"
Jack snorted. What an interesting imagination he had. "It's short for Ravens. Some of the Grad students came up with that name. Something catchy to tell folks that we're the good guys and make our enemies twice about us."
"So you're the law," he pressed on with a skeptical tone.
"Nothing of the sort. Just the local neighborhood watch."
That answer caught Crane off guard, but he understood. It was the same story everywhere—like Scanderoon or Harran. When things fell apart, people were forced to defend themselves.
"Then the outbreak happened. The Community changed. And Asem formed the Ravens as sort of…a service for hire."
Not what Crane had in mind. But he didn't know how to feel about the phrase, 'a service for hire'. It dredged up comparisons to Rais' men, making him feel apprehensive.
"Let me guess." Seeping out in his tone shook a moment of distaste but he didn't hide it. "You get Antizin for your services. Maybe loyalty-?"
But a laugh from the woman in red cut him off. "Loyalty doesn't pay anyone in a crisis. Do you think I'd throw myself onto the train tracks for a pat on the back?"
Alright, Crane could respect that. He wouldn't dive headfirst into a Volatile nest for free either.
"And I've already told you. They stopped giving Antizin months ago."
She continued along her light stroll, her choice of route purposefully to drag the conversation on while the Freakazoid kept talking. Like a cat toying a mutated mouse with just its tail.
He couldn't help but bite.
"Then why do it?"
"Do what?" she pried 'cluelessly'.
"Help people," the Freakazoid clarified. "Everyone's looking out for themselves. No time to worry about strangers."
There were slight pauses. As if the creature behind her was carefully picking his words. Was that a habit from his previous life? But he should have already known how observant Jack was. Any sort of hint couldn't escape her eyes. Or ears.
"True. Every man for himself."
The groan that escaped Crane's chest betrayed his frustration. Her playful dodging wasn't the answer he wanted. "So why send one of their own out to the middle of nowhere? Or put all their eggs into one basket on this...poison perk of yours?"
"I've already told you why."
"You know what I mean."
"Aren't you a curious little zombie?" she teased. "But you already gave the answer."
Crane tightened his eyes frustratedly. "And that is?"
"That everyone's looking out for themselves. It's why the Ravs have to help people."
Her roundabout logic made his frown deepen. It was like wading through mud, trying to pin her down for a straight answer. Just be patient, she'll come around eventually.
She was like any other cagey person Crane had traded barbs with in the past. Sure, she was a pretty lady…
But, she could be really…
Thankfully and unfortunately, she was a blabbermouth.
"The Outskirts was a lost cause," Jack continued, softer. "Nobody came to save anyone. Nobody could leave either."
That lined up too well with what Crane had heard before parachuting into Harran. The Outskirts was one of the earliest places hit with the virus. A week after the news broke, the area was closed off.
No survivors.
Then it was a blatant lie by the Ministry if Jack came from the Outskirts, alive. They'd let those people rot in isolation, with no one outside wiser.
"Then Asem said she had enough. She took charge, got as many hands on deck as she could. We banded together and rebuilt the Community from the ground up."
Crane mulled over her words. It sounded noble—too noble. Too good to be true.
The last group he came across had their own idea of 'helping people'. With their so-called divine actions from their 'God of the Sun'. Meanwhile, the Ravs were built on ashes, and not the hopes of a prophecy but still hope regardless.
"And nobody noticed?" he asked. The Outskirts wasn't as remote as the Countryside.
"Oh, GRE noticed." Crane's body stiffened at the mention of his old employer. That accursed acronym dragged back memories he'd rather leave behind. "Caused a racket at our base that we had to relocate."
Of course, they would meddle. He could only guess as to why.
"Keeping the Community alive is our revenue stream right now," Jack explained. "But the recruitment progress, well... Requirements became strict after what happened."
"Which is…?"
"People brave enough to leave the Community. People with a death wish. And people infected with the virus." She faltered for just a moment, then gestured with both arms toward herself, presenting the ideal candidate for the Ravs. "Surviving in the Outskirts long enough can mess people up."
Hence, having a 'Lifeline.' An executioner as a partner.
"Sounds like a bunch of 'saints'." He couldn't help let that slip out of him.
"Saints. Sinners," Jack jested, picking on his sarcasm. "They're pretty much the same word. Just depends on how you're looking."
"Alright," he uttered. "So which is it then?"
"We're survivors. Just like everyone else in this city."
Again, she boxed him into a corner, leaving him with no clever rebuttal. Because she was right. But even as he begrudgingly admitted that to himself, he didn't and couldn't lower his guard.
Too many questions about this group and its enigmatic spokeswoman.
"That said, there's no going alone with the Ravens. No being a hero either. You stay low, stay safe," Jack said.
"Funny. Coming from someone with a death wish."
She didn't argue. "It's good advice. Consider it your first lesson as a Rav, Freakazoid."
Crane narrowed his eyes; he didn't remember agreeing to being a Raven.
"That makes you part of the Community now. Like family," she added.
Bzzt!
Jack hadn't expected her earpiece to buzz. All she wanted was sleep. A warm meal. It hadn't even been five minutes since they left the hotel, and already, someone was calling her for another request. But Jack wasn't one to ignore a call.
"Hello?"
"'Ello, Jackie."
"Your favorite traders here. At your service."
The frown on the brunette's face deepened, sagging to one side at hearing the two voices.
"Ender… Riza… What a surprise," Jack replied through gritted teeth.
"She's not happy."
"How rude! Even ruder for not to welcome us after we said, "Yes, Asem. We'll gladly do annnything for Jack"."
"A little appreciation goes a long way, y'know."
"Of course. I appreciate your riveting chatter and wonderful service tremendously," Jack replied. "Back home."
Crane watched the exchange with mild curiosity. It was an odd sight. He had assumed nothing could chip away at the cheeky brunette's demeanor, but before his eyes, there was a crack—like the last call she had gotten. Those two on the line clearly had an effect on her.
"Too bad. We're by the Bayside. Meet us there for a reunion."
"You'll see our sign."
Actually, it looked more like Jack was dealing with kids.
"Now wait-" Jack started, but the line clicked dead.
The ex-kickboxer let out a low groan, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Unbelievable."
"Friends of yours?" Beastly asked.
"You could say that... Two Ravens too far away from home."
"I thought you were particularly family."
"Of course. It's like having a few unwanted relatives coming over," she swiftly said to Freakazoid.
So much for catching forty winks.
"Fine," she groaned. "Can't keep them waiting."
Her tone made it clear—whoever these people were, she intended to send them packing and go home. Crane didn't need to ask any more questions; he'd see for himself when they reached the Bayside.
The lady took off first, using the rooftops and platforms to avoid the infected below. Crane kept to the shadows, weaving through the buildings, as he trailed behind her. Jack was the the guide here—she was clearly more familiar with the city's layout than he was.
By the time they reached the tenth rooftop, Crane spotted the red plume of smoke. A flare.
Crane's sharp eyes quickly picked out the location: a convenience store with a flat roof, its edges precariously close to the sluggish walkers below. Hardly an ideal spot for a meetup.
Standing on the roof was an orange skeleton, waving them over. And on the side of the building, a wet graffiti symbol had been painted in a hurried manner. But somehow, it gave a sense that it had been done numerous times—a white bird with wings up to the sky.
"That's a giant 'notice me' sign anyone can come to."
"How else are we supposed to get our business name around if nobody knows about us?" Jack chided.
The pacing behind Jack slowed to a crawl. A turn on her heel, and Jack spied the Day Hunter at the edge of a building, refusing to step any further from the shadows.
"Oh, come now. They don't bite."
"Like you did?" he rebuked with that deadly, cold stare.
Jack shrugged. She wasn't going to deny that. "I bite." She pointed a thumb at herself before gesturing that to her faraway allies. "Those two are just Grad students."
"I can see how you earned the title, 'Wild Dog'," Crane sarcastically remarked.
"Why, thank you. I brighten up anyone's day with my pearly whites." Jack replied with a grin as wide as the moon 'just to prove a point'.
"That wasn't a compliment." Crane groaned. Loudly. He had grown tired of the grating rasp of his voice, but in this moment, he couldn't care less. New faces meant new problems, meaning they'd see his mugshot, and that would spell more trouble for him.
So he stayed put. Arms folded.
"Seriously?" she uttered, throwing her hands up in exasperation. With Freakazoid refusing to budge from his spot, Jack slapped her hands to her sides and marched toward the rendezvous point with purposeful strides.
Crane took to a new vantage point, the next two floors of the same building he was in. Able to see and hear everything.
"Hey, Jack."
From there, Crane watched a young woman lean casually over the rooftop's edge, her wave casual and familiar to the brunette. She looked younger than Jack, maybe in her early twenties, and shorter by at least a head. Short, messy blond hair held back by a bandana.
She had worn a gas mask, certainly because of the paint fumes and with so many vibrant spray-shaped stains on her pants. The artist behind the bird on the wall.
The young sprinter took it off, over her bright yellow scarf, while she shone a carefree smile.
"Riza. Ender," Jack greeted.
"Nice to see you're still alive."
A third voice. Out in view on the rooftop stood the second runner with a lean, wiry frame. Unlike their teammate, they exuded a calm and collected demeanor under all that gear they wore. Googles, face mask, hoodie, utility belt and gloves stained with grease.
As if fully embracing for the post-apocalyptic streets.
While the young lady stood out like a loud yellow canary, her friend was very much like an owl. Their face mask literally had an owl painted on it.
These two sure had an artistic side to them in different ways.
"You didn't even say goodbye," the spunky female runner said, acting all hurt.
"We were heartbroken. And Lenny's furious," the owl guy spoke.
Jack just shrugged her shoulders. "I had to go see family. Simple as that."
"But here?"
"Ender. I crashed here," she explained. "And what about you two? How did you get here?"
"Please. You, of all people, should know better than to underestimate Ender," Riza spoke out proudly. "If it wasn't for him, we'd still be wandering around in circles."
"It's nothing really," Ender hummed. "Some of us know how to read a map."
Jack sighed, already exhausted by their banter. "Need I remind you two about the circumstances. Again."
Ender dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah. We can see it around us." He swung a hand out at their surroundings—the smoke, the undead, the chaos around them. "You worry too much."
"Then I take it that the way to the Outskirts is clear?"
The pair looked at each other. They were eerily in sync, almost like twins.
Finally, Riza shrugged. "Nope. Still caved in."
"Wait, then how-"
"Same way those zombies are moving between the Outskirts and Scanderoon now," Ender cut in. "The maintenance tunnels."
Jack grimaced. Hearing two young adults, fresh Grads, casually talk about surviving a death trap like the maintenance tunnels was enough to give her a headache. "Really, you two-"
"We're still alive, aren't we?" Riza interrupted. "Everyone misses ya by the way."
"Except Lenny."
"Yeah, well," Jack mumbled, despite wearing a smile as always. "I wasn't planning on going back home. Not without his boat anyway."
Riza chuckled. "Oh, Lenny's definitely gonna kill you."
"Everyone's already placing bets," Ender added. "My money's on Lenny."
Jack looked insulted. "What about me?"
The two runners shrugged in perfect unison. "You're Mad Jack," Ender continued. "But Lenny's some hitman."
"'Presumed'," Jack corrected sharply, leaning on the word as if to hammer it into their heads. "We don't know what he did for a living."
"That's what makes it fun," Riza added with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Jack groaned, dragging a hand down her face in exaggerated frustration. These kids could make her feel old and unappreciated…
While she grumbled under her breath about the lack of respect, Riza's attention drifted elsewhere. She squinted at something in the distance and tugged at her partner's sleeve, motioning subtly. Ender followed her line of sight and immediately spotted it too.
"I see you're not alone." Ender pointed at Crane's hiding spot. "That's the new guy Bones was telling us about?"
Hang on. How did they see him? Crane was sure he had picked a good blindspot.
Apparently not good enough.
Jack wheeled back, glancing in Freakazoid's direction before turning back to the pair with an amused look.
"How much did he tell you?" the ex-kickboxer asked.
"Not much."
"Asem said he's important or something."
"Kinda." Jack kept her lips sealed on her partner's condition. Rather than beat around the bush without Asem's go-ahead. It'd only complicate things. "He's my Lifeline."
Both runners jerked back their heads at Jack's reply.
"He's your Lifeline?" Riza asked.
"Yes."
"Omph. I feel sorry," Ender confessed.
"Excuse me. I'm following the rules, am I not? I found myself a Lifeline. And a good fighter at that. So you can stop worrying about me, mate," the older adult assured.
"Oh, I didn't mean you. I meant him. He's got his work cut out."
Jack's frown deepened and stretched to one side. She couldn't catch a break. Meanwhile, Crane in the back narrowed his eyes at their exchange. What did they mean by that? What exactly did he sign himself up for?
"Well, if that's the case. Aren't you going to introduce him to us?" Ender pried.
"He's rather shy. Hasn't warmed up to us Ravs yet."
"Oh, shut up," Crane mumbled. Only to himself, of course—he wasn't about to let anyone else hear his inhuman grumbling. If he'd been closer, he might've gladly shut the chatterbox up in a more literal sense.
Jack still continued singing her tune.
"Right now, it's strictly business," she explained breezily. "He's only sticking around until our agreement's finished."
"Business, huh…" Ender said, glancing back at the stranger in the distance with a tone that told Crane, yeah, he's gonna be a problem.
Bit by bit, the two runners leaned further to the right, craning their necks to get a better angle on the new face. But he stayed in his spot—no one would fall for the idea of a 'friendly monster'. He clearly had the look and build of one. The spikes, talons, and hardened skin were dead giveaways.
"He looks like a creep," Riza whispered.
"More like a stalker," Ender added. "What is he wearing?"
"Hey!" Crane really, REALLY wanted to speak up. All he could do was pout and fold his arms.
"Looks can be deceiving," the brunette defended him, which also shocked him. What was she up to? "Give him time."
Ender, however, wasn't convinced, glancing back and forth to Jack. Although expressionless thanks to the owl mask, he wasn't one to question Jack but concern tugged at him to lean in closer and ask in a whisper.
"Did you tell him about Bones' project?"
Unbeknownst to the duo, Crane already had caught every word with his sharp hearing.
He doubted blocking his ears would stop the unintentional eavesdropping.
"I explained everything to him. That's why he's on board."
Riza and Ender exchanged quick, uneasy glances. Neither seemed pleased with Jack's answer.
"Bones said we had to keep a tight lip on this 'project'," Riza pointed, her fingers curling into air quotes around the word project. Jack merely shrugged, brushing off the concern.
Tight lip. Crane replayed Jack's earlier words—no one outside the Ravs knew about this pet project of hers. But was there really such a heavy need for secrecy?
"Was Asem okay with this?"
"I'll talk to her about it." Crane caught the brunette smirking back at him over her shoulder. "He's actually helpful."
"How?"
"A lot of things," she hummed. "I assure you, he's more than what he seems. Might even surprise you."
Crane could see the doubt painted all over the runners' faces. Or disagreement. Especially on the younger lady's face—trust for outsiders was paper-thin and it was all too familiar to him. For one as visibly monstrous as Crane, he had an enormous uphill battle.
And honestly? He didn't blame them. He had his fair share of distrust in the past.
The Ravs didn't strike him as any different. Sure, Jack sold them as a ragtag group of do-gooders, but Crane couldn't buy it. Not when they hid their secrets.
As he said to Jack before, everyone looked out for themselves, even himself. But there was no harm in keeping one's friends close and one's enemies closer. That way, he could pick up some intel.
Get some answers about the Tower.
...He almost wanted to laugh at himself. He'd be dead before he would ever hold a conversation with them.
"Now," Jack's unbreakable cheeriness broke the awkward silence between her and the duo. "Did you bring those fancy syringes?"
The two runners gave another passing glance at each other, silently conceding defeat in their efforts to question anymore on the previous subject. Ender was the first to admit it by tossing a small knapsack at her. "How exactly did you manage to lose the first lot?"
Jack inspected the goods carefully—four special syringes nestled inside the medical knapsack. The powerful kind, sharp enough to penetrate through even hardened flesh, fast enough to draw blood from even the most reluctant donor.
Four vials to collect four blood samples. Four chances and no room for error.
"It wasn't my intention," Jack defended herself. "I just so happened to come across a roadblock…which knocked my bag overboard."
"In other words, you lost everything. Including Lenny's boat," Riza added. "Oooh, he's gonna be pissed-"
"I did not lose his boat. I'm looking for it right now. There's a difference."
"You know these syringes aren't easy to come by, right? Doubt we'll ever find any in Harran," Ender explained.
"Couldn't I just ransack a hospital?" the brunette asked.
"Nope. Regular hospitals don't carry these."
"Right. Only at those special Hotspots…" Crane picked up a hint of dissatisfaction in Jack's voice. "Sorry if it opened up a can of worms for you two."
Ender shrugged. "There's nothing left at the old campus, anyway."
"Hm. Right." Jack wasn't convinced. And neither was Riza, who shifted uneasily, rubbing her arm as if trying to dispel a bad memory. There was a story there, one Crane could see between the lines but could only speculate about.
"So don't lose these," Ender exclaimed, his modest attitude breaking the grim air. "Then we won't have to go back there again."
"It's a promise."
"You still remember your objective, right? Or do we need to spell it out for you-"
"Oh, shush," Jack uttered at the sly jest but appreciated the light change in the atmosphere nonetheless. "I know how to use these thingamajigs and I know how to handle those Special freaks."
"Hm," one of the runners hummed. "Think she'll be okay?"
"Doubtful," the other whispered back, just loud enough for Jack to hear. "You know how bad her memory can be-"
"Anyhow!" Although Mad Jack's face kept smiling, she put down her foot. "Since you're done with your supply run, you can head back to the Outskirts."
The two runners didn't budge, 'visibly' surprised at Jack's statement.
And it was starting to test Jack's patience.
"Chop chop. The faster you get through those tunnels, the better I'll sleep tonight."
Still nothing.
"C'mon." Jack swung her arms off to the mountains, for them to take the hint and leave. "You should be home before night falls."
Finally, Ender broke the silence with a snort, turning to Riza.
"So back to our talk earlier," he said. "What do you think?"
"This place isn't any better than Harran. I had a peek at that Junction place. And they're barely pulling."
"Right? This outbreak started, what, three, four months ago? And most of everyone's already packed up and left. Or dead."
"And those freaks look nastier than the ones back home…"
Both runners had a strange glimpse that Jack didn't like when they turned back to her.
"We're staying."
The smile on her face fell flat, and Jack's sunglasses dropped down the bridge of her nose. "Excuse me?"
"This city's particularly a gold mine now," Riza started, almost singing. "Lots of clients need trade. Gotta give them something to believe in."
"And it'll look terrible on our resumes if we were to bat an eye and turn away. Can't pass this opportunity of a lifetime."
"You want to set up shop... here? " Jack pointed a finger at the very ground beneath her shoes. This city.
Ender popped a pair of enthusiastic thumbs up. "Why not? We got you." He patted her on the shoulder. "Your partner's welcome to chip in, too."
"Now I'm helping you two?" Jack beat Crane to the punch on that thought.
"It'd be like the first day for you," Riza assured Jack. "You can handle that, can't ya?"
"Ok. You two must've lost a screw on the way here. And that's coming from me. Ender's the problem if he stays. No offence, love."
Ender wasn't offended; he just accepted that fact from her with a nod. Still, he counterattacked. "Asem made us your official traders. And you're the best specialist we know."
"Basically. You're stuck with us until Asem says otherwise," Riza chimed in,.
"Of course. She did. Of course..." Jack grumbled under her breath. "I can't win this, can I?"
"Nope," they said in unison.
Jack sighed heavily, throwing a glance up at the sky as if it might help her escape. No amount of persistence would change their minds. "...What do you need?"
"Leave the frameworks to us," Riza said confidently. "All you have to do is raise our reputation in the city."
"Let them know the Ravs are here to help. The more buzz we create, the more jobs people will offer."
"I won't say no to any job. But let me remind you, Ravs aren't supposed to go loud and-"
"Relax. We know what we're doing," Ender cut Jack short.
"We pick our friends carefully," Riza remarked.
"And our enemies very carefully."
"I'd rather you didn't pick any enemies," Jack sighed, which seemed to fly over the two Grads.
"Hey," Ender then stepped closer to Jack for another whisper, jabbing his thumb in Freakazoid's direction. "If your new partner gives you any trouble, don't hesitate to radio us."
"Hey. I'm not dangerous." Then Crane decided to retract his quiet statement with a shake of the head. "Stop pretending you're normal. You're a frigging zombie."
"Should be the other way around," Jack exclaimed jovially. "One last thing. Got a spare?"
Crane squished his silver eyes, unable to tell what she was up to. Jack had tapped a finger against her ear, and silently, the two runners knew what she wanted. There was an exchange of hands and the handoff finalized the entire meeting.
"We'll be around the neighborhood block, Jack."
"But of course. Ender. Riza."
With that, Jack parted ways. She leaped from the rooftop with practiced ease, landing lightly on the shell of a turned-over car and down to the pavement. The two Grads remained on the rooftop, already deep in discussion as they laid out the next step of their establishment.
"See? That wasn't so hard," Jack said as she joined her partner in the shade.
Crane huffed, voicing out his skepticism. "They're in over their heads if they're anything like you..."
"They're good with their words, not fists. They know when to bail if things go south."
"And what's this about 'setting up shop'?" Crane asked. "Aren't you all a bit too comfortable with everything happening?" In fact, it sounded like their priorities felt scattered, even reckless, in Crane's opinion.
"Ender's right, though. You can't be going off into danger without some benefits to your belt."
"So your group profits off this outbreak." Crane's words laced with quiet judgment.
"Isn't anyone?" Jack answered straightforwardly. "I won't lie. I don't do charity work if there's nothing out of it."
"Hmph." The tone of his 'thought' escaped him as low and disdainful. Jack didn't miss it. "Sounds too much like him."
"Someone I should know? Or just someone you happened to remember?"
He grimaced, mentally kicking himself. You idiot! Play the infected with memory loss card!
"Nothing. Just mumbling to myself."
"Hm. 'Mumbling'."
That seemed to work, though not entirely. Jack lingered for a moment with a gaze that peeled back his layers.
One thing that left a bitter taste in Crane's mouth was her line of thinking—profit over principle. It reminded him of someone with that kind of logic...
He actually wished he could forget about him.
Kadir "Rais" Suleiman. The sadistic, violent, and irritable bastard whose psychotic philosophy had terrorized Harran. He thrived on the misery of others, hoarded Antizin,and exploited the outbreak to carve his name into everyone's minds.
And now? Rais was six feet under. Crane had made sure of that.
"For someone who doesn't remember his past, you sure have a lot of history."
He stayed silent. Averted his gaze. So Jack gave up her prying.
"Well, while you bloody pout there, I'll be off looking for work," she said, spinning on her heel.
"Whoa. Hold on a minute." He moved quickly, stepping into her path. Just a glimmer of sunlight touched his skin, but he didn't care about a little sting. "Aren't I supposed to be helping you? "
She tilted her head with a curious smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh. I just assumed you don't like volunteer work."
Crane growled in response. This woman… "Look. I'll admit it. I don't like your group. I don't like you much either."
"Really? Even after our bonding moment last night?" she asked exaggeratedly.
Oh, no. That tone. Crane's scowl deepened. She was playing her game again, and he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
"You're still questionable."
That answer most certainly gave Jack a gauge of how much he wanted to distance himself with anyone. Maybe that could be said in the same way about his past. Freakazoid was alright to tag alone to be her lifeline, but with an arm's length on her.
"Same goes for you, Beastly," she chimed. The nickname caught him off guard. Really? He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or if she genuinely meant it.
Either way, it annoyed him.
"But if we're gonna work together, we can't have any walls between us. Misery loves company."
Sure, and misery had to give Kyle this loon of a character. Beggars couldn't be choosers, apparently. But that didn't mean he should trust her so easily. Her motives, her real self behind that smiling mask of hers. She wore it to keep others out, just as he kept his distance.
"I'm only sticking around for the cure."
"Heh," the brunette's voice lifted into a playful hum. "At least you're being honest."
"My point is!" he cut in. God, how mentally draining it was dealing with her. "I'll help you. But if I do anything I don't like, I'll walk away. You got that?"
"You're the client. Your word is law."
Again, Crane grunted. Just how much was genuine, coming from her mouth, and how much was her messing with him?
"So. What does the client want? You obviously have an idea."
Crane hesitated, half-expecting her to throw in another smart-aleck comment. It was unnerving to see her give him leeway—too patient.
Eventually, he spoke up. "How about divide and conquer?"
Jack raised an eyebrow at the surprising suggestion. Still, Crane went on.
"I can't talk to people. Can't even show my face. And you have one big mouth."
"I'm touched."
"But you can talk to people. You pick the jobs that need the most help, and I'll take care of the problems. Bad guys included."
"So… Jack tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You want me to be your wingmate, and you do the legwork."
Whoa. A front would have been a better word. "I wouldn't go that far to call you a wingman...wingwoman, whatever. But yeah. Sure."
"Hm," Jack chirped. "...That's not a bad idea."
"It's a sound idea."
Sound, Jack thought. Coming from Freakazoid over there.
"We'll see about that. But I can't let you do all the work. You hired me, remember?"
"We can share the workload. Okay?"
She smiled with a chuckle. "This is going to be a beautiful friendship."
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed something into his hands—claws. His claws. She then gestured to her ear, a clear indication of what she'd just given him: a new earpiece set for two-way communication. The kind he used to rely on when he was still human.
So this was it. He really was going to do this: jump straight back into the fire. With a resigned sigh, Crane began setting it up.
"Alright." Jack clapped her hands together, her voice brimming with energy as she announced their next move. "First thing first. We need to make you presentable."
And just like that, things got weird. "...What?"
"Presentable," she repeated matter-of-factly. "You can't go running around looking like that."
"Hold on. What do you mean?" Crane's brows furrowed as he tried to keep up. What page was she on? He was still on Page One!
"I mean updating your wardrobe. Look at yourself," Jack explained." She gestured vaguely in his direction. "A pair of clean clothes might do you some good. Might even make you less grumpy."
It still didn't sink in him. How could she say all of that with such unnatural calm, as though this was a perfectly rational conversation? All with a straight face. "Do you hear - what kind of-" He had to take a second to collect himself. "Why would any of that be important?"
"Freakazoid, you're now a reformed zombie. You can't go looking like one terrorizing people," Jack strolled ahead, her voice trailing back to him. "You've already spooked the Junction."
She seriously meant it. But Crane took it as a cruel joke.
"Thanks for reminding me," he scoffed, only to get a 'you're welcome' nod from her. "You're forgetting that I'm not even human anymore. What's the point in...dressing up anymore?"
Crane spread his arms wide, gesturing at his entire form under the rags.
The words hung heavier than he intended. He couldn't go back to what was 'normal.' That version of him was gone, buried under layers of infection and memories he could barely touch. Henceforth, the bleakness of it all left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"You got a point there," she answered without denying that fact. Not even trying to sugarcoat the truth. "Maybe what you need is convincing the right people that you're still all there inside."
He stared at her, almost disbelieving. That was a tall order to do. An impossible one.
"You've already convinced me. That's a start."
Then the discord in his chest became light. Slightly. Crane had almost forgotten that Jack was now one person who now knew his secret. That she was crazy enough to have a monster as a partner. Anyone would deem her nutty for saying there was a talking zombie.
He gave Jack a long, hard look. "I can't figure you out."
"What is there to figure out?" she chided. "I'm just telling the truth."
Her truth.
It blew down the truth he was forced to carry; that he was no longer the man he used to be. It was disarming in a way he hadn't expected and trimmed some of the walls he'd built just to keep a sane mind.
He appreciated it, though. More than he wanted to admit. Hearing it from someone else—that he wasn't entirely gone—was a small relief he didn't know he needed.
But he wasn't going to tell her that.
SIDE QUEST: CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN
First order of business is looking the part. We can't have Freakazoid walking around looking like that, now can we? Luckily for him, we're not too far away from a few places we can pick clothes at. - Jack
"There's a street market not too far from here. Should have plenty of options to work with."
"This is the craziest thing you can suggest to me. Wardrobe. On a zombie."
And from the crazy lady, no less. It couldn't beat the time Crane collected glowing rocks for an alien conspirator. Or the time he stumbled upon a cave rigged with booby traps by a kooky old gunman hoarding his treasure.
Hell, Mad Jack might be a contender to that self-proclaimed witch with her questionable potions.
Actually, no, he quickly thought to himself. Harvesting infected organs to make some bizarre tonic for temporary invisibility was still the weirdest thing out of everything Crane had ever done in his life.
Jack darted across the roof shingles carefully, her gaze looking out for the landmark she had passed through a day ago. "Wouldn't you want people to see you as less of a freak? They might not even try to kill you."
"Sure. Sounds like fun. Then I can lose my humanity again and hurt them."
"Semantics. Have you forgotten about me? One bite, and you'll be right as rain."
Right as rain? Right as rain?! The lack of perseverance from this woman made him uncomfortable, frustrated, and outright baffled. He would never, ever want the beast inside him take over again.
If Crane could help himself before he lost control, then he'd make sure he would never cross that line.
It didn't help that Jack had such a blasé attitude towards the idea that he could attack her without cause. She made it sound so easy.
Before Crane could retort, Jack turned back to him, bold as ever. "Besides, do you really want to be walking around in those rags of yours?"
He blinked, then glanced down at himself. It was only now that he truly noticed the sorry state of his clothes—or what was left of them. Holes and tears, the layers hung off him after…who knew how long he went feral.
"What's wrong with them?"
"For one, you look like a hooligan. Have you been wearing those since the start?"
"No," he defended. "I think they look good on me. Helps me blend in with the crowd."
"Hm-hm." The brunette wheeled around on her heel, dropped down into the streets, dropping down into the street without another glance. "I believe ya, mate."
She didn't.
Crane followed reluctantly, watching her stroll toward the abandoned flea market without detracting from the goal. It was rather uncanny, to say the least.
What was wrong with this scene? Was it the woman simply strolling about like there had never been an outbreak? Or was it the fact they were literally getting clothes for him—a monster? Or that a woman was helping him get a pair?
This felt like something out of a cheesy movie: the reluctant guy being dragged around to carry shopping bags for his shopaholic girlfriend.
But this wasn't a rom-com. This was real life—or what was left of it.
That was why the snaking normality didn't suit him right while he watched Jack browse over the messy displays of traditional garments and knock-off brands. Then again, if her taste in fashion was what she wore on her, then he wasn't going to let her pick.
"Don't you have better things than window shopping?" Crane grumbled.
"Gonna be hard to find anything that fits your size," she droned, almost drowning out his complaints as she returned with three tops draped over one arm.
Without so much as a thought about the absurdity of trying to dress up an infected, she held a shirt up to him, stretching it shoulder to shoulder for comparison.
"You don't know my size," he grunted, swatting her hands away.
"I'm sure I can eyeball it," Jack continued and tossed the shirt to him. "Here. Try this."
The first pick caught him off guard—a decent button-down shirt, plain and in a muted color he tended to wear on duty.
"Go on." Even more awkward to be hurried to wear something that fit his style. Was she psychic or something? Jack went back to searching, rifling through racks in search of matching bottoms.
This whole thing was ridiculous.
Crane could ditch the idea altogether. He didn't need to subject himself to human rules anymore. What did it matter what a mutant looked like? And besides, Jack was being overdramatic. He didn't look that bad.
...Right?
With a huff, Crane sniffed at his clothes.
Immediately, he jerked his head back.
The stench hit him like a brick wall—a mix of decaying flesh, sweat, and weeks of feral grime baked into the fabric. It smelled like he was wearing a dead horse!
And the irony behind it all; a bloodthirsty zombie with a heightened sense of smell found the disgusting odor revolting.
Never mind.
He didn't know exactly how long he'd been 'under,' but the state of his rags told him everything he needed to know. Weeks, maybe longer. And those weeks had done no favors to his already dire situation.
No more denying it. He really needed a change.
Just get it over with, Kyle.
What started off as a delicate operation quickly devolved into a frustrating struggle. And he even hadn't put on the new shirt yet. The first thing he did was try to take off what was left of his...jacket?—but that alone proved to be a monumental challenge.
There was some leeway that he could feel the fabric slip over his mutated frame, but still...
"The one problem are those bumps of yours." An exaggeration there; those were bone protrusions. "You're fine with a few holes, right? I've heard that's in fashion nowadays."
Riiip!
It was a loud sound. That he and surely Jack had heard it. Disappointedly, Kyle glanced down at the torn-off sleeve in his claw.
He could feel the weight of Jack's eyes on him. A quick peek back confirmed it—the brunette examined the whole scene before her with bewilderment.
"You see? Those were about to go."
Don't try to hide it. She was laughing at him on the inside.
Jack pondered thoughtfully. "Gonna need something sturdier than the cheap stuff."
And just like that, she was off again, marching to the beat of her drum. Something had already caught her attention, leaving Crane to sigh and trail after her, shirt in hand...claw.
"Ah-ha. That could work."
The ex-kickboxer stopped at a tilted tour bus further down the road. Its windows shattered, and luggage spilled haphazardly onto the street.
Something had to be among the abandoned luggage.
"You're telling me to wear dead people's clothing."
"What? They don't smell." To prove her point—or perhaps to spite him—she took a whiff of a tank top in her hand. Her nose wrinkled instantly, and she pitched the offending item away. "Or you could walk around half-naked like these walkers-"
"I'll pass."
"If you say so." He couldn't tell if that was a retort or a tease, making his frown deepen. But a pair of pants tossing his way reminded him of his current, comedic blight.
The pants did look sturdy. A dead man's pants. The thought alone didn't sit well on him but...honestly, he wasn't exactly in a position to complain. He was an infected, after all—how much lower could his standards go?
Still, how did it come to this? A scavenger hunt for men's clothing, with Jack playing the role of an overzealous clerk. If indulging her would end this ridiculous charade faster, then fine. He might as well entertain her.
Crane gave the pants a reluctant once-over before his gaze shifted to Jack. She was standing in the doorway of the bus, looking at him.
"Do you mind?"
She cast a look of surprise—too theatrical to be genuine. "Oh, my apology. I'll give you some privacy." And she went back to scavenging.
He glared at her for good measure, ensuring there wasn't any funny business from her.
Then it dawned on him that he was going to see his hideously ugly body.
Could he bail right now and make a run for it? But the ruined jacket clinging to him was making him unbearably uncomfortable, and it wasn't going to come off on its own.
With a resigned snort, Crane started peeling it away, flaring his nostrils as he looked back at the damage. Could he salvage anything out of this?
He grumbled to himself. What was he even thinking?
The next obstacle was the worst.
He tossed the jacket aside with a grunt and turned his attention to what he believed was his shirt—dirty, shredded, and barely holding together. Then the skin beneath.
Crane froze as his abdomen came into view, the dark, hardened texture shifting with each breath. The pulsating veins running like living, faintly glowing wires, made his stomach turn.
He swallowed his disgust and forced himself to keep going.
But the shirt was practically fused to him, the fabric tangled on what felt like spines on his back. Worse than his jacket.
Frustration got the better of him.
"All ok back there?"
"I'm fine," he mumbled. "I know how to wear-"
Teeerr!
Another torn fabric in his claw. "Well, that's just perfect."
What on Earth did he rip this time? Jack wondered. She was tempted to look back—watch the poor zombie wrestle a piece of cloth. That would be fun to watch.
"Come on, you stupid piece of-!"
Riiiiiiip!
"You sure you don't need help?"
"Graassh!" the beast growled. He purposefully hissed back. The message was loud and clear: he would most definitely lunge at Jack if she were to glance back one more time.
"I'm just offering."
"Bullshit," Crane muttered, without realizing Jack heard that clear in her head. He wasn't going to let her ogle his whole, horrible body.
Then he found himself face-to-face with his next challenge. Pants.
Another low and bitter exhale. Why, Kyle. Why couldn't you have stopped before you started? He stared up to the high heavens, knowing full well that if he stopped, he would never hear the end of Jack's blabbering.
"We are in a flea market," she offered, stepping out of the bus with her head still averted away from Freakazoid. "I could look for a pair of scissors. Maybe a sewing kit-"
"Not. Helping."
"See. That's the problem with blokes like you. Don't want to bother with a little tailoring. It doesn't hurt to have a bit more fashion sense."
"Excuse me. I have excellent taste." He wasn't stuck to just one outfit over the course of his time in Harran. He could make it work with the right set of clothes—urban, rural and formal. Crane even discovered a nice set one time. He was suave in that suit. "I can pull off a suit if I wanted to."
Sure, that said attire had a bloodstain across the chest…but who was judging? He still made it work.
"Hm-hm. I bet you can do a lot better than my cousin ever could."
"You're one to talk. Wearing that flashy jacket like a bullseye," Crane remarked.
"If you want to debate fashion design, you can discuss it with its designer."
Crane peeked back, almost fumbling with trying to slip into the new pants. His gaze fell on the emblem stitched boldly across the back of her red jacket—the bleeding head of a feral dog snarling at anyone who watched her back. The words printed on them read: Dream Wild. Die Free.
"He would talk your ear off. Lad's a passionate artist."
"Yeah? I can see that."
"He could've made it big in America," she continued, her words steady but carrying a weight behind them. "Had a scholarship lined up and everything."
Crane didn't miss the shift in her tone. It was subtle, a crack in her usual confidence. "What happened?"
"He didn't take the plane when the first outbreak hit. Went back to Harran instead."
"Why?"
"His family were there. His friends were there. I was there."
The pause that followed hung heavy in the air. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, searching for Harran's skyline. All she saw were the distant, jagged mountains against the clear sky.
"He's just that kind of person," she added quietly, her voice softer now. "Too smart for his own good, and he cares too much."
Crane studied her for a moment. The grin she always wore was still there, but it didn't reach her eyes.
For all her bravado, there was worry lurking beneath her exterior. Maybe even guilt.
It struck him—this 'pretentious madwoman,' as he'd initially thought, had connections. She had history. Emotions.
"Call it a bullseye all you want. 'Least it means he can see me coming a mile away."
Crane retracted his earlier assumption about her jacket. That was a bold strategy to have. Visually loud, unapologetic, impossible to ignore. She was a threat; she was a target; she was an aspiration. She wanted to be noticed, even if it was dangerous—so long as it was noticed by the right people.
The designer crafted a candid reflection of her wild, defiant spirit.
Man, she's crazy, he thought to himself. But he couldn't deny how valiant she was too.
Teer!
And there goes another seam on that shirt he tried on. The good moment fled. Crane glared at the ruined shirt in his claws before tossing it away in frustration.
"Maybe this was a bad idea," she muttered to herself, watching the shirt hit the ground like a defeated flag.
"You think?" Crane snapped.
Jack just shrugged. Sheez, his hearing was good. "You could have said no."
"Yeah, well, I'm done," he declared, throwing in the towel. He wore back his 'rags'. Or what was left after all his attempts. One last, tired glare was thrown at Jack as he stepped away from the bus. "Can we go now?"
It was like trying to drag a sulking child around a mall she mused to herself. If that artistic lad ever met Freakazoid, they'd hit it off—probably.
"There are other options."
"Really?" he scorned impatiently. "Just give me a curtain and call it a day."
"Won't that drag you around, mate?"
The Day Hunter's face scrunched up, his glare sharpening into something murderous. "That was deliberate and you know it."
All he got was a soft chuckle. "Follow me, Freakazoid. We can do better."
"We can? Because it sure feels like we're doing worse."
"It's been years, but I think that store's still around." Jack had to take a minute to recall her bearings. Scanderoon had changed a lot since her last visit, but some things stuck out—the old roads and familiar sights.
Time flies. How funny that in three years, small things changed and others didn't.
Her grin widened as she spotted a storefront ahead. Deserted like most buildings, but its doors were wide open, beckoning like an invitation.
Crane read off the store's name. LEGEND.
"The best place for fighters and adventurers. Used to sponsor me before I retired." She knocked her fist against the padded leg guards she wore, demonstrating Legend's tough products after years of wear and tear. "They were very generous with their freebies."
Crane stayed quiet. There was no need for her to elaborate—everyone knew Legend, one of the largest sports corporations in the world. Back when he was still human, he'd briefly visited the branch back home for comfortable tops and practice equipment for judo sparring.
Legend had everything—like Jack said, Legend sponsored not only the elite athletes but also adventurers and thrill-seekers—people who battled urban jungles or braved wilderness trails. He'd heard they'd even hosted parkour tournaments in recent years.
Now, the outlet was a hollow shell of its former glory.
The interior was wrecked, like most places. Broken glass crunched under their feet as they stepped in. Half the shelves had been stripped bare, looted by desperate survivors when everything went to hell.
The remaining stock was forgotten and stunk of an old smell that permeated the air.
"All yours, Freakazoid." Jack spread out her arms, courteously welcoming him to the height of luxury shopping.
Crane huffed, his silver eyes scanning the ruined store. Jack had already turned her back to him, off to browse the ware.
"Window shopping in a zombie apocalypse," he mumbled softly. What a time to be alive.
Kyle wasn't hopeful. Not in the slightest. He fully expected to rip yet another article of clothing. Even brushing his claw on one t-shirt made him cautious that those big talons of his would tear the threads like paper.
"How about this?"
Before Crane could react, something soft and polyester draped over his head. The suddenness caught him off guard, and It took all of his willpower forcing his primitive instinct not to duck away. Or to bite Jack in retaliation.
It was a windproof scarf. And Jack had casually begun tying it around his neck like she was styling a mannequin
She took a step back, a minute to admire her handiwork. A quick adjustment here, a little pull there.
Crane let out a low, annoyed growl. "Okay, can you stop? You're not my mom."
Jack raised her hands up, taking a step back to give him space. "Fine, fine." She slipped her hands into her pockets and with a smirk, said, "it's a start."
He yanked at the scarf, loosening her tie but letting it settle around his neck. "Right. A scarf magically makes me less of a monster."
"At least it hides those big teeth of yours," she shot back and right into Crane's arms, she gave him a neat bundle of clothes she had rummaged together. "Here you go. You can choose your own delicates."
He snarled softly, again in retaliation, but she ignored him entirely. Off she went again, combing through the hangers.
"Changing rooms at the back. Holler if nothing fits."
Grumble, grumble from the grumpy zombie as he made his way toward the back of the store.
Fine. One last time.
And if this didn't work, he would march out the door. With heavy feet and the chosen clothes in his claws, he trudged into one of the changing rooms.
As soon as he opened the door, Crane froze in his tracks.
For a brief second, he thought he wasn't alone. That there was a zombie in the same booth as he was.
He had to stop himself from swinging his claw.
God. His face.
It forced him to swallow, to not look away in horror and disgust. He almost didn't recognize himself. Another hit of a bat from reality about his circumstances.
With a sliver of courage, Crane reached out to his face. Hurt unnaturally-blue eyes stared back at him. Sunken cheeks, charred lips, and jagged, uneven patches of scaly, discolored flesh that shimmered faintly like a predator's hide under the dim light.
It wasn't just bad—it was worse than he'd ever dared to imagine.
For a moment, Crane's breath hitched. Beneath all the grotesque changes, he could still see… something familiar. A fraction of his old self buried inside the creature staring back at him.
His mutation was an erratic mess, as though it couldn't decide what it wanted to be, caught somewhere between man and monster.
It was another cruel reminder.
And hair? He had a buzz cut and beard before he fell into Harran. Now, he couldn't tell if his skull might never grow anything again.
One thing for sure, that thing in the mirror couldn't be called a Volatile. Not even a Night Hunter.
It was something new. A mutant Crane had never seen before.
Was this the face Jack and everyone else had been looking at the entire time?
"Man… You're one ugly freak…"
His fist curled up instinctively. He really did want to punch that freak in the mirror. The desire bubbled up in his chest…
He raised his claw-
"What's the holdup?" the brunette cut through the air.
It was almost like she knew. Jack had a knack for stepping in at just the right moment, prying into someone's thoughts when they were at their lowest. Maybe that's why her words stopped him from throwing the right hook at his own reflection.
Crane let out a sharp breath, his fist lowering. "Nothing."
"If you're having cold feet, laugh back at it," she said casually from the other side of the door. "Works every time."
"...Still not helping," he muttered.
Another sigh rumbled out of his chest, and Crane turned away from the cursed figure.
"I'm just saying. Having a change is refreshing. Think of it as a clean slate from your whole feral phase. You're one step closer to being normal."
"Normal. This isn't normal."
"Neither is a zombie outbreak. But here we are, infected and stuck in this hellhole."
"So what? Make all of this the 'norm'?"
"It's called adapting. You've been doing it this entire time, haven't you?"
Was that even possible? Jack wasn't far off about him adapting, the only thing keeping him alive but that was when he was human. Now he was… this.
An abomination.
No amount of clothes could hide that truth—not from himself, not from anyone else stupid enough to believe he was a human. His eyes dropped to his hands—
No, his claws.
The hardened texture on his palms and fingers made sure there was not a single trace of fingerprints on the skin.
Crane could no longer call them 'hands'. He was forever stuck like this. And there was nothing he could do.
So the question easily seeped from his lips.
"Am I really able to turn back…?"
Silence.
Of course, Jack didn't have an answer. How could she with such a difficult question?
Through the crack of the changing rooms, he saw her by the entrance, her back to him. Pondering. Long and hard.
"...Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie to you?"
Jack's response surprised him. But neither option sounded good.
While he might have appreciated the brutal honesty, it was just prolonging the inevitable. A lie might be gentler, but it wouldn't change the reality staring back at him... He knew from experience.
Either way, it hurt.
"It's pretty obvious."
"You're asking the wrong person here," Jack exclaimed. Oddly calm. "I've seen a lot of strange and crazy things throughout this outbreak."
He really didn't like her answer. But there was some merit in her words.
"...I know the feeling."
She peeked back, surprised. No more sending thoughts to her skull.
"Seen too much shit that I can't tell if I'm sane or not," Freakazoid continued.
"Maybe that's a good thing. Would any madman admit that they're insane?"
Hearing that from a person like Mad Jack, just wow. Crane let out a soft scoff, stating the obvious. "You know you're with a freak of nature, right?"
"And? Surprisingly, it makes for good company."
He didn't laugh at the joke. Couldn't. He was deflated. Defeated. And dissatisfied.
But Jack didn't back down.
"...I've been through a lot of fights, Freakazoid. So I know from experience."
"Shut up," he snapped, though there was no heat behind the words, just exhaustion. "Turning into...this...it's not experience."
"It isn't. But you're still here, and that's gotta count for something."
Did it? Crane stayed shut.
"You might think no one's waiting for you. No memory, no past, nothing left. But I reckon there's at least someone still waiting for you."
No, the people he forgot weren't waiting for him. They shouldn't. But he didn't say that out loud to Jack.
His excuses stayed lodged in his throat.
"Doesn't hurt to believe someone's still holding onto you."
Jack's words were awfully powerful, sticking to his ears. And his train of thought steamrolled, gathering momentum he wasn't prepared for.
Slowly, surely, his doubt sank further like a stone in water.
The Tower would still be waiting for him to return from the Countryside. They didn't know what had happened to him. Lena, Brecken, everyone. They had no way of knowing.
They'd never see him walk through those doors at the Tower. Not in the same way that Jack's artist friend could see her coming, alive and well.
Even if she was on roll call to be the next zombie in line, Jack was willing to go the mile for her own people. The reason was simpler than what Crane had originally thought.
So that they wouldn't be plagued by the thought that she was gone.
The thought of leaving the Tower waiting, forever hoping for a dead man to return—it seemed cruel. But the thought of returning at all, of showing them what had become of Kyle Crane, felt equally wrong.
Then he laughed softly. Why should they keep waiting for a bastard like him?
A sigh followed.
God, this woman. Her damn mind games.
He had wanted her to stop this whole time. Stop convincing Crane that he was fine. He was sane. He was still himself.
And luckily, she hadn't stopped.
Crane glanced down at the bundle of clothes and only realized the first item on top looked very familiar. He even ran the fabric between his talons.
Right. He had worn this shirt before—the day he parachuted down in Harran. He really liked the pattern very much. Too bad it got stained with blood on day one. Was it a stroke of luck to see his favorite shirt again or a taunting reminder of his past?
The eagle emblem had worn down with time, much like him. One sleeve was in tatters, and a pocket was missing altogether. Anyone would ditch the shirt.
And holding it now, even after everything, he realized one thing why he couldn't throw it away.
The shirt was a reflection of his old self.
It was his past. But the past was the past. And Crane understood that better than anyone. It wasn't something he could go back to, no matter how much he wanted to.
He had to move forward. Adapt. Rise back up like a phoenix.
He clenched the shirt tightly in his claws, his resolve hardening. He couldn't keep Jack waiting.
The first thing he did was tear off the tattered sleeves, try and salvage this new 'memento mori' with the help of a hoodie Jack had put in the bundle. Experiment here and there, see what worked or what didn't, and test the combinations until it felt right.
Once he wore the whole outfit over his mutated form, the right boot size included, he finished off the last touches; pulling the scarf over his face a little, adjusting his collar loosely, and so on.
Crane took one final staredown at the beast in the mirror. Straightening his back and puffing up his chest to boost his self-esteem. Make the monster inside his head back away from him.
Almost. He could almost pass as a human.
The extra layers did their job to hide most of the tall tale signs. As long as no one went absolutely up close to his face, then he could be fine.
Jack had been right, though. It wasn't perfect, but the clean slate did make him marginally better.
Crane stepped out of the booth, adjusting the scarf around his neck once more and tugging at the new wraps on his arms.
Then he noticed Jack wasn't by the changing rooms.
"Jack?"
It wasn't just her lack of presence. The whole store was all too quiet.
"Hey," he murmured, this time his weird telepathy-
"I saw them! They went right into this outlet."
The voices were new. Instinct kicked in, and Crane swiftly melted into the shadows just before three prisoners brisked through the front doors.
Jack must have seen them coming. She wouldn't have just left. He could see her dark-orange skeleton ducked behind one of the aisles, near the cashiers. Waiting like he was.
"I don't see anyone," one of them barked.
"No! They were just here. A woman and some crooked-looking guy."
The team leader groaned. "Check the aisles."
Good, Crane thought. They were splitting up. If he and Jack could get one man at a time, they could come out of this unscathed.
But just as he slipped to the left, his broad shoulder bumped into a basket of something. Did they look like staves? Whatever, they made a lot of noise.
Thud! Kud! Thud! Clank! Thud!
Shit.
"Come out now!"
The thugs didn't even give Kyle enough time to prepare, already rushing towards the origin of the sound. Flashlight beams landed in his direction and exposed him, forcing him onto his feet.
"See! I told ya!"
"Heh. So you were right." Their weapons were at dangerous levels just enough to let Crane know they weren't here for small talk. "Alright, pretty boy. Hand over everything you got."
"And the lady too. Tell us where she is."
Crane's brow furrowed slightly. Wait... Did they really buy this look?
One of the prisoners leaned toward the others. "Say...doesn't he look freakishly tall?"
"C'mon! Don't stall!" One lackey stepped closer, leveling a machete dangerously close to Crane's neck. "You're in Alexander's turf, friend. So show us some respect-!"
The prisoner's eyes scrutinized him more closely. Something about the moment made Crane's skin—well, his hardened hide—crawl.
Then, without warning, the lackey reeled back in visible disgust.
"Shit! Yuk!" he hollered, wiping his hand furiously on his pants as though he'd touched something diseased. "What are you?! Some kind of leper?!"
The thug's friends groaned at his theatrics. One of them snapped, "Just get a glove and grab him."
Crane could barely process what was happening, even at the fact that he was called a leper. Were they serious? Was this outfit actually working? To a degree, anyway. They weren't running in fear—yet.
It had to be the dim lighting of the store. Or maybe these numbskulls were just that stupid. Something. Anything.
There was no way three humans had bought his disguise.
"Hey! Do you have a screw loose or something? I said move it!"
All Crane could do was stare at the jailbirds with bafflement. As his icy-blue eyes narrowed with growing impatience, a movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.
Jack stepped confidently out of her hiding spot and positioned herself in the way of the doors.
"I hate to break up this little gathering, just to see how far you buffons can roughhouse him," Jack sang, bringing all three men's attention onto her, "But Freakazoid and I don't have all day, gentlemen."
The trigger went off, all eyes on the woman.
"Hey! You-!"
Suddenly, the shouter felt himself pulled back while he watched his two cellmates charge after her. He never saw the bone-like blade coming, sliced across his throat.
The remaining two didn't even notice his lifeless body slumping to the floor.
Or the tendrils swooshing towards them.
"What-?!" The first guy watched his hand snap to a halt mid-swing by a grotesque, living thing that coiled around his wrist while the second man had his feet bound up.
Down the convict went and pulled away, screaming.
Everything went too fast. For one, the first convict's pipe was suddenly stolen out of that hand as he glanced back in horror. Watching his buddy freeze up at silver-blue eyes under the hood.
That leper had tentacles out of his arms!
Then he turned back to the grinning brunette, his pipe in her possession. The dull metallic clang echoed in the room as she slammed it hard into his shins.
"Gah!" he yelped, collapsing to the floor. As the convict writhed on the ground, clutching his shins, she brought the pipe down on his head with a sickening thud.
The last convict pleaded. For the leper to let him go. For his friend, now dead, to come save him. But all of his words stayed stuck in his mouth while his head was smashed down by a claw.
Crane gruffed back at the fallen men. Served them right for thinking they could pilfer off him. He had nothing but these new clothes on his back.
How many others had these thugs tried this stunt on? That just pissed him off even more.
But the little fuse inside him fizzled out as he turned to face Jack. Amid the small carnage, there she stood, grinning like this was just another Tuesday. She must have done it a million times in the ring and on the infested streets.
"Lookie here. Who's this handsome-looking devil who just walked into my life?" Jack teased. "People are gonna eat you up."
"Hmph. Flattering," he jousted. As nice as the compliment sounded, he wasn't going to fall for the act again. He hadn't forgotten about the hotel room. "I'll remember that when they're screaming at my face."
"Really? After everything, you're still so broody."
His eyes narrowed at the jab. Broody? Me?
"You have to admit I cleaned you up pretty well for a reformed zombie," she uttered, taking a bit of pride in helping with his fashion.
"Sure." It did feel snug to be in something that didn't burst at the seams. "But you know one look at me, and they'll run for the hills. Or shoot me."
Jack shrugged, her nonchalant expression making it clear she agreed with him, which really didn't help. However, that smug, catty grin of hers told Crane she wasn't worried in the slightest. In fact, she looked like she was looking forward to the challenge.
"So why don't we test it? Clothes make the man, after all."
A/N: 18/7/2020 Hellow all and this is a very interesting update of a chapter.
So I had mentioned that I am currently planning and brainstorming for the next arc, which will take time. And that I planned to write "side-quest" chapters to entertain you until the arc's chapter(s) is up and ready. It was a lot of thinking how I wanted to present such chapters but it did help me think over one issue I've had. The main reason why I haven't continued and have been more revamping the previous chapters is because I've intentionally combined my 'side quest' ideas within the main story plot. It sorta broke the flow at moments that I felt like that should be in their own chapters and not intertwined with the main plot. Thanks to the end of the last arc, it gave a good placement where to start side-quest stories as well as organizing the next arc's story.
There will be quite a number of changes from here on out, now that I've pinpointed what are my most important points for the next arc. While taking out what can make for good intermission chapters. Some things will remain almost the same as the original version but do expect from here on out, the direction will differ differently.
Moreover, it was fun writing this chapter and putting Ender and Riza in their own spotlights in this chapter. Even more fun creating a side-quest based around Crane's 'difficulty' with a new look. It really pushed a lot in character development with some added humor mixed in. This was a part I really wanted to rework, to really emphasis the kind of exchange Jack and Kyle will have to do in their new 'line of business'. Divide and conquer.
This will be how I'll arrange my chapters and my arcs and I already have four short stories in mind. I'm not too if certain quest stories will be between arcs or halfway through depending on conditions such as if areas are unlocked by the time the arc is done. That example. So it will be a challenge to see how I pace this story overall. If sidequest stories aren't your thing, all sidequest chapters will be labelled Intermission so you can skip them and move on to the main story.
Anyhow, few shoutouts: I wanna give a holler to UranicSubseter34's Shadows of a Dying Light, Megan's The Cured series and Helenth's DYING LIGHT: The Sunset of Harran. These are excellent fanfics for you to read while waiting for the next update. You won't be disappointed! And hey, time flies when you're enjoying a piece just as I have with these. Give them a read in AO3 and FFN.
Anyway, hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Catch ya again!
7/2/21 - Added new lines, fixed mistakes and edited parts according to new timestamp from pilot.
3/4/21 - Reedited for mistakes and added a small aesthetic change to Crane's design.
22/2/22 - Went over a full chapter edit with some fixes, retwists, deletes and adjustments.
7/1/24 - Final fixes and changes, I hope
27/1/25 - Reedted some parts to be more streamlined and removed some unwanted text. Refined the changing room dialogue and fighting scene.