Jet Link | 002 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metalicarus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-02-14 12:22 am
metalicarus) wrote in thearena2014-02-14 12:22 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who| Perry, Jet, Chaud and (eventually) Albert
What| Jet and Chaud have an unfortunate run-in with Perry and his sharp knives, Albert arrives in time to find the mess.
Where| Floor 2
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Blood, violence, etc
From the sixth floor Jet and Chaud had been working their way down what was obviously a museum, attempting to find something useful to them and not having much luck. They'd succeeded in avoiding anyone they didn't want to run into between darting behind corners and keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen, but it was only a matter of time before their luck would run out. And neither of them were armed.
It was clear this wasn't some fake set-up, they were dealing with a very real life or death situation and, as far as they knew, they only had each other as allies and no real method of surviving other than that defensive strategy Jet had railed against in the past.
Now they were on the second floor--much larger than any of the others for the apparent disaster that had once been the third floor, now an intact somewhat-disaster on the second floor--and they were running out of places to find anything they needed. Maybe they needed to be less picky, something blunt and not usually a weapon was just as good as a gun when it came down to it.
Yes, he'd look for something like that and then give it to Chaud. If either of them were going to make it out of this, it should be the teen.
Jet kept to the wall and the shadows as he left the echoing staircase and waited for his companion to catch up.
What| Jet and Chaud have an unfortunate run-in with Perry and his sharp knives, Albert arrives in time to find the mess.
Where| Floor 2
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Blood, violence, etc
From the sixth floor Jet and Chaud had been working their way down what was obviously a museum, attempting to find something useful to them and not having much luck. They'd succeeded in avoiding anyone they didn't want to run into between darting behind corners and keeping to the shadows to avoid being seen, but it was only a matter of time before their luck would run out. And neither of them were armed.
It was clear this wasn't some fake set-up, they were dealing with a very real life or death situation and, as far as they knew, they only had each other as allies and no real method of surviving other than that defensive strategy Jet had railed against in the past.
Now they were on the second floor--much larger than any of the others for the apparent disaster that had once been the third floor, now an intact somewhat-disaster on the second floor--and they were running out of places to find anything they needed. Maybe they needed to be less picky, something blunt and not usually a weapon was just as good as a gun when it came down to it.
Yes, he'd look for something like that and then give it to Chaud. If either of them were going to make it out of this, it should be the teen.
Jet kept to the wall and the shadows as he left the echoing staircase and waited for his companion to catch up.
no subject
The first task they should accomplish before anything else was finding a weapon of some kind. If need be, they could probably make due with stealing a piece of an exhibit or something...but Chaud would rather have something actually made to be a weapon, if only to ensure its effectiveness. Then again, anything was better than being barehanded...
The teen took half of his attention away from being overly careful to start eying their surroundings for anything that looked even remotely useable. He said nothing to Jet about it as he continued to follow him, but perhaps his outward appearance would say enough for him. Either way, he was focused...on what seemed to be mostly rubble ahead of them. And nothing useful at all. Sigh.
no subject
But there were downsides. Being on a higher level meant that you didn't need to worry about anyone coming from above you, but it also meant that you were stuck. No where to go, because up was no longer an option, and they were storming from downstairs. Being on a lower level, while giving you the option of getting away and going to a higher level, also meant that it was just as easy to get stuck.
Downsides to both, really, and Perry had not chosen this floor lightly. It's the dioramas that make this place the perfect area to hide out in. And it put everyone on edge, knowing that someone could be in there. Which was why he wasn't hiding in wait in the dioramas, but rather on the edge of them. He was moving quietly; only an idiot would stay hidden for long.
And he'd laid a trap. If they kept moving forward, they would see a smattering of items that could be weapons, spread out so they weren't all suspiciously grouped together, but in a certain area. Bones, sticks, more bones, all sorts of club-like items.
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"Chaud, here. Take this. Swing it hard enough and you could crush a guy's skull with it." It was better than nothing and while Jet could probably get more creative with something he found, Chaud didn't have much in the way of weapons training, but hitting someone with a large stick didn't take training.
At least this way, if they got separated or something happened to him, the teen wouldn't be defenseless.
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Hm...yes, this'll do nicely enough. The thought of using this to bash someone's head in was not as nice, but Chaud wasn't about to say that out loud. It was a naive sentiment to have in a life-or-death situation, wasn't it? Of course it was. He didn't want to kill, but he may not have much of a choice if it meant saving his and Jet's lives, so...
He kept his concerns to himself and instead quietly stared at Jet, fully expecting him to pick up a weapon too before they continued onward.
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Not that he'd ever met these guys before. But a name... still didn't change anything, but now he knew who people were talking about, when they talked about this one guy. This kid. It was better to not think about it too much, because there was more work to be done.
He couldn't wait. If he kept waiting, they would both be armed, and the element of surprise wouldn't matter much. They could start bashing his head in with the clubs that he gave them, and that was just too embarrassing.
Perry was fast, and since there were no shoes for anyone here, he was quiet. Fast, and quiet, and he darted out from behind and to the right, grabbing Chaud and dragging him back.
no subject
Fear but mostly anger surged through him as he darted forward to try and catch up to their assailant before anything could happen to the teen.
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"Jet-!" the teen gasped as he took the club in one hand and swung it backward, in an attempt to hit whoever had just grabbed him. Such a feat was very difficult for him when he was being dragged and couldn't aim quite right or even stand on his own two feet...but he wasn't about to be attacked by someone without even trying to fight back.
I looked down and thought you guys had skipped me and I got sad but I was wrong >>
He wasn't going to torture, not that. But there were two of them, and if he even let one slip from his grasp (literally), then he was dead. Just thinking of that brought into focus the club coming at him. He still had a hold of the kid, but the club stopped him for a second as it hit his other arm. That hurt, and he dropped the knife in his hand.
Perry tried to break his neck, but from his position, it didn't work. Hurt, but didn't work, and he just needed a couple of seconds to pull out his another knife.
No definitely not <3 We just figured finishing that part would make Perry and Albert's log easier
The clatter of the knife hitting the floor caught his attention and he snatched it up in a flash and had it pointed right at the guy's face.
"Let him go or I will shove this through your skull without a second thought." The last time he'd been in a knife fight, it had resulted in Jet accidentally killing the other teen, there would be no accident in this case, not if it meant protecting his companion. The only reason he hadn't just gone for a strike was because--professional or not--Jet didn't know how fast he was, he could have Chaud shoved and moved right into the blade's path if Jet weren't careful.
no subject
That thought in mind, Chaud prepared to swing the club again, but Jet's voice stopped him short. Instead, he glanced over at his companion to see a knife in his hands. He'd heard the sound of it hitting the ground earlier, so there was no question about where it'd come from; rather, Chaud's mind raced with the question of what he should be doing now that Jet was making a threat. Rash action wouldn't help them, would it? If Chaud continued to struggle, would their assailant be more willing to ignore Jet's warning or more willing to cooperate? He'd never been held hostage like this before...he had no idea what the best course of action was...
So as he continued to have panicked thoughts, he ultimately did nothing, beyond stare at Jet with obvious fear in his eyes.
<333
Perry had angled their bodies so that you couldn't see the other knife in his belt, nor his hand going for it. It just looked like he was holding the kid by the neck.
"Drop the knife, and I'll let him go." Perry said quietly. It was in that instance, right as he said it, that he pulled his other knife out, moved his arm around his neck up, and sliced it deep. As deep as he could get it, and then shoving the kid to the other one.
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"No!!" He was already moving forward by the time he found his arms full with the teen, Chaud's blood spilling too fast from the wound. "Chaud!"
His mind was on fastforward and making decisions that overrode his heart. He wanted to stay and put pressure on the wound himself, but a part of him already knew there wasn't anything he could do. He grabbed the boy's hand and placed it over the wound, pressing hard to try and tell him to keep the pressure as Jet laid him down.
Then he was up on his feet, that inferno of rage that had been following him and building for months fueling his actions and lighting his eyes. Hate, rage, it was all there as he barreled forward and threw all his weight into ramming his shoulder into the guy's chest. He drove them back into something solid and a satisfying crack rang from the guy's ribs.
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So he should have already been gone, when he was hit with what felt like a fucking tank. Definitely needed to be gone, as the air was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for just a moment before his back met the wall.
Unfortunately, he had his crowbar also strapped to his back, and he could literally feel bones break. "Fuck!" Crying out, he automatically slashed down with the knife, hitting his arm. He had to get him off of him.
"Get off!" Perry yelled, only because he needed to say something as he brought a knee up. He had to get him off of him or else he was dead.
only a little later
Albert had made his way down to the second floor through careful use of stairwells and even more careful use of a ventilation shaft he'd managed to squeeze into to skip the mess of the third floor. He's initially thought the smell was from the wide but basically harmless scrape the metal edge of the vent had made in his own shoulder as he'd wormed his way out, but the smell became so overpowering as he slunk around corners and displays in the darkened museum that there's no possible way it could be from the simple injury.
Lights flicker and Albert steps very carefully with his bare feet, silently glad (on a second thought) that he hadn't managed to scrounge up shoes in his size; shoes make noise and this hall is dim and foreboding. The less overt he makes himself, the better. It's not a role he's used to. In their team, he's one of the 'big guns,' not as useful for covert operations as Pyunma, Great Britain, or Joe with their specialized abilities and skill sets, but in two thirds of a century of action, Albert's still managed to gather enough experience and knowledge to keep himself hidden. Even when his toes squelch gently into a warm, viscous fluid that makes his stomach do an uncomfortably squeemish flop.
He'd found the source of the smell.
Re: only a little later
Then again, that had been the teen's neck, the stomach was notoriously slower.
Chaud's body lay inches away, still cooling, though the light had gone from his eyes. Jet could smell and feel the blood all around them and it was likely to draw someone else, but if Jet moved he'd only bleed out faster. Maybe that would be better. There was something to be said about making it quick, but if this was going to be it then he didn't really feel like rushing it. Of course, the extra time meant he could lay there and think about how he'd screwed up.
The feeling of someone drawing closer was a welcome distraction from that, even if it meant they were just going to finish the job, but what he saw in the dim lighting almost made him wish he'd died faster. Or maybe not, he couldn't decide.
The smile that curved his lips was born from a genuine happiness to see the silver-haired man, but it contrasted with the squeezing hand of guilt and dread that gripped his heart.
"Hey...thought I wasn't going to find you again."
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"Jet, you're..." He pulls his eyes away from the wound, away from precious scarlet that's stained everything around it, and brings a shaking hand to the side of Jet's face. Despite his distress it's steady, somehow, and he mechanically manages a small but wavering lift at the corners of his lips in answer to Jet's own. It does't reach his eyes. "No, you found me."
no subject
One hand still pressed even harder to his stomach, the other shakily came up to press over the German's, unaware of the fact he was getting it bloody. He wished there was some magical thing he could say to make it better, to make that fake smile into a real one, but there wasn't anything. The fact Albert was even trying to smile at all instead of telling Jet to 'stop being stupid, it wasn't even a big wound, he'd be fine' meant they both already knew that wasn't the case.
He was failing his partner all over again, dying a third time when he'd promised not to leave the German's side. "I'm sorry. He got the jump on us...I couldn't save--he got Chaud first....Sorry."
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He spares a glance to Chaud's body, curled over and away as if just sleeping, but he's too still, unnaturally still, and Albert knows better. "It's this place. This world. Don't take that fault on yourself."
With a swallow, he bends down, pressing his forehead against Jet's and settling more on his hip than his knees, intending to stay for as long as it takes. At least this time he'll be here with Jet when the end comes. For now, it's better to keep talking. Take his mind from what's obviously a painful wound and the seeping cold Albert knows comes next. "What did he look like? The man who attacked you."
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"Shorter. Average height and build. Brown hair. He had a...crowbar and some knives." The murder weapons, though he chose not to mention specifics. He would rather focus on the warm breath on his face. "I hit him. Think I broke some ribs, not sure."
Things were getting fuzzier to try and focus on, so he chose Albert's face and voice and touch instead. He'd rather be thinking about those when his mind inevitably stopped and his eyes failed.
It was selfish and he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it. "Will you stay?"
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Gentle fingers thread through matted blond hair as Albert tries to find the right thing to say, to do, anything to make this easier on the both of them and to hide how his heart is slowly bleeding out right there along with Jet on the floor. He's glad he doesn't have his cybernetics right now, glad he can at least offer warmth and softness when its needed most. Jet had never even needed touch, though. His warmth came from the soul and it always shined. Still shines, even now. He wonders if he can do the same.
He should try, at least.
"When we're free again, remind me to take you up into the mountains of the German countryside. I know you don't like to go too far from civilization, but the stars there shine so brightly they illuminate everything for miles, making the landscape seem even more vast than in the day. I think you'd like it, even if it's far from a city."
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He knows what Albert's doing and he appreciates the distraction of his mind trying to produce what a sight like that would be like. But then his eyes are stinging and there's a lump forming in his throat, choking his voice. Wet warmth trickled from the corners of his eyes and he nodded slightly. "Y-yeah...I'd like that." In that moment, the strength fading from his limbs, he'd never wanted anything more in his life.
Slowly and feeling as though it were made of lead, the blond brought the hand that had been trying to keep his body running up to press his fingertips lightly to Albert's face; the bright red standing out against his partner's pale skin.
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"We could go flying." It doesn't matter that they're not cyborgs right now, it doesn't matter that it's all impossible in the face of death, even if Albert has a small, insane measure of hope that Jet will somehow survive. He's died twice and come back. Surely there's some lucky star protecting him.
But they're not cyborgs now. They're human. And humans are fragile stupid things and there is no benevolent God, there's no miracle of science or religion. There's just Jet going cold and shivery in his arms and taking Albert's will with him.
He holds his partner closer, shielding him bodily from death. "We'll go flying. See the stars up close. I always like when you take me up with you..."
He's trembling. He'd thought it was Jet but it's Albert that's trembling and Jet's face - that weak little genuine smile - goes blurry in his vision. He can't talk anymore, his tongue thick in his mouth and his throat closed for emotion. All he can do is hold Jet's hand tightly to his cheek and repeat the same thought over and over in his head.
Bitte lass mich nicht...
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"Yeah...we'll go as high as we can...wherever you want. Just us..." He wishes he could bring their lips together one last time or say that thing they'd been so afraid to say that in their decades of being together, they'd only said it twice, but in his indecision on which he wanted more, neither request made it past his lips.
Blue eyes searched silver, hoping he could somehow project what he was feeling through the mechanical mental link they no longer had. But, like stars going out, the light fled from his eyes and took with it the strength in his grip and the smile on his face.
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Tears fall one by one, big and ugly and silent. He hadn't cried the first time, watching stars fall to earth, nor the second in its grotesque familiarity. But this time is different. This time - maybe because of where they are, maybe because of all that went before, maybe just because he's actually at Jet's side this time - it feels final. Heavy. It bows his spine and presses in on him on the tears keep coming and he feels as if he'll break.
And maybe a little piece of him does. Maybe after all the many many years of pain and suffering and loss this latest is the proverbial straw and there's a little pop the same as all those years ago when he'd lost his world and been rebuilt against his will into a new one he never wanted.
But he can't. Not yet. He can't rest yet. Can't join Jet until he's paid back the favor.
Slowly the tears ebb and Albert's left with just the silence, the overly loud silence that somehow fans the cold flame of his anger that anyone could do this, the icy rage at the hand they'd been dealt that he won't live long enough to dismantle the foundation of but he'll at least see the hand that took Jet and Chaud's lives is dealt justice. Recompense.
There will be hell to pay, and in this Albert will take on the guise of the devil.