[Event 2] Sic Infit [Mihai, Vash]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

I WILL HOLD ON HOPE AND I WON'T LET YOU CHOKE ON THE NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK

The adrenaline was pulsing so deliciously through his body—mixed with the fear and the pain and the exhilaration of something happening outside the confines of monotony that encompassed Underground living. Like any other night, Arthur was in his cell, attempting to preserve warmth, so sleep hadn’t found him that easily. It was then, in the deafening silence that he started to hear the water. At first he paid it little heed, focusing instead on keeping his mind carefully disassociated from the reality that still threatened to swallow him until there was nothing left. Of course, it had yet to accomplish that and Arthur knew that there would be only a shell of a person left if he ever allowed that to happen. His attention was brought to reality much quicker when he realised how the water began to rise despite the fact that there were drains in the cement floor. Life stirred in those sullen green eyes and he flinched back onto the edge of his bed like a frightened animal, his eyes wide and confused as they trailed along the rising water. He noticed how his door seemed ajar and his heart began to pound, so thick and wonderfully alive with the strange sight. In that moment, the fight, flight, and freeze reflex in the primal part of his brain concerned only with survival began to shift somewhere between fight and flight. Arthur stood, soaking the lower half of his trousers as he pried his cell door open. Glancing up and down the corridor, mutants who’d just discovered their unexpected freedom were escaping their cells, the severely understaffed guards for the night were nowhere to be seen, probably called to some other crisis connected to whatever had caused this mess. Either way, Arthur didn’t really care where they were. The fact of the matter was, they were gone and he was no longer trapped like the animal they believed him to be. And like any animal, he would run. He didn’t look back at his forlorn cell, he didn’t look back at the other mutants escaping their confines, he didn’t look back when one of the braver guards attempted to stop the escape, his weapon drawn. As Arthur passed him, invisible, dead fingers grasped the man’s weapon and it was thrown hard across the corridor. The rest was a blur, Arthur’s mind now in complete survival mode as he made his way past he arena, past the blissfully empty administration and out in the open—the fresh, cold, empty, dark, free air. The stars—the stars were bright and lovely, but the beauty was lost in that moment. He could only feel the pressure of his feet against the ground as he ran—ran—ran. The rhythm was intoxicating and the fact that he was running anywhere almost made him want to cry from the relief of it. He hadn’t felt this in a long, long time. The fact that no one was touching him, no one was pawing at him as if he were theirs, forcing him to do anything, and the fact that he was running and free for that brief and blissful moment felt powerful. He ran, not seeing anyone or anything for a long while, at least until he reached the edge of the city. He saw the buildings and he recognised some of them during that small stretch of time when Mihai showed him part of the city. The flash of memory brought such a strong sense of ache, that it was just enough to bring him back to reality, to force his mind to start rationalising just what the hell he was going to do next. Arthur found himself in an alleyway and just up ahead there was a guard who seemed to be patrolling the area. He caught himself, his body jerked out of that flight mode as he sank into the shadows of the building, his heart pounding so heavily against his chest that it felt like it might give him away with the sheer energy that he was giving off. He could see the flickers of shadows in the corners of his eyes. The spirits could certainly feel the energy and they were more restless than usual. It would be so easy… so easy to kill this man. It wouldn’t take much… God knows, the dead surrounding him were more than willing. Arthur’s palms began to sweat and he could feel the intensity of the indecision, weighing the price of his freedom with the price of this man’s life. Dammit. His thoughts were interrupted when the man changed direction, distracted by someone else further down the street. Arthur was inching forward, preparing to slip away from the scene before the guard could investigate further. He moved around the corner and continued moving quickly. It wasn’t until a couple more building complexes further down that he realised what area he was in—government housing. Some of them weren’t too far from the Underground, so he supposed that he’d reached the tail end of them. Perhaps… Arthur remembered exactly where Mihai’s flat was; he’d spent the night there the last time he was out on contract. The idea that struck him was a foolish one, he knew, but it didn’t stop him from slowly making his way closer, sticking close to the shadows, between the buildings whenever he heard the familiar noise of a guard, the slight sound of metal, heavy boots against the walkway. Arthur was still in his grimy Underground attire, and he planned on changing out of them as soon as he had the chance to get his hands on a fresh set of clothes. His skin was clammy from sweat and the chill of the air, his palms slick, and his fingers shaking as he finally made it to Mihai’s residence. Hardly hesitating, he gave a frantic knock to the door, glancing over his shoulder and down the long corridor for any movement. He glanced over at the closed blinds, attempting to detect if any lights had been turned on. He knocked again, a little softer this time, wary of drawing attention from the noise he was likely making. He couldn't think of that. His heart was already quick and harsh in his chest. Arthur’s breath was shallow and fast, the adrenaline still coursing through his body as he waited, fingers now grasping tightly against the frame of the door.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

By the time they'd allowed him to go, night had already fallen, he was chilled through the bone and shaking badly. The encounter with the brown-haired runaway had unsettled him greatly, though he said nothing of it and no one cared to ask. They'd simply shoved another mutant forward to replace him and told him to go, which he couldn't be happier for. He'd simply bowed his head, murmured his thanks, and rushed back off in the direction of his rooms. He just wanted to forget the incident, perhaps fetch himself something warm to drink and curl up under his blankets, willing sleep to come if it ever would. Even if it did, he wagered his dreams that night would not be pleasant.

As he entered into the blocks of government housing—many of the two-room apartments were empty—his eyes caught something that made him stop suddenly in his tracks. There was someone outside his door. He froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, as his mind scrambled for possibilities. He couldn't make out the features of the person, the darkness silhouetting them against the light paint coating of the building—he couldn't say whether or not he recognized them. Someone from the government, perhaps? Or—and he prayed desperately against the possibility—another one of the runaways, looking for a place to hide? He didn't want to have to make a decision for the second time regarding someone else's freedom. He could justify it to himself once… But again? How could he be okay with that?

For a moment, he stood rooted to the spot, divided between slinking back into the shadows until the visitor gave up and went away. Except his visitor wasn't giving up. He saw them reach outward, as though they were knocking on the door, and then glance around themselves anxiously, but he wasn't close enough to tell. Yet, his mind caught on a third possibility, and he bit down on his lip. Just maybe…

He'd heard nothing from or about Arthur since the news of the outbreak had spread, which could be a bad or a good thing. He didn't even know if Arthur had escaped with the rest of them, which (again) could be a bad or a good thing. If it was Arthur… It was the possibility—perhaps the only one—which made him willing to confront his visitor. He found himself holding his breath as he moved quietly forward, hand slipping into his pocket and wrapping around his scalpel, just in case, unsure who it was that he wanted to find most. The figure seemed ever more familiar as he drew increasingly closer, but neither wanting to get his hopes up nor let slip a potentially revealing bit of information, he hissed out an "Excuse me?"

And when the other turned around, it was like all the air had been torn from his lungs.

He wasn't sure whether his heart dropped or if it soared—it wavered, caught in a limbo, as he was simultaneously flooded with apprehension and hope. He closed the rest of the distance by rushing forward and throwing his arms around Arthur's neck, holding on for just a moment before he pulled back. "What are you doing here?" he said, in the same, quiet tone, though it didn't hide his distress. He began to fumble in his pockets for his ID to unlock the door, painfully aware of where they were and how tight security could be. It was only lucky that many of the guards had been moved out into the city proper, to help with the captures, otherwise he dreaded to think how Arthur could have been captured coming to this place. "You should have left," he continued, his words rushed in his nervousness, hoping no one would come this way. He frowned down at his pockets as his fingers fumbled through them, not yet coming up with his ID. "You should have left, you should have gotten out of the city and-and found a train or something. You shouldn't be here, for God's sake, this place usually has security enough to rival City Hall itself. And you definitely can't stay here either, it's too risky. Dammit, Arthur, why?"

---

Bit short, but I just wanted to speed this along. ;w; Also wanted to keep it vague about what happened with Feli.

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

I WILL HOLD ON HOPE AND I WON'T LET YOU CHOKE ON THE NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK

Along with the pause that followed at the door, Arthur’s mind continued to race, conjuring the possibilities for what his next course could be. He always could force his way in for the time being if Mihai wasn’t here. That was perhaps the most common way that he used his ability, to open locks and gain access to places where he wasn’t meant to be. His fantastical planning was cut short when he heard someone drawing near quickly and the hissed ‘excuse me?’ Arthur’s heart felt like it had jumped to his throat and as he turned, his shoulder blade made sharp, painful contact against the door frame, an almost automatic response to flinch away from the potential government worker. He took a shaking breath when he realised who it was, his eyes searching the shadowed features that he knew so well. Though his heart still didn’t feel like it was about to give out. When Mihai threw his arms around his neck, Arthur hoped that he couldn’t feel the slight quiver in his body, a combination of the adrenaline still rushing brusquely through him moments ago, to either fight or run as far away as he could before they captured him, and the ever present static of fear. The familiarity of his presence and Mihai’s scent were the only calming points in this situation. Arthur’s own sense of urgency returned when he caught Mihai’s first words to him. ”Isn’t it obvious?” His voice was dry and firm, a little worn from misuse in the past day or so. Even in his endless days spent in the Underground, that desire to fight and resist remained dormant until it was needed. It came to life when the opportunity presented itself. And this was the first opportunity he’d had in a long while. It was going to need to be wretched from his bloodied fingers for him to back down. His gaze became anxious when he saw Mihai fumbling in his pockets for his ID to unlock the door, but he felt something heavier latch onto his heart when he heard the next statement, you should have left. ”I came for you,” he answered quietly, a certain heated surety had crept into his voice. The longer that they lingered outside the door, the more nervous he became. He preferred that they either left right then and there, or grabbed whatever necessitates they needed and left soon after, if possible. And listening to the rest of Mihai’s words, Arthur felt more of that doubt bleeding through, the reminder that he really didn’t know what the hell he was doing. It sounded so simple—you should have gotten out of the city. There was nothing he wanted more. But Arthur hadn’t been out in the real world since he was six years old. And unlike most of the mutants, he had only been out once on contract since, which limited his knowledge to a few streets in the city. Weeds, of course, didn’t make it a point to teach the mutants about anything in their world outside of their bonds. He felt ignorant. And matching that against his pride and stubborn nature, he felt even worse for it—confused, lost, and angry for feeling that way. He may as well have been six years old in that moment for all he knew about how to navigate the city and anything beyond. He loathed feeling useless, and a part of him berated himself for it, because Mihai deserved better than that. ”I’ll figure that out. I have… something of a plan for that,” he lied, sounding more confident than he felt, or so he hoped. It may have been a partial truth more than a lie, that he did have something of a plan, it just wasn’t very well thought out. No one expected the breakout, not even the mutants. Everyone was fumbling to either get away or set things right in that short amount of time. ”And I wasn’t planning on staying here. I want you to come with me,” his voice softened, quieter still in that tense moment where anyone could happen upon them at any moment. Hope clashed harshly with that insurmountable doubt, riddled with fear. That’s how it always was, even when he was confined in the Underground. There was always that little bit of hope that kept him resistant, from the proverbial restraints that they attempted to place on them as children, teaching them to grow used to them, to fall into their undisputed station in life. That little bit of hope is what kept him fighting, from seeking other unsavoury methods of escape that didn’t necessarily mean finally breaking free of his cage. "I know I'm not very good at protecting you... and I don't know very much with regards to what it takes to make it out there, but I'll keep trying until I get it right... If anything, I'm persistent, right?" Even in the tense moment where they could be caught in the next handful of minutes, the corner of Arthur's mouth rose slightly before it disappeared.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly grasp anything. The tremors were brought on by a storm of raging emotions, emotions he could not begin to make heads or tails of. They merged into each other seamlessly—excitement into fear into ecstasy into desperation. The blood was pounding in his ears and the only thing he could think of was to find his card key and to open that damn door, where at least there was some semblance of safety for Arthur. This task, at the moment, seemed unsurmountable, and for a second he had to drop his head and remember to breathe. To listen, or try to, but the rush in his ears and the words that wanted to tumble from his mouth made it almost impossible to catch Arthur's voice, except…

"I came for you."

He froze. He heard that, yes, clear as day. For a spark of a moment, he felt touched—Arthur always had such a way of affecting him—by the simplicity of it, how four words could possibly convey that he meant something to someone. But after that moment, his stomach gave a sickening lurch. Coming for him was exactly what would get Arthur caught, hurt, (killed). Him specifically, because he was a coward, who would never be able to go anywhere without looking over his shoulder in fear of what was behind him, waiting to devour him like a primordial beast if it ever caught up. They bet on it, he thought. They bet on him being too scared to do anything and they were right, he was too frightened, and his fear would drag everyone down with him. (And what of that brown-haired mutant he'd run into earlier? If he'd never tried to find his friend, they would never have crossed paths. Their affections were only one other weapon in their masters' arsenal.)

Another time, he might have heard the hesitation in Arthur's voice as he continued speking. But right now, Mihai was shaking like it was the middle of winter and he was so used to having his guard down around Arthur, so used to not being on high alert to catch each inflection of the other's tone. Doubt, frustration went unnoticed. (Words, however, were almost impossible to miss.) "I want you to come with me," Arthur said, and Mihai felt the stab of something icy through his gut. Again, he froze, feeling the chill spread to each extremity as Arthur continued to speak, leaving behind it a sadness that threatened to seep into his organs and remain embedded there. He couldn't run away with Arthur. That, he already knew. He was scared and he was a coward, and he'd always gotten caught before. Again and again. He was bad luck.

"I can't," he breathed, though it pained him to say it, and he knew it wasn't what Arthur wanted to hear. They'd dreamt of it, spoken of it in hushed whispers, but now that the opportunity had arisen, Mihai found himself chained in his hesitation. He couldn't let Arthur get caught because of him. Perhaps, more shamefully, what he did not wish to admit was that they'd taught him well--taught him at the point of a knife, carved pain into his being until any hint of it was enough to make him behave. Obey. He was meant to be trapped here, like the dead that had accepted they would never leave purgatory, like Persephone picking up three pomegranate seeds. He had capitulated, and this was his just punishment.

But Arthur hadn't given in. He could still get out of here, away from Death's reaching fingers, and now was the best chance to do it, amidst all the confusion and chaos. He had to go. Now. Soon. He couldn't waste time, but Mihai insisted on it--just one moment. Just one moment to repudiate those poisonous words Arthur seemed to believe. His hand cupped Arthur's cheek as his eyes found green. "Don't say that," he said, partly surprised at how forcefully it came out. Yet, it didn't match the force of emotion ignited within him when he'd heard those words, what had felt like a painful twist in his gut. He took a deep breath, and hoped he could convey that to Arthur. "You're the only reason I even try anymore," he continued in barely a broken whisper. "I don't know where I'd be without you. You've done more for me than anyone else ever has, and that's... That's more than enough for me."

His fingers finally closed around his card key. With one last lingering look at Arthur, he pulled it out and swiped it over the small panel on the door frame. The light remained red. He frowned, scanning it again. Red. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread, creeping chilled fingers down his spine. The last time he'd shown Arthur his room, he'd carved a very specific path back to his building--one which followed a trail of broken surveillance cameras. He'd neglected to mention it. If Arthur hadn't walked that path exactly, then...

He suddenly turned and grabbed Arthur's arm, heedless that his nails must be digging in deeply in his panic. The only thought on his mind right now was that he couldn't let Arthur get caught. "We need to go. Now."

[Vash Zwingli]

THESE ARE THE DAYS WHEN I HATE THE WORLD HATE THE RICH, HATE THE HAPPY, HATE THE COMPLACENT. TV WATCHERS, BEER DRINKERS, THE SATISFIED ONES. BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN BE ALL THOSE LITTLE HATEFUL THINGS AND THEN I HATE MYSELF FOR REALIZING THAT. BE SAFE, BE SAFE.

1419 WORDS Arthur W. Kirkland Mihai C. Eliade TAGGED I'd say this was rather /shocking/ notes

He’d heard the alarms, he’d heard the entire damned thing as the information of the breach of the underground was told to him bit by catastrophic bit. When he’d first received information of the breach in the underground, he’d just managed to begin to drift off to sleep. However, that successfully woke him up in a matter of seconds as this was on a whole new level of “nightmare.” He’d known, he had KNOWN that they needed to update their security. When he had taken his first tour of the place it barely resembled something better than a low budget prison seen in movies of war torn countries—there was no way that would hold mutants, he knew that all too well. However, of course when he’d asked for an upgrade they declined, their excuse was budgeting, but Vash believed it to be more something along the lines of laziness and shear lack of sufficient training to install anything more secure. No, he wasn’t particularly fond of any of the guards in the underground as they were all for the most part lazy, stubborn and little to none of their actions had any reason behind them other than “because they felt like it.” If he had been given the choice he would have had them all replaced with others far more intelligent and without criminal records and well…with specific training to handle the mutants better. For those reasons alone he was glad that he didn’t have to deal with them all directly, only a handful he’d actually seen in person, but that was going to change when this whole mess was cleaned up. Oh yes, he had a few words for the guards that supposedly “kept” the underground under “control”, and they were going to be far from pleasant. This would particularly be the case since it was ruining the one night of sleep where he’d been able to avoid the nightmares that he seemed to be all too well acquainted with and he would, no doubt, have to deal with the public and try to clean up his own reputation after this. No, Vash wasn’t pleased. He was far from it, as a matter of fact, and his temper was only amplified by the fact that he’d been woken up with this and he was now out in the streets, hunting down mutants since he couldn’t count on those damned guards for anything. Maybe after this those guards would know what it was like to be on the receiving end of physical punishment. That would be a truly interesting consequence of this…and well, Vash couldn’t imagine he would be feeling particularly merciful in the morning and when it came time to deal with this. However, for a few moments of Vash’s own angry internal tangents, he wondered if Tino’s mutant had gotten out. Hopefully not, if that was the case then there was a chance he’d run into Berwald. That would be…interesting as he had agreed to protect him for Tino…but he was fairly certain that mutant in particular wanted to rip him to pieces. He’d probably have to just call Tino…if he could stick to the shadows enough that no one saw him. And well, if another guard already had him…well then that would be a time for creative verbal manipulation—if he could muster that much without losing his temper more than he had already. After all, it had been his temper that had driven him from his bed to hunt down the mutants himself in the middle of the night, even if he didn’t necessarily have all of the physical training he needed to properly take on a mutant, he could shoot, and he could shoot a whole hell of a lot better than any of those idiot guards that were stationed in the underground. This was how Vash ended up storming the streets near the residential areas despite several protests from his own personal security to stay indoors while the mutants were being hunted down. Like hell he trusted them to get them all back, and eventually his own security had just learned to shut up and provide him with assistance in directing him to where a possible mutant could be by keeping an eye on the street cameras. It didn’t take long for him to feel the slight vibration in his pocket—however, and the words he heard on the other end made his fingers twitch in anger—in energy as the electrical build up only increased with adrenaline boost he got from the knowledge of betrayal. He hung up the phone without so much as a word—knowing that if he listened to it for much longer the electrical charge that he was generating would effectively fry it and he would have to some how explain that. Vash had been weary of Mihai ever since their first interaction, of course, he’d been asked to use him as a mechanism of torture, and that never really put anyone in a level of trust. But no, there was something about him that read like he was hiding something—and now he had a decent feeling at just what it was. Mihai was trying to help them escape, and that was something that was a severe punishment for a mutant—no matter how “obedient” they were in their usual work. It only took a matter of a few seconds for Vash to load and release the safety on the small pistol he had on him, but it felt like something closer to hours as he struggled to keep the electricity from building up any further—as he could already feel it burning away at his wrists thanks to the way he designed the gloves to control it. On the other hand, the slight amount of pain he was feeling was one thing that was actually keeping him in control at this moment—it was a refreshing reminder for him to try and calm down so he didn’t screw this up, and just why he was doing any of this at all. It was just because of this that he was actually able to keep himself from storming over to the government owned mutant residence and loudly announce his presence to the one he was hunting down right at this moment. No, he had to keep his movements quiet—which he just barely managed as he approached the location he was informed that the two mutants were. Upon seeing Mihai and the other mutant at the front steps of the residence, Vash’s control on the charge build up started to slip again—His fingers and hands starting to tremble as he felt his anger at the supposedly trained mutant that he was supposed to trust enough to do as he was told try and lead the other mutant away. He needed to act fast, needed to make sure they didn’t escape. That was the most important part, and anything else could be dealt with later. With that, Vash didn’t waste any time in aiming at the backs of the knees of the escaped mutant—his control slipping much faster than he expected. The hairs on his arms started to stand on end and he found his body locked in place in what seemed like several minutes, but was rather close to under a second. The smell of burning leather, hair and skin that was all too familiar to him filled his nose and the camera, street lights and the power in the surrounding neighbourhood seemed to vanish. There was a cold tingling in his arms and he found himself completely rooted in place, everything frozen. Vash knew what was coming but he realized there was absolutely no way of controlling it, as the pistol he had aimed so pointedly was now the conductor for the charge that he was releasing. That was when there was a large cracking sound that echoed off the street and shattered the windows of the buildings nearest to him, a violent flash jutting off of the pistol in something that could have been missed if you’d blinked, and it struck right where Vash had aimed. It took him a few moments to realize what had happened—his legs weak and his vision blurry as he felt the burns ascend higher up his arms, he released two bullets—one for each leg in hopes of covering what had happened up as a loud gun. At least he’d managed to achieve his goal.

deltra of gangnam style

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

I WILL HOLD ON HOPE AND I WON'T LET YOU CHOKE ON THE NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK

Hearing the “I can’t,” wasn’t what Arthur wanted to hear, but it was perhaps what he expected to hear. He felt and experienced the fear that Mihai occasionally showed when they were children, growing within a cold institution, beneath the threat of an inescapable shadow that only managed to grow darker the older they became. And although he didn’t know the entirety of what Mihai went through when they were children, he almost felt it vicariously whenever they were together, like a growing sickness. They had done to Mihai what they continued to try to do to Arthur—his only concern was that he wasn’t made to bend, that Arthur could break instead of being molded as easily as they wanted. That’s partially why he couldn’t obey, why running away and potentially getting caught was a better prospect than becoming a broken, useless instrument of the government. His cheek briefly reddened beneath the hand placed over it, his eyes finding Mihai’s when he heard his rather forceful response, perhaps the most forceful he’d been in a long while. Arthur swallowed tightly as he listened to his words, his statement that he was the only reason that he even tried anymore. ”That’s why I can’t leave you here... I don’t want you to ever stop trying.” Arthur’s response was quiet, but held a certain clarity of incentive. The idea did somewhat unsettle and terrify him that if he were to leave Mihai behind, or if something were to happen to him, that there was a prospect that Mihai might stop trying. Exactly the motivation that bred Arthur’s desire to be strong, to be there as much as he could from behind bars, from beneath the heavy restraints. Arthur was about to say something else, a suggestion, until he noticed the red on Mihai’s card and felt the fingers tighten around his arm. He ignored the brief, sharp pain of his nails, overshadowed by the obvious panic in his eyes. His own pulse accelerated by that reaction. Arthur turned and everything happened so fast that there was hardly any time for reaction. He noticed the figure standing close enough, he smelled the odd burning, and everything suddenly went dark and silent for those brief moments. Arthur took a breath, words of panic, ”Mihai—“ but the rest of his words were lost with the sound of shattered glass and the enormous crack that resounded. What the hell was going on?! His legs tensed, about to take off, his hand reaching for the side of Mihai’s arm, that desire to be the protector still guiding his movements, still feeling Mihai's grasp around his own arm when he felt the sudden violent jolt against the back of his knees. One in succession of the other. He couldn't even hear his own voice against his raw throat as his knees gave out, his legs no longer supporting him, the bone and tissue a complete, shattered mess as the rest of him hit the concrete. Everything happened so quickly, that he barely even registered that he was injured, still trying desperately to get up. The sheer burn and immediate flare of pain whenever he tried to move his legs stopped those movements quickly. His fingers clawed against the concrete, a mixture of shock, unbelievable anger, fear, and desperation. Words were nonexistent, nothing was, except that burn and the slowly encroaching realisation that his body was damaged in a way that he could do absolutely nothing about it. He was useless; and that shook him more deeply than he ever wanted to admit. What probably shook him more was the fact that Mihai was right there and Arthur couldn’t physically get between Mihai and whoever it was that had shot him.

LAIKA OF GS!

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Arthur’s words were simple, but they cut through the moment, sharp and clear. There was no time to dwell on it, and at least when Mihai turned away, Arthur wouldn’t have to see the way his expression crumpled into sadness and shame. He’d already stopped trying, for himself–what life was there in all the pain and lost time, stuck dreaming of needles and knives instead of good things the next day could bring? Life wasn’t worth all this suffering, all of these memories, and the ultimate freedom wasn’t freedom from Archadia after all.

He didn’t voice these thoughts, knowing the hurt and distress that would flit across Arthur’s face, and he didn’t want to see that, didn’t want be the cause of it. He had done nothing to deserve Arthur, to deserve his care, or to deserve the way he put himself on the line for Mihai’s sake.

(Fate agreed.)

In his alarm over the keycard and his eagerness to get away, he didn’t notice that it was too late: they had already been discovered. He felt something was off, but was too slow to realize what. There was a prickling sensation in the air that made his hairs stand on end, like the space was filled with static. Then everything happened in quick succession.

The lights went off.

A loud crack resonated through the street, echoed by the sound of shattering glass.

He looked in that direction, just in time for the word stop to fall from his lips, but that was the only thing he was in time for. With two loud bangs of a firing gun, Arthur dropped beside him.

Mihai’s breath caught, and he would have been afraid of the worst if not for the cry that tore out of Arthur’s throat. His chest seized at the sound, and he felt a sickening roll in his gut. No, no, no, no, no, he thought, and he didn’t realize he was saying it out loud as he bent over Arthur, hands flitting over his form but unsure whether he could touch, whether his touch would hurt. He never wanted this, feared this, Arthur’s pain. And yet there it was, so plain even in the darkness, the sticky mess that was gathering below Arthur’s legs.

”Oh my god,” he breathed, his voice catching and breaking. ”Arthur, oh my god.” He barely felt the wetness dripping down his cheeks, caught as he was in his helplessness. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t allow it to end like this. He couldn’t allow Arthur to be consumed again by this evil, wretched city, not when he was so close to escaping it forever. ”Arthur, can you stand?” he said, his fingers still curled around Arthur’s arm, pulling. ”You have to stand, please. We have to leave, please, please, please…” His voice cracked, dissolving into a sob as he finally relinquished his hold.

There was nothing. Nothing that could be done. He knew that much, he knew it. Arthur had been shot, and no one could walk like that, even if the pain were possible to ignore.

And it was all his fault. His, in all his carelessness, his hesitation and cowardice. The penitence should have been his to pay.

(But not his alone.)

He turned to the person who did this. He saw him, and he hated. He’d never hated anyone in this way. It was a fiery toxin running through his veins, like the blood that was slowly filling his mouth had become poison, and if he ever spit it out he could corrode the earth itself. He wanted him never to sleep another night, wanted him to suffer, wanted him to watch anyone he had ever loved wither and die and be helpless to do anything against it. He wanted him to know despair, to breathe it in and to taste it on his tongue until there was nothing left of Vash Zwingli but his pain and regret.

”Enough!” he screamed, as much desperation as he was fury. ”Just leave, you’ve done enough!” He would defend Arthur forever, against anything. That was the only reason he was trying anymore.

The form of the scalpel he’d never pulled out still rested, cool and solid, against his thigh. If Zwingli took another step closer, he would kill him.

---

Arthur W. Kirkland , Vash Zwingli