“Alright…” Soune muttered to herself, closing the doors of the transport. She’d left her rifle and ammunition tucked under the bench seats, freeing as much space in her pack as possible to resupply in town. “How the hell do I convince him…” She shrugged the pack over her shoulder and turned to follow the fence back.
She imagined the Splinter would be hesitant to leave, especially with the town's fate on a knife's edge. She needed a damn good argument, not her strongest suit.
Soune strolled along the fence, neck tilted in contemplation. It was a stubborn problem, figuring out how she’d convince Gress to leave the place he’s defending with one of its assailants. She tried to recall what Eleanor had told her. He would do what he thinks is good. A simple methodology that completely opposed her.
She groaned and rubbed her neck under the scarf, staring at the decrepit outskirts.
“Claws-and-jaws does what’s good or right huh, hell is that meant to mean?” She muttered further through a frown. It annoyed her, such a naive view of the world from such a parasitic microcosm of it.
She’d have been scolded for saying something so immature, and yet here it was. A Demon living comfortably in a cosy little town, just by being nebulously good.
She clicked her tongue in annoyance, a cruel part of her almost wanting to see the town fail, to see how far that idealism would get him in her world. Ingram as a whole was lucky, like Eleanor said, a rounding error free from the misery around it while everyone else wallowed.
“No such thing as right and wrong in the real world…damnit.” The spite vented out through a sigh. She was envious, stuck wanting to be able to live a life that simple. Free from a wage-slave life for a corporation, free from the shackles of a mad old man clinging desperately to the land he claimed. She craved it, the sense of normality and peace the town must have.
Soune turned to look at Priloca glimmering in the distance with a slight smile. That peaceful life was still a possibility, though delayed by her decisions.
Another deep sigh, Soune shook the tiring thoughts away. Hardly the time or place to start wallowing in her stagnancy. Her thoughts swapped between her companions, she took a mental note to check on Razgrith and Antonio before she left. If anything went wrong, she didn’t want to leave whatever friendship they had on a conflicted note.
A whisper of screams carried in the breeze drifted into Soune’s ears. She shrugged, not an unfamiliar noise and not worth stopping her stride.
Though she did cock her head in slight interest, one of the wails sounded a bit familiar, a bit like Kirche.
Kirche, who was an entire other mess to deal with, one she would’ve been happy to sweep under the rug and ignore for a long while.
Kirche, who she’d beaten down for her invasion.
Kirche, who she told to not do anything, to not cause trouble.
Soune’s eyes went wide, she stopped mid step.
Kirche, the Red Shoulder. The Demon Hunter. Beaten and broken, left alone in the town. With the Splinter.
Kirche, who she’d most definitely heard.
“Shit.” Soune pivoted and ran up against the fence. It rattled under her grip. The main street was distant and obscured by messy alleys, but she could see the distinct splash of red hair near the ground. Not far away, a shadowy mass was crumpled on the ground.
“Shiiiit!” Soune scrambled to swing her pack over her shoulder, digging through it for her scope.
The cracked lens made the scene clear enough. Kirche, on her knees, clutching her head and wailing. Gress nearby, doubled over on himself and spasming.
Death throes.
“Fuuucking damnit K’nt! Damn you. Why?!” Soune dropped the scope back into the pack. She looked around, every inch of the fence crowned by razor wire, the gap in it still minutes away. She barked out more curses while digging her hand through her hair.
“How’d you fuck this up more?!” She screamed, no response from the distant Shoulder. Soune anxiously sighed, breaking into a run against the fence.
Eleanor wasn’t sure what tormented her more. The ticking of the pen against the desk, unsteadily being rocked in trembling finger, the yellowed paper in the corner of her vision, it’s terrible contents painfully unleashed, or the fresh, white sheet in front of her, free from any of the thousands of words she wanted to spew onto it.
Apologies, explanations, affirmations, too many things she desperately wished to tell Gress, too many that they all twisted and choked themselves together, unable to escape her mind.
“...Stupid boy…why did you have to dig this up now?” She breathlessly muttered to herself, she set the pen down with a shaky breath, only for it to be launched away when she jumped from the door slamming open.
Dave and a panting townsman were wide-eyed and panicked in the doorway.
“El! It’s Gress, and the Shoulder! They’re fighting.” Dave spewed out, gesturing his senior out the door. Eleanor shot up, groaning when her body rebelled against the action.
“What are you doing here then! Go stop it!” She barked out while headed for the doorway, steadying herself on the desk.
“I…” Dave cut the fearful excuses short before they started, neither he nor the person beside him could meet her stone gaze. Eleanor shouldered past him, half-rushing, half-hobbling out of the station.
“Where’s Bedan?!” She barked out, neither of the pair at her heels had an answer. “Where are they!” She continued, internally cursing the following pair.
“Down central, a couple blocks north’a Bedan’s.” The croaky voiced townsperson responded. Eleanor hissed a swear, swapping to cursing her own ageing body, minutes away. She stopped with a groan, clutching her side, and span on her heel to the pair, jabbing a bony finger at Dave.
“You! Stone up and go stop them! You swore to protect Ingram and its people, so do it!” Dave nodded, choking back a shocked sob then running forward to where the conflict was ongoing. She swapped to the other one. “You! Find Bedan and get him over there, if he’s on smoko he’ll be at the bakery!”
“Ys’ Mam’” They stammered and bolted off down a side street. Eleanor turned back and tried to follow Dave’s path in a rush, halting with another groan as her body fought against it.
“Damnit boy…Damnit…” She cursed, struggling to move arthritic joints. She felt useless, an old, familiar feeling. It was happening again, the Shoulders coming for the boy. Her boy. She gritted her teeth and forced a step forward. Wetness built in the corner of her eyes.
Not again, she wouldn’t let them tear her life apart again.
“Never again.” She groaned through locked teeth.
Another forced step, then another, each sending grinding pain through her, but each also slowly growing easier.
Bedan puffed at the cigarette, the tarry smoke, thick with menthol, stained his mouth. He flicked the ash from his binder in the same motion as turning the page. He muttered terse thanks when the Baker set his tea down beside him.
Pages and pages of handwritten, near-illegible notes from years of study. Notes about Gress, never by name, but just Patient, or Subject, or Splinter. Ranging from his birth to last night's pain treatments, a complete medical history of a monster.
His response to stimuli, medicines, emotional events. Rudimentary breakdowns of his psychology coupled with expert notes on his physiology. Hundreds of pages about a single young man afflicted by a great unknown.
It’d make a fortune if sold to the right buyer with a novel interest in the arcane, it could make leaps and bounds in the extremely unknown space of Splinter research, it could even go to the Shekhinists or Scions to perhaps sway their conflict one way or another.
It was a mix of possibilities Bedan was keenly aware of. It was why he started such precise bookkeeping about him in the first place. But with the end days of Ingram fast approaching, he wasn’t sure what to do with it now.
He pulled another deep breath, his perpetual scowl pulled deeper. Though he’d never admit it, he’d grown quite fond of the Splinter. The young man had a sharp mind and a soft heart. Following Bedan’s tutelage, he’d have made a fine doctor for the world to chew up and spit out.
Bedan sighed out smoke, trying to ignore his name being called out from the distance. Another of the plebeians he was sure, bellyaching about the mundane illnesses and aches they came to him with. They didn’t stop, sprinting towards the Doctor when they saw him clearly. Bedan slammed the binder shut and prayed his foul features would be enough to deter the conversation.
“Can’t you see I’m busy? Enough screaming, go away!” He snapped, louder than the other man, while gesturing aggressively with his cigarette.
“Gress. Shoulder. Fighting!” He got the words out through heavy, leant over breaths. Bedan growled and raised from his seat. He hobbled past the man, flicking the cigarette at his feet and tucking the binder under his arm.
“Stupid boy knows better than to interrupt my lunch…better be a damned emergency.” Bedan grumbled to himself, telling himself the tremble he felt in his face was that of rage and not worry.
Get up.
The voice was rasp-coarse and feral-furious.
We’re not dead yet. Get up.
Gress could only whimper in response. The agonising fires had deadened to embers, his entire body was in a deep ache. He could barely breathe, each shallow movement of his chest struggled against spasming muscles. Ice wrapped around the nape of his spine, gripping tight.
Get. Up. Before I go ahead and let you die.
The anger was motivation enough, Gress forced his eyes open.
He was leant up against the same wall he’d carved pieces out of. There were people flitting about him, poking and prodding at his wounds.
“Do we pull it out?” A voice blurred, filtered by dizziness. More joined after it, they all blended together in his hazy mind.
“No, leave it! Where’s Bedan?”
“He’s waking up…”
One of them piped up, shriller and louder. It sent sharp pangs through his ears.
“The lines…his face…look at the lines! It’s happening again!” Panicked backpedalling out of the corner of his eye, others took slower, more cautious steps back.
Gress raised his right hand, the only one that would obey. Unlike his overtaken left arm, the right normally matched the rest of his body, bearing lines that formed a series of sharply angled, circuit-like patterns. Now the marks had spread and encompassed the hand, only patches of his pale skin poking through, short stubby claws pierced out from his fingertips. Gress choked back a weak sob at the sight, pained at the corruption having spread further.
What’s wrong? Would you have preferred to die? I protected you.
Its anger deepened when Gress didn’t respond.
Get up.
The feral voice pierced inwards, stabbing frigid pain across Gress’ body. He weakly groaned while rocking himself forward into a kneel.
Up.
One of the braver observers tried to lean in to assist Gress. He could hear him muttering something about waiting for the Doctor, waiting for Eleanor, to just sit back down. It was all on deaf ears, the Splinter forced himself up, and wrapped his hand around the scissors still buried in his side.
“I’m fine…” He muttered out, a practised, default response to worries. Though the heaving, gritting breaths belied his pain. The scissors had bitten in deep, the same barbs as the scalpels running along the entire blades. He paused, waiting for a blessful numb to blanket the wound.
None came.
Do it yourself.
It was a raging, spiteful hiss. But Gress obeyed, tearing the tool and strips of his viscera out with it. Black flesh spread from the closest mark out to plug it. Cool relief ran out from the wound when it did.
“He-hey…stop that.” One of the ones nearby begged, horrified at the sight. They whimpered when sharp, gold eyes flicked to them.
“I’m fine.” He grabbed the next scalpel. Tearing, ripping, shredding his flesh with its removal. All endured. Then again, and again. Four warped tools scattered on the ground below him, still dripping with his blood. Gress looked down at them through a teary filter. “...I’m fine.”
It horrified him that he was. The deep ache was still there, but his wounds all tingled pleasantly, like a cool breeze ran over each.
Good. Now move. You’re not done yet.
His neck twisted across the street. Kirche was on her back, also attended to by townsfolk. A bitter bolt ran through Gress. They weren’t scared of her. They weren’t muttering and whispering about her. She was the aggressor, and yet they all kept their distance from him. She wasn’t part of the town, she was part of the problem.
It wasn’t fair. He stepped forward, his bitter anger spurned and encouraged from within.
Nobody tried to stop him as he strode over to the Shoulder. Her head was turned to the side, blood leaking from her mouth onto the ground. Another heavy step forward sent the ones flitting around her away. He could see her chest weakly rise and fall.
What vile things these Hunters do…look at her, boy.
Distaste and anger were at the forefront of the voice, but Gress could recognise the fear behind them. He’d felt that fear alongside his own.
This is what their beloved Presence does to them…That little stunt of her’s could have come at a terrible cost. Taste, smell, emotion, this is what that foul thing demands of its followers. The very things that make them human. I don’t seem so bad now, do I?
Gress felt the disgust and pity in its words, towards Kirche and the Shoulders who’d so willingly give up parts of themselves for hate and power. He shared the feeling, though it was also directed inward, hating himself for how satisfied he was seeing her suffering.
Their incompetence saved us, the ritual was done with flawed tools. Hurry up and kill her before she recovers. Do not give her another chance.
Gress dropped to his knees and flexed his hand into a fist, then opened it to a more natural feeling splay. Black claws pointed and ready to strike downwards. He reared his arm back, and froze with the gasps of horror from the crowd.
What are you doing? Ignore them.
He twisted his head to look at them, at the pleading shakes of their heads, or the aghast panic. One braver man swallowed his fear and stepped forward, ignoring the clutching at his clothes to pull him back.
Fine, if they’re going to stop you, kill them first. You saw them, caring more for the enemy than you. That’s how they’ve always felt, since the first day you called me to save you from them.
The man’s hand reached down, gesturing for Gress to take it.
Don’t believe them. They hate you, Gress.
“Don’t…” Was all the man said, a single, soft plea.
Even the old woman, we saw the letter.
Gress sighed, and dropped his arm. He stared weakly at the ground.
“I’m fine…” He said, his voice unsteady and crackling. Two spots of wet appeared on the ochre dirt. Gress took the man's hand. Though he winced and grunted when the claws dug into his flesh, he didn’t relent, pulling Gress to his feet and patting his arm with a shaky hand.
What are you doing?
“You okay?” He asked, a question Gress had already opened his lips to defaultly answer.
“I’m f-...No…no.” Gress relented, still staring at the ground while walking past the man.
No.
The chilling tingle turned to icy pinpricks, then to the stabbing shards of ice.
No!
“Let him through!” The man ordered the others, they parted and let the Splinter carry himself up the street.
How stupid are you? Letting the Hunter live.
He ignored it, let it rage and bellow against his skull. Though he couldn’t help but wince at the pain wracking his arm, it was spreading too. Every wound that had been sealed by the black flesh, all the lines that had spread further along his body, they all rebelled against him, aching and stabbing.
Time seemed to blink away, replaced by the icy fury, the walk back to his abode could’ve taken usual minutes or hours, he couldn’t tell, it was all just icy numbness and aches. The door wasn’t locked, it never was.
He flicked the lights off, shutting away the light from his migraine, and worked his way to the back of the building by memory.
…
You’ll pay for this.
My kindness to save us, to allow you to act on a stupid whim.
You squander it.
…
Useless as always.
Gress ignored the voice as best he could, though he couldn’t stop himself wincing at the sharp pain that came with them. He hobbled into the small bathroom while shedding off his cloak and shirt.
He half-sighed, half sobbed at the sight in the small mirror. His entire body was a mixed mess of corrupted flesh.
What did you expect?
This is what it took to keep you alive.
The complete encompassing of his left arm had spread up further, reaching nearly to his shoulder before breaking into the usual angled pattern. The density of the lines was growing heavier on the side of his chest too, seemingly reaching towards his heart. The torn flesh where he’d been wounded was sealed over with the same black flesh, solid points where the lines coalesced. The long line across his stomach had fractal edges as well. The remainder of the lines, the ones that had permanently marked his body as demonic, had started to recede back to their usual size and shapes.
His face was further affected, gold eyes sharper and reflecting the light in odd ways. The lines that spread out from his mouth had broadened slightly, Gress tested his jaw.
His mouth parted along the lines, exposing fangs jutting from a jaw invading his own. Just moving his face had turned foreign and uncomfortable.
You should be thanking me.
Gress wrapped his cloak around himself, an old, dark-blue officers cloak. Inherited from Eleanor. Though that fact made it slightly sour, it was still his best anchor to comfort. He failed to bite back bitter sobs, nowhere else for his failure and frustration to escape.
He made it to the main room of the converted bookstore, and gave up going any further. Gress collapsed onto the old carpet, clutching and tearing it with mismatched claws. He curled into himself, closed his eyes and willed sleep to take him
Don’t think this ends here. I saved you and got you here. The rest is your responsibility.
Any numbing effect the corrupting presence was providing was cut out with a flash. Chilling stabs turned over to burning throbs and aches. Gress groaned, curling in tighter.
Good. Dwell on that pain. Know that if you obeyed me and killed the Hunter, you would not have to endure it. This is your punishment for defiance.
The voice grew faint and weaker with the words, Gress would’ve smirked and jabbed about its own weakness and exhaustion if he wasn’t wracked with the fallout of the day. Instead he just had to endure the pain while waiting for the pressured grip on his spine to loosen, signifying its relative absence.
In the long while it took for the agony to settle, Gress had only one thought running through his mind. With a trembling hand he reached into his cloak and made sure that the crumpled piece of card was still there.
His sigh was heavy, laden with all the turmoil of the day, capped by a difficult decision.
In the faint light provided through dirty windows, he could still make out Callahan’s foiled name and number.
Eleanor turned the corner to the scene, heaving and clutching her chest. Dave saw her struggling and rushed over to his senior, steadying her.
“Where is he?” Eleanor gasped out.
“I don’t know-you need to sit down. Now.”
“No, I need to…” Eleanor’s eyes went wide and she trailed off. She saw it, the divided mob, barking and screaming at each other. A cloud of fear and anger, hate spurning their words.
She was too late.
“El, come on…” Dave tried to bring her attention back to him.
“Des…” Eleanor whispered, trembling at the sight. The sides of the crowd were starting to collapse in, pointed fingers turning to shoves, nearly to blows. “Not again…”
“Damnit El…damnit!” The timid Dave left her side, dredging up what confidence he could to try and scream over the crowd. His “Cut it out!”s and “Get back!”s fell on deaf ears. The mob far too caught up in their fear.
“Fuck…FUCK!” He exclaimed, drawing his pistol. He aimed it into the ground, two thunderous cracks roaring over the crowd. They finally halted after sparse screams, looking around to him. “Go away! Back to your homes!” Dave bellowed, when some started to murmur and rebel against him another pistol shot shut them up and moved them along.
When Eleanor reached his side, he was trembling. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod.
“Hate this thing…” Dave nervously chuckled out, holstering the gun.
“A necessary evil.” Eleanor assured, then turned to see Bedan kneeled over the Shoulder, sat in a lull against the wall next to a pool of vomit and blood. Rage took Eleanor over there, her hand unclasping the holster of her own weapon.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” She hissed out. Before Bedan could turn to snarl at the intruding woman, a gun barrel was pushed past his face into Kirche’s forehead. “You caused this!”
“I…What?” The Shoulder sputtered out, the shaking barrel pressed her head back against the brick wall.
“Don’t you play dumb with me!” Eleanor barked, her finger wrapping around the trigger.
“Eleanor…” Bedan began softly, calmly.
“Stay out of this, why the hell are you helping this piece of shit anyway!” Her anger twisted out, lashing at whatever it could.
“Eleanor…I’m a Doctor. I am bound by oath to help those I can…Let me help you.” More calm assurance, assisted by surrendering, upwards hands.
“Where’s Gress then, why not help him!” Her finger shook dangerously against the firearm.
“I don’t know where he is! But this one is postictal- she’s had seizures. I need to check her over.” Bedan’s scowl returned, seeing Eleanor’s thumb cock the hammer of the pistol.
“There’s no need for that.” She too-calmly assured the Doctor. His lips tightened in hesitation.
“What would Desmond do?” He added sharply., using the stunned pause from the woman to snap his hand around the pistol. He jerked it back and downwards, a firm grip on the slide keeping it aimed groundwards and out of battery.
“How dare you!” Eleanor choked out. “Don’t you say his name!”
“Eleanor…Please. Go find Gress, I can help him next if you do.” He looked over to Dave behind Eleanor, trying to gesture to him to assist. Dave shook his head in refusal.
“Why shouldn’t we kill her? All this…everything that happened before. It’s because of people like her.” He coarsely added, Eleanor agreed with a calm nod.
“If you’re going to act like savages by all means, but at least let me at least make sure she’s lucid before you execute her!” Bedan shouted over them. Neither of them moved.
“I’m with him on that.” A new, low voice came in. Soune had her hands up, slowly approaching them. Kirche’s head lolled over towards the sound with a dopey, lame smile.
“Hey Silver…” She groaned out.
“Shut up.” Soune steadied her gaze on the trembling old woman. “I’m sure she deserves that bullet to the head. But don’t you have bigger problems right now?”
She waited for a reaction from Eleanor that didn’t come, only a stern gaze.
“Were you a part of this?” The old guard hissed out.
“No, I was outside and saw them fighting on the way in.” Soune replied flatly.
“How were you? Whatever-Take this one and leave. I want you gone, all of you! The other pair too when they’re stable!” Eleanor snapped.
“El…” Bedan tried to cut in, but was silenced by the jerking of the pistol, he struggled to maintain the locking grip on it.
Soune slowly shook her head.
“You gave me until tomorrow, right? I’m about ready to make my decision, but If you kill her, deals off.”
“Why do you care…” Kirche slurred before being hushed by Bedan.
“I’m taking a bet on you still being useful to me at some point.” Soune said flatly, before glaring back at Eleanor. Small lies, small twists of the truth built in her head. “Likewise, I think you’re out of options other than to bet on me.”
Eleanor didn’t respond, only returning Soune’s stare with trembling features. Her gun was still levelled at Kirche, still being wrestled with by the Doctor. Soune sighed, and readied herself to hurt the woman.
“Be real, Eleanor. This towns going to be chewed up and spat out by Seere, and from what I’ve gathered your only hope is either to give me a chance to get you out of this, or give the Splinter up to the Shoulders.” Soune jerked her head towards Kirche. “And look how they go about things.”
“We’re not giving Gress to them!” She snapped, the pistol ratting in a shared grip.
“You won’t, what about the others? I saw that crowd too, or better yet-” Soune swallowed down the shame of what she was about to say, knowing how much it would pain the woman. “-Gress himself.”
“What are you saying?” Eleanor said, choking the words out.
“I’m saying that he’s about ready to kill himself if it means helping you. So what would he do if someone gave him the chance?” Soune snapped.
Eleanor’s eyes widened further in shock. Anxiety and realisation trembled through her.
“Why would he…how? Who?” She demanded.
“I didn’t catch the details, some kind of card…”
Callahan, Eleanor realised. Her grip shook against her weapon, old knuckles white with tension. She loosed a strained, tight, sob, and decocked the hammer on her pistol, releasing it into Bedan’s grip. He pocketed it and returned to inspecting Kirche.
“...You better not be lying to me.” She lowly warned Soune.
“I’ve got nothing to gain and everything to lose by helping you. Doubly so for lying about it.”
“Then why are you doing it?” Davey cut in from the side, not convinced by the pleas.
Soune cocked her head, thinking of the best, simplest way to explain it. It was difficult, there were too many layers to it, too many snap decisions, almost entirely illogical.
She shrugged the answer off, not wanting to dwell on the question herself. “Does it matter? Do you have an alternative?”
Eleanor responded quickly.
“No. We don’t…Just tell me what it is. What is it that you’re so sure will be able to turn this around?” She demanded with returned sternness.
“There's a quarry…or bunker, mine, something like that. I saw him move dozens of people into it, I think they’re being kept there…” Soune swallowed to steady herself, the image of Marley dying running through her mind. “He killed one of them for trying to escape.”
“That’s it? So he has some people living in old tunnels, how does that help us?” Eleanor’s tone was coarsely doubtful.
“Not a clue, that’s for you and the suit to figure out. All I know is he’s been pretty keen on hiding it, we’ve been his pocket lackeys and none of us ever heard of it.” A gentle lie Soune desperately hoped was correct. If the other’s knew about the quarry and not her, that raised more concerning questions. “I’ve never known him to not do things without a good reason, or to be overly secretive.” She nodded to the Doctor, encouraging him to cut in.
“…If whatevers down there is financially driven, the Corporations or Priloca will swoop in. If it’s internment or something similar, C2 still likes the good press from freeing those. If the information comes from Am-Ray, that will accelerate things.” Bedan let Eleanor settle on the information.
“...That still doesn’t help us, without King, there’s nothing stopping Seere just taking Ingram by force.”
“Because you’re not getting rid of King.” Soune assured her. “What do you think he values more, selling Ingram, or losing his kingdom?” Eleanor’s glare narrowed in realisation.
“...You want us to blackmail him?”
“That’s the plan, I can get back there, figure out what it is or even try to get in there but…” Soune sighed, unsure how the old woman would react to what came next. “I need Gress to do it.”
“The hell you do, why?” Eleanor snapped.
“Outside the entrance is a security system, two turrets. I’m not sure how many people you know that can redirect bullets but…” Soune trailed off.
“...This is a long shot. There’s no guarantee this will change anything, for all we know it could all be approved and above board…” Eleanor stared down, running the information over in her head. Her eyes closed painfully tight, realising how cornered they were, how volatile Gress was one way or another.
“I’ll need to find him and speak with him first. I can’t force Gress to cooperate with you.” She finished.
“And if he refuses, I’ll still go and try to gather what evidence I can.” A quickly formed bargain.
Eleanor paused, scrubbed her face, and stepped forward closer to Soune. Old, tired eyes read Soune’s stony gaze, gauging her.
“...One more condition.” Eleanor began. “If this is all a bust, if this plan of yours changes nothing. I want you to take Gress away, by force if you have to. Far away from Ingram, away from anything that will make him consider doing something stupid…Take him somewhere that will let him start again.”
It was a hard ask, if it all failed, Soune very much doubted she’d be in a position to harbour a Splinter safe passage somewhere. A good part of her tumultuous, internal counter argument was selling him out as a means to get herself out of the situation.
“Please…save my boy.” Eleanor whispered, only audible to Soune.
The wet eyes staring at her pushed Soune over the edge, she stifled a tight sigh, and extended her hand.
“Deal.”
Eleanor sniffed back a sob of relief, and took the woman's hand.
“Deal.”
“Traitor…” Kirche slurred from below, Soune stared down at her with a scowl. Kirche repeated it, glaring at Soune.
“Bedan, is she stable?” Eleanor coldly demanded. The Doctor rose with a sigh.
“Mostly, she’s not going back into seizure for now. The bleeding stopped too-” He explained, Eleanor cut him off before he could continue rambling off details
“Good enough. Davey, cuff her into the cell, both hands. No chances this time.”
“Aye.” Her junior guard responded, stepping forward to detain Kirche.
“Alright, let’s go find him…” Eleanor trailed off with a sigh, turning up the street and walking away. Soune followed close, but the Doctor held back, lighting a smoke with shaky hands. Eleanor’s pistol was heavy in his dirty coat pocket. “Bedan?”
“Let it be known I think we should just leave the boy alone…” He leant down to gather up his belongings, first aid supplies packed in a case alongside a packed binder. “She’s right, Eleanor. Given the chance Gress wouldn’t think twice about giving himself up for us.”
“I know, he’s too good like that.” She blinked back surprise when Bedan snapped and snarled back at her.
“It’s not him being good! It’s him thinking this is his fault! His responsibility!” Bedan huffed and straightened himself, patting away the dust on his pants. “You and the Am-Ray suit, this trash from outside, all adding to that weight!” He raised his cutting stare to Soune, sorrow flickered behind his edged glare.
She tried to return it, but found herself faltering and looking away from the heavy gaze.
“...We don’t have any other options, Doctor. Trust me, I wish we did.” Eleanor explained in her usual, flat, factual way.
“There were always other options before it got to this point. We could have conferred with Priloca. Sold the land to one of the Galus-9* industry corps, better to be a company town than pavement…”
The old Doctor showed a rare moment of enfeeblement, struggling to raise himself with gasped, choking coughs. Shame was clear in his eyes.
“I could’ve contacted C2 years ago and redeemed some favours... None of us wanted to risk what we had, and now it’s all on the boy…It’s too late now. I’ve said my piece.” Bedan signalled his readiness with a tight nod, Eleanor led the trio away.
* Galus-9 - The coalition of nine major corporations operating under Galus Commodities & Retail. Formed after the dissolution of the militarised Galus Alliance following the Oceanic War.
Moderated by a joint agreement between C2 and Priloca. High taxation, frequent investigations, approved and scrutinised executive rosters, market share limits, and a complete ban on any combat forces either developed or under the command of Galus-affiliated corporations are leading efforts to manage the coalitions power.
Current members include; Am-Ray Holdings, Seere Development, Ashtar Electronics, Seabook Manufacturing, Links Media, Armada Industries, Noa Banking, Orgus Power and Letta Healthcare.
