thearena | A rabbit will run [CLOSED]

Who| Sigma and R.
What| Dr. Klim is ambushed by wild animals and saved by R, but isn't used to friendly zombies.
Where| Desert arena.
When| Week 3.
Warnings/Notes| Violence, animal death.

As many times as he had done it, Sigma Klim hated to die.

Perhaps it wasn't the dying he hated as much as the suffering. There had been dozens of timelines where he had lived through fates worse than death: his arm cut off for the watch it carried, losing his mind with grief in a room with a cold corpse, sacrificing his eye and arms to be left suffering on a cot for three months. And, of course, living with a virus long enough to become a staggering violent zombie.

Dying was not something he treated as trivially as his partner. Despite the hundreds of deaths he'd died, never had he walked into it with nonchalance. And as another night fell that day and Sigma found himself pursued by ravenous and agitated coyotes, where Eponine would have embraced the teeth of the wolves the Doctor resolved to fight for his life.

An aging man of old metal and thin bones, the senior was significantly slower than the pack. Once they were almost upon him, the Doctor spun around and, using his mechanical eye to frantically zoom, aimed a throwing knife into the eye of the alpha. The dog yelped, but the other two were unfazed - soon Sigma was on his back in the sand, two wolves atop him.

One lunged for the hands shielding Sigma's face and neck, teeth sinking into the cybernetics of his arm. As capable of feeling pain in his enhancements as he was anywhere else in his body, the Doctor screamed, and thick chunks of artificial skin tore from his arm like meat from a bone. But it would not kill him: using this to his advantage, Sigma shoved his metal arm deeper into the dog's mouth and grabbed the flesh of its cheek, buying himself some time while the animal tried to pull away.

Beside him was a growl, and he knew the last animal would soon be upon him, tearing at the rest of his body that wasn't made of wire and metal. In his free hand, Sigma's grip tightened around his last throwing knife, and he took one last shaken, horrified gasp. It seemed he was about to add "eaten alive" to his long list of deaths.

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Sigma might have to put that back on the bucket list.

R hit the last coyote out of nowhere, the animal so busy sizing up the old man that it didn't spot the zombie coming at a fast lurch. R latched on for all he was worth, sinking his teeth into the coyote's furry neck and ripping and tearing like they were in a contest to see who died first. Blood splashed out as it yelped and tried to bite back, the animal falling to the side with R sprawling on top. It was still twitching and gurgling into the sand as he tore into it hungrily.

He might've just (accidentally) rescued Sigma. That last coyote might still be his problem, but on the flip side, R was so distracted with his own meal that he hadn't joined in attacking the resident human.

They'd cross that bridge when they got there.

Uncertain of what had happened, Sigma lay stunned as the felled animal's blood speckled his face, but was brought back to earth when the coyote gnawing on his arm bit down and began to yank it from his socket. No longer needing to gamble with his last knife, Sigma held his breath and lurched forward, clinging to the top of the animal's head and bringing the knife down through its skull with herculean strength. The nerve-wires in his arm spark and pop as the wolf releases its grip, and it falls, dead.

The Doctor begins to breathe heavy, panicked breaths as he pulls out his arm, white with ABT and flesh falling off of metal bone. Who or what had saved him? The scene that had unfolded beside him had been so quick, so surreal, that Sigma hadn't had time to process it.

Sigma's eyes fell on the undead creature feasting on flesh, and his strangled cry formed words. "Oh God," he gasped, but fell to his side as he tried to push himself away through the sand, his injured arm collapsing under his weight.

The "Oh God" jerked R's head out of the coyote's haunch. He turned and stared at the old man. His nostrils flared as he instinctively inhaled. Just what was he getting here? He got the smell of metal and flesh and there was something white dripping out of the old man's arm, R sniffing again because that wasn't normal and he couldn't tell if he wanted to bite it or nose at it or what.

The very least he wanted to do was investigate. Besides, he'd told Wyatt - or was it Max? - that he'd try to do better. What if this was another one of their friends? Friends don't eat friends of friends. (Did anyone say that? R couldn't keep track, stuff fuzzing in and out and it was life as usual for a zombie).

He staggered to his feet, shuffling over toward the other Tribute with his head hanging to the side. His sniffing noises grew louder, curious, even, as he approached, getting close enough to reach out unevenly with one hand and brush his fingers against the blood.

"...This?" R smeared the white gunk around on the arm, unaware he had a huge chunk of fur sticking out the side of his mouth.

Sigma was so frightened he could not bring himself to stand. The Doctor merely watched the boy approach, remembering vividly how the victims of radical-6 had shuffled slugglishly before breaking into obscene acts of violence, and wished the two of his knives weren't currently occupied. But radical-6 'zombification' was a temporary state if the cure was applied, and so Sigma did not attack, not yet. Was there a human being in there, too?

And then the Doctor nearly fainted when it went on to ask a question! Dr. Klim blurted out his answer quickly as it came to mind, without thinking much about what he was saying. "It's my artificial blood. I lost my arms some time ago. It's part of the replacement. I designed it." It didn't smell like real blood, and maybe that would save his life now. Both his real and mechanical eye focused unwittingly on the coyote flesh hanging from R's face.

R was seconds away from sticking his fingers into his mouth to taste-test. Fake? Ugh! No thanks. (He caught himself being rude wiping his hand on his jeans, leaving sticky white smears). Too late to take it back.

"Not...real?" R sounded almost disappointed. It wasn't like all of him was artificial. R sniffed noisily, so close he could almost brush his mouth against the man's gray hair. He blew out a stale, cool breath and leaned back. Hold it together, R. You can't be friendly if you're ripping him apart! "You're...sss...smart. Name? Rr."

R's hand clapped against his own bony chest, happy to say he could remember that much since he'd fed on that dead man. He'd lost weight since he started the Arena, whatever he had when he entered withering away under the sun. Realizing the old man was staring, R practiced his smile, his cracked, leathery mouth twitching and convulsing into what he figured was "close enough". Between that eye of his and the man's strange white blood, R was curious enough to put extra effort into being sociable today.

It wasn't very often Dr. Klim was completely bewildered. His strange sets of beliefs and abilities were usually the cause of confusion to the one he was speaking with, not the other way around. Sigma was frightened, but could perceive that this boy was making an effort to fight off his infection. Even if it seemed foolish to him, the Doctor found it admirable, and after R backed off somewhat Sigma relaxed enough to speak without stammering.

"Yeah. Still hurts, though. R... That's your name?" Sigma asked through a squinted eye. The cybernetic optics whirred almost silently as it moved and memorized the boy. He returned R's failed smile nervously. "Thank you. I'm Sigma." The Doctor cleared his throat and sat up. He thought of retrieving his knife, but worried R would get the wrong impression - instead, Sigma tore a scrap of fabric from the bottom of his jacket and wrapped it around his gaping 'wound'. It stung and was like sticking one's hands into floodwater to dam the flow, and Doctor's words were through pain. "You saved my life just now, you realize. I appreciate it."

Yup, that was his name, until (if) he remembered more. R finally figured out he had some coyote sticking out his mouth, his hand coming up as he watched Sigma and scrubbing off the gore half-heartedly. The white blood seemed to fascinate him as he gaped at it, then at Sigma once the words sank in. He did? Maybe he did, R trying to review the last couple of minutes and really only registering the taste of dying coyote in his mouth and Sigma bleeding the wrong color. Now the zombie sat there with his butt parked on the cooling desert sand, close enough he could see, kinda, what Sigma was doing even if he could only make out a smeary detail of his face.

R’s head sagged to the side. His eyes, scratched to a milky white, remained fixed on a point just over the old man’s shoulder.

“Wuh…welcome,” R said, his moan dubious. Could you call someone like him a hero if he rescued Sigma on accident? R didn’t feel he deserved the thanks. It’d different if he did like it was out of the goodness of his heart, but…yeah. “Good d-deed of…day?”

He tried to play it off as cool, hoping his face was so stiff on its way to mummification that Sigma couldn’t read his wince.

Sigma could tell the young man was struggling with his more human faculties, but he was impressed nonetheless. He hummed to himself, halfway between a chuckle and a thoughtful pause. "...Quite. How on earth do you do it, R?" He gestured towards him - referring not to the boy himself but his symptoms. "It's a virus of some sort, isn't it? It must be difficult to live with, to maintain.. yourself," his mind, his soul. "From where do you draw such strength?"

He hoped it was a kosher topic of conversation.

R slowly followed Sigma's hand, tracking it like an animal would. A zombie would probably get a few weeks entertainment if someone only threw a laser-pointer at them.

The question from Sigma stumped him, R withdrawing into his corpse to see if he could find an answer and words easy enough to groan. It was one of those things he didn't even really know himself: why he was better off than a lot of the other corpses shambling around out there. Why at least he had a letter to his name when a lot of them didn't even have that. R groaned thoughtfully. Nice question, though. Most people he met didn't think to ask that, they just screamed or shot first.

"Don't...know. Still have...this," R touched his chest, kinda-sorta close to where his heart was. "You...feel the...same?"

A rabbit will run [CLOSED]

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