TWO YEARS AGO, A CRIMINAL ORGANIZATION GOING BY THE NAME TEAM IMUM WRECKED CHAOS ACROSS THE LAND, DAMAGING CITIES AND KILLING THOUSANDS OF CITIZENS. While Imum itself has long since been disbanded, however, the region remains broken: entire towns have been laid to waste and the Association struggles to find homes for those who were lucky enough to survive the attempted genocide. Reconstruction trudges on as usual... but with three factions - the Association, the corporations, and the people - each wishing to take the rebuilding of an entire region down opposite paths, how long will it be before Lyeant's last leg gives out permanently?
03.01
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01.28
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[attr="class","postbody"]Taishu quite liked Irisa. Before the war, he'd been determined to work hard enough to buy himself a nice place below the water. He'd quite like a place like this. So spacious and open, glass walls from ceiling to floor giving such a beautiful view of the sea, black now in the dark of night, but still he loved to look into the depths. He was there for a reason, though, and it wasn't to gawk at the beauty of it all. "So about the information you had." A man stepped up to him, "About the Republic." Taishu turned and smiled sweet.
"Oh, don't jump straight to the point like that, my dear." Sing song and as gentle as his face, "It's so unattractive." He pronounced the syllables clearly and crisp as he eyed the man. His name was Alexis Finch. He was a Parallax executive known for his low view of pokemon. Slaves for labor, creatures too far below him to consider even caring about. He lobbied hard against the protection of Pokemon habitats. A waste of valuable space, he called them. Imagine how many houses and businesses they could put up there. Of course, in public he was kind enough to pokemon. Kind enough that the general public forgave him, defended him, gave him the benefit of the doubt. "He's just looking out for us! He wants everyone to fit in the city they're planning! He wants everyone to be safe!" But oh, Tai wondered what they would say if they knew that in private, his pokemon tended to meet the sharp toe of his boot. He never kept anything large or anything that could effectively fight back for reason of that nasty habit he took so much pleasure in. How many Ratatas had he had now? All named Ben, almost no one knew the six other bens hadn't survived his abuse. He liked to pick on the weak.
Taishu stretched a hand out, ran the back of gloved fingertips from Mr. Finch nose to his ear before he pushed his fingers into his hair. It was long and loose and Mr. Finch leaned into his touch, a thin smile on his lips. "The Information, darling." Mr. Finch insisted still, humming pleasantly, eyeing him two different intentions.
"Just wait—" And he stepped forward, lips almost touching. At such a small distance, he could feel memories at the very edge of his mind like dreams he knew he had but couldn't actually remember. He said each word slowly, sensually, pulling him down deeper and deeper: "I'm almost done." Sickly sweet smile dropped to cold disinterest as his grabbed tight a fistful of Mr. Finch's hair and slammed his head into the glass. It shook at the impact, but it remained firm. As expected, the Irisian underwater was built impeccably. He really did want to live in a place like this. One day, he would. He could already see how he would decorate— but oh, Mr. Finch at his feet groaned and broke his daydream. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and nudged Mr. Finch's head with the tip of his heel. "Almost done." He sang, as he got down on his knees, straddling dear Mr. Finch. He adjust his gloves, made sure they were on good and snug, before he raised a fist and drove it home in Mr. Finch's face. His knuckles bloomed pain, but he brought his fist back and down again and again and again. The disgusting crunch of bone and cartilage, the squelch of blood and soft tissue, it filled the silence in a way that made Tai felt like this moment was all there was in the world. Nothing else existed but this exact moment and these exact actions. He was in his own piece of heaven for a moment, mangling an already dead man, but it was broken by the loud click of the deadbolt being slid back and then the softer click on the lock. The creak of the door and for a moment, all Taishu could do was stare wide eyed and frozen, hand lingering in the air. His knuckles throbbed and he was distinctly aware of that now and how warmth suddenly surged through them. He was aware now of their weight in his body, how exhausting it was to beat someone to death. Should've just slit his throat. That's what he brought the damn knife for.
Light filtered through the sea overhead to cast long turquoise shadows across his face as he slunk through the long winding halls and corridors of the underwater city. Mercer hadn’t bothered searching for a key-card nor pass-code for the luxury suites only because he had managed to secure the information for most of them (although the data was a year old by now) on Liesel’s memory. The Pokemon flanked him in an erratic manner, flitting from shade to shade, in a pattern that would have usually irritated him, but all he could muster was a roll of his eyes.
He had considered simply leaking toxins into the air vents of the target’s room, but that ran the risk of killing anybody else who happened to be inside, and while he wasn’t opposed to incurring collateral damage, that frankly that was a little too impersonal for Mercer’s taste. And, afterall, he liked to be thorough.
The door to the residential quarters slid open after a few taps from Liesel’s beak on the touchpad, leaving him facing a window gazing into the depths of the sea, the lights of the rest of the city flickering from within the labyrinthine structures sunken into the ocean. Mercer idly wondered if that was something he was supposed to be concerned about. The destruction of Pokemon habitats, right? He had sworn he had passed a dead Mantine floating by the glass before. No matter. The sensors on the lamps lining the hall spilled into a soft glow one after another as he passed, counting the doors to the target as he had done dozens of times before. One. He thought he remembered this particular stretch of apartments from another time. Two. Another job? Three. No, maybe he had just seen pictures. Four. No matter. Five. No matter.
For this door, the final one, he had the key. The lock clicked and he pushed the rest of it open with his shoulder, aiming the barrel of his gun straight ahead.
He wouldn’t call it a bloodbath precisely – but to put it bluntly, Mercer wasn’t expecting a body already. And he definitely wasn’t expecting a familiar face staring back at him. He barely recognised the man given the dimness – and was that blood on his face? – but that wide-eyed heart-warming naiveté was irresistibly unforgettable. So very pretty. So very out of place, a modern renaissance. The familiar tang of blood iron hung heavy in the space between them.
Mercer ran his tongue along his teeth and felt his hand twitched at the trigger, but his features remained blank and paralysed as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with a gentle click. He lowered the gun ever so slightly as he circled the room with the soft footsteps of someone who was more predator than man, unblinking and unwilling to look away, let alone turn his back.
“Why did you have to make a mess of this?” he asked so softly that he couldn’t be sure that Taishu heard him. He let the silence stretch out because this wasn’t something he could remember having covered in his training.
“Taishu,” he enunciated slowly, weighing each syllable on his tongue. “I remember you. To think that we meet again, and it's well…” Mercer jutted his chin in a slight motion to the gun in his hands as if that in itself was an answer.
“For the last time. I'm sure a smart man like yourself understands. Think of it as karma for making the clean-up of this so much more tedious than it has to be.”
[attr="class","postbody"]He watched him as he circled the room. He was accessing the situation, probably, and Tai felt like a deer in the headlights. He needed to figure out the best course of action. Taishu's eyes flicked to the door and then back. Could he make it? He was fast, but he decided not fast enough. Mercer would chase him, shoot him as he ran. He'd lose that fight. Adrenaline rushed through him, heart thudding against his chest. Could Mercer hear it in the silence of the room?
Doe eyed face dropped away to anger and fear as Mercer spoke. He was quiet, his voice too calm, too bored for someone who said he's going to murder him. He was insulted, both at how easy the man thought it was going to be and just at the way he said his name. The weight he put on each syllable like they were lost lovers, especially as he technically mispronounced it. He wondered who he was. The man's face familiar, but he was unable to put a name to it. He supposed he didn't need to, though. One of them was probably going to be a corpse before this was over, after all, and between a knife and a gun? It was probably going to be his own if he didn't do something quick.
"You could just turn around and leave. It's unnecessary to kill me since— I'm assuming— we both wanted him dead. Disposal will be easy enough. Clean enough." He suggested it, but really he doubted he was going to take the offer. If he was going to leave, he wouldn't have threatened him like that. This wasn't going to work. A different approach then. "If you shoot and miss, you'll hit the glass and it will break." His voice suddenly sounded unfamiliar to his own ears and he wasn't actually completely sure it was his own, "You'll drown us both." The glass may have been able to withstand a head being slammed into it, but a bullet was a completely different story. It wasn't built after the Imum conflict after all. Potential gunfights weren't taken into account when they built this particular residential complex. One shot through the glass and the pressure from the water outside would take care of the rest. It would crumble and water would wash them away. Slam them into the floor and walls, fill their lungs, and pull them back into its black depths.
Ah, just fuck it. He knew how this was going to go down and like hell was he going to let it be easy.
Ten feet of space between them and Mercer still probably thought him unarmed. His only advantage, his only opportunity as Mercer responded to his offers. In a single motion he threw himself forward and drew his knife. His ankles and feet screamed in protest as he ran at Mercer and it was nothing short of a miracle he didn't lose his balance or roll an ankle considering he was wearing heels. They clacked loud and hard against the floor and somewhere in his mind he decided that these were going to be his new favourites if they survived the night. A guy could always use a good sturdy pair of heels that could survive a fight for your life.
He slammed himself into his to-be attacker and dug the knife in to the hilt. Oh, the feeling of a knife sliding into flesh was such a pleasant one. For the smallest of moments he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the way Mercer shuddered around the knife. Only for the shortest moment, the quickest heartbeat and then he wrenched it out and dug in it again. He pushed himself hard against Mercer, tried to throw him off balance as he twisted the knife in his abdomen, trying to angle it up into his ribcage. Hit something vital like a lung or his stomach and he'd be sure to at least take him to hell with him. This angle was bad, though. He had just a second before Mercer reacted.
"I worked so hard to get this far." He snarled. He pulled the knife out and pulled it to the side and spun it around, changing his grip. Had to be fast, had to be first, because his brains could be splattered soon. He aimed for his neck, eyes wide with adrenaline, heart pounding harder and harder in his chest. He could feel the beat in his throat, in the palms of hands. It beat around the knife. "I'm not done yet."
Mercer couldn’t read his expression, let alone the tone, but he watched with something akin to curiosity. As Taishu spoke, the corner of Mercer’s lip curled into a smirk. The bargaining, of course, as standard as they come. He’d have to kill him before the hysteria and tears come, because while he was sure the apartments were insulated for sound, he knew the death throes of desperate men to be on the excessively vocal side – grating at best, disruptive to the mission at worst.
He should shoot him mid-sentence, Mercer decided idly, the barrel aimed neatly at the spot between Taishu’s eyes.
(‘Don’t look them in the eyes,’ he was told during target practice. His hands shook too much back then, and the gun didn’t fit into them properly anyway.)
Mercer fixated too long, lulled into complacency by the too soft delivery of his words, though if he had any doubts that that was Taishu in front of them, those were erased completely now. Like he was talking to a terrified creature. Mercer clicked his tongue, and cocked his head to the side.
“You assume that I would miss a–” the sentence was left unfinished as Taishu seemingly sprung to life and dove into him with an unanticipated force. Mercer found himself staggering as he struggled to regain his aim when he felt the knife thrust into his side, sinking into him what felt like agonisingly slowly, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. It was ice-cold (the blade, glinting in the light for half a second too long until it was plunged into his gut), and then hot crimson and sticky (the bloom of blood not fully realised as it seeped into the thick of his clothing). Mercer felt his breath catch in his throat, the words he never had time to utter choked dead by a hiss of pain.
The first two punctures were too swift (too unexpected?) for him to negate at all, and he felt as if his veins turned to ice as the wounds throbbed. Unwillingly, his grip on the gun faltered and it went clattering to the ground at their feet, as one of his hands dropped instinctively to his side. He inhaled sharply, mouth contorted into an ugly snarl only for the second he needed before he managed to clam his jaw shut.
Why did Taishu take the knife out of him so soon? Mercer wondered latently, bordering on incredulous. Why didn’t he lacerate him, twist the blade into him and gauge at the flesh like he would have done? Like he had before? Like he was intending to do again as soon as he could wrestle that knife out of those dainty fingers. The adrenaline from the thought was enough to send a jolt of energy through his limbs and spring him into motion, and with every ounce of strength he had, Mercer swung the right side of his body into Taishu, hoping that it would be enough to throw him off balance or at least wind him, taking the moment to jerk him upright by the wrist that was holding the knife, pulling him in so close he could see each one of his too long eyelashes. Mercer tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white, and harder still. As his vision lurched momentarily, he chose to imagine himself crushing the carpal bones of the gloved hand grasped in his to a fine dust.
“Asshole,” he hissed with some difficulty through bared teeth. “Don’t think I won’t take you down with me for this.”
He should have gassed the room, Mercer decided, his thoughts both foggy and distant like they didn’t belong to him, and yet painfully visceral, as he struggled to hold Taishu’s wrist in his blood-slicked hand. He should have shot as soon as he saw the target’s corpse. He should have shot at the window and watched the pressure tear them both apart in a shower of glass.
“Worked hard for what? To be sent here to get killed by me?” His side throbbed, sending ripples of pain up his spine, but it wasn’t that pure agony any more. Mercer’s voice felt too tight when he continued, his throat constrained as though held by a noose. He wondered if Taishu could taste his bitterness, or maybe the cigarette ash on his breath. “So The Republic wanted us to kill one another, then? Someone thought us disposable.” Just like old times.
[attr="class","postbody"]Mercer underestimated him. In Tai's bargaining he'd had plenty of opportunities to shoot him down. Was it hesitation or the overconfidence of a predator who thought his prey wouldn't fight back? Tai had hoped it would be his downfall, whatever it was, but while he got a couple good hits in, it just hadn't been enough.
He should've been faster. Should've gone for the neck the second time, not the third, because Mercer reacted between those attacks and now Tai was falling, shoved off balance far more easily than he had expected. Split second thoughts filled his mind. He saw himself on the ground, scrambling to get up, but too slow, too slow, and his brain painted the floor. On the ground he'd be such an easy target and at this distance Mercer wouldn't miss. At the same time he realized this was where he died: On the floor of another man's apartment. How would the media tell it? Would they declare him his lover? Disgusting. Not like he had anyone in his life who would defend him, though. Everyone was six feet under or rotting still in a skeleton city.
He hissed and grunted with pain as he was jolted back to clarity, kept off the ground by Mercer who had snatched him up by the wrist just heartbeats after he began his descent. His arm snapped taut, bones and joints protesting, aching and burning as he lost as footing completely in the movement of it all. He hung there awkwardly, scrambling to get his feet back under him. What footing he gained in that second was lost though, as Mercer wrenched him too close and squeezed his wrist so tight that his fingers tingled and bones creaked. He wondered if it was possible for someone to break a wrist with one hand. Regardless, the knife tumbled away. He couldn't keep his hand clenched with the lack of blood flow. It felt cold, but burned hot like the tears in his eyes. Never, though, did he look scared.
He could feel Mercer's memories at his mind's edge and oh he hated it. The vague feelings and shadowy images, all so muddled and all so not his own. He smacked his other hand onto Mercer's face, trying to push himself away as well as maybe take out an eye. Maybe if he could shove his finger in far enough, hard enough, he'd hit his brain. Was that even physically possible? He wasn't sure. He tried to jab his finger in hard enough to find out.
"The republic didn't send me." He snapped, still trying to get away and still trying to at least blind Mercer, "No one sent me you stupid fuck. I wanted him dead. Why the fuck would the republic send me to kill people? I'm just a bleeding heart." He sneered in disgust.
He quickly changed tactics when he decided the eye hunt just wasn't providing results fast enough. He grabbed the hand holding him, and started to pull himself up, lifting his legs from the ground. He kicked sharply at Mercer, aiming for his gut as well as his groin. Ideally a good solid hit would be enough for him to drop him, although that would put him on the floor. He told himself that because he was planning this, he would be able to get to his feet fast enough and make a bolt either for the door or the gun. He hadn't decided which yet. He was leaning towards the gun. Mercer knew his face, his name, and presumably what he'd done. He'd ruin him assuming he didn't hunt Tai down and murder him first. Running would just delay the grand finale of this fight. Mercer was already injured, so if he could just get away and get that gun. It was his best chance. He was exhausted and he was smaller than Mercer in every way. He'd only gotten this far on luck and adrenaline. In any other circumstance, he'd probably already be a corpse. That was what made Mercer's assumption such bullshit. Did he even think? For a moment did he even think about the situation?
Mercer could hear faint tap tap tapping against the door. Liesel, of course. He had left it to outside to act as something of a safety-net in case he took too long. And the noise? It did that when it was anxious, Mercer assumed, as it would also start slamming its head into various objects when he so much as raised his voice or moved too quickly in its direction. Maybe now it could smell his blood from inside the room. At least it knew better than to break down the door unless he gave the command and frankly Mercer thought he could still salvage this. Call it hubris.
When Taishu spoke, Mercer stilled, his eyes narrowed. If he wasn’t sent by anyone and came off his own volition, then this wasn’t some contest of elimination? A competition to see who could hold the other’s life at their mercy? Mercer wondered if that changed anything. Maybe it would if only he loosened his vice-like grip on Taishu’s wrist just enough for them to part and put some distance between themselves… Mercer might have let him go, but Taishu swung for his face, reaching for his eyes which gave him only enough time to flinch back as the tips of his gloved fingers grazed viciously at Mercer's cheekbone, scraping at the sensitive skin below his eye, hard enough to bruise.
“Don’t get mouthy with me now,” Mercer spat. “What you’re saying is that you’re interfering with a Republic-sanctioned mission given to me. You don’t belong here.” He hoped his words didn’t slur or shake. His mind was seized with razor-sharp clarity, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that his voice was faint and foreign in his mouth.
He drove the side of his palm down hard on where he approximated Taishu’s collarbone – or even better, his throat – were under the clothing, and used the momentum to throw him to the bloody floor at his feet, nearly losing his own balance as he did so (swaying, he felt a little light-headed). Mercer still had it in him to kick the gun away – sending it skidding across the floor towards the corpse – just to be sure it wasn’t within Taishu’s arm-reach. Partially for extra certainty and partially just to prove a point, he pressed his heavy boot down on the blade of the second weapon, the knife. He wasn’t sure he could lean down to pick it up, but he hoped the threat of it just being there backed by his bravado would be enough to convince Taishu that he could use it if he wanted to. As long as Taishu thought he could hold on, as long as he thought he couldn’t win this fight, it would be fine. As long as he framed it as a benevolent concession on his part.
The tapping at the door increased in speed and urgency, and biting down on his lip hard, Mercer glowered at the man sprawled in front of him. He himself was still upright (barely), a stark and dignified silhouette, but aside from that he felt that all-too-familiar numb weakness spreading through every limb. Not the first time he lost blood like this. He clenched his hands into fists to quell what felt an awful lot like trembling.
“That’s my Pokemon at the door,” Mercer began, pausing as though for dramatic effect. He told himself he just needed to breathe. “It is worried… and I’m afraid that noise won’t cease until either I walk out that door or the neighbours… pacify it. You know how it is in these parts. Then, they’ll open the door, and neither of us will get out of here.” He managed the ghost of a sneer. “I’d also hate to ruin a pretty face, particularly a pretty Republic-aligned face that I’d have to answer for later.” There was an offer somewhere in those words, but he wasn’t going to spell it out any clearer.
Post by Tàishū Hǎi on Jan 10, 2017 21:09:18 GMT -6
我想回家 . . .
[attr="class","postbody"]"Oh get off your own dick already." He laughed sharply, breathlessly, "This is the most competent hit they've tried to do and you know it. While they're chasing small transgressors, I'm taking care of the actual proble—." He choked, the garble and strangled remains of his sentence coming out as nothing more than meaningless sound as Mercer shoved him down by his neck. Memories flooded his head in the short time of contact.
Taishu saw himself— no, it wasn't him, this wasn't his memory. Whose was it? What was his name? It came to mind, pulled from the memories. Mercer. That's right, his name was Mercer. He saw Mercer receive the order for a hit.. He could taste the cigarette in his mouth, they way it burned his throat and lungs, and how he enjoyed the sensation. The memories skipped ahead in broken fragments, like jumping from one stone to another of a river of time. They resumed much more smoothly when he opened the door to the apartment of Mr. Alexis Finch.
He saw himself, his actual self, staring at back at Mercer, straddling Mr. Finch's corpse. He felt the way Mercer did in that moment. He was thoroughly insulted by how lowly Mercer thought of him. He felt pain and warmth bloom in his side as he dug the knife into Mercer and he knew then that Mercer was worse off than he was letting on. As the short term memories caught up to present time, they stopped and left him feeling empty and confused as his brain tried to separate his memories from the new ones that just felt so like his own.
Mercer's hand pulled away from his neck as gravity pulled Taishu down to the ground. His head bounced on the tile and for a moment his vision swam while his lungs struggled to fill themselves after having the wind knocked from them. His brain fought to form a thought in the shock of the impact as well as the memories. He laid there stunned at first, head throbbing in every way, unable to do more than watch. He watched as Mercer kicked away the gun and stood on his knife. A pity. He could've used that, but whatever. Lost was lost and he certainly wasn't going to be able to get it with Mercer standing in it like that, so instead of trying, he just looked up at Mercer. He loomed over him, sillhouted so nicely by the dim lighting coming from somewhere behind him. He ought to be scared, he realized as his head began to clear, but he couldn't help but feel smug satisfaction at how he stabbed him not once, but twice. He was acting high and mighty, but Taishu knew was feeling that blood loss. He'd collapse soon.
Ah, but that was bad, wasn't it. He'd have to carry him out, because while he liked the idea of leaving him behind, the fact if the matter was that he needed to cover his tracks and leaving Mercer behind would just eventually turn eyes to him. "Alright." He breathed, taking another couple breaths before he started to get to his feet. Not once did he look away from Mercer as he did so. "We can't leave the gun here." He looked around for it, then upon spotting it, walked over to it and picked it up. He popped the magazine out and counted the number of rounds before popping it back in. For a few seconds, he stared at the corpse of Mr. Finch. It hadn't been in his plan to leave it here, but there was little he could do about it now, so he looked back at Mercer. "Follow me." He'd done extensive research on the area, more than he assumed Mercer had, and had a couple routes in mind. He walked to the door, opened it, and peered into the hall. It was clear for now aside from the porygon. "Put your pokemon back in their ball." He paused, reconsidered Mercer's condition, then quickly went back to help him walk. "You know, if you weren't so hasty, we wouldn't be in this situation." He would drag him down the hall if he had to. They had to get away as soon as possible, before police showed up and before Mercer passed out.
"Over here, get over here." He pulled him towards the elevator and tore off a glove, covered still in blood, and jabbed the elevator call button. He shoved Mercer into the elevator the moment he determined it was empty and followed on his heels. He jabbed at the lobby button before putting his glove back on. He used his sleeves to wipe the blood off his face, the red impossible to see in the black of his sweater. "Try to look less like you're dying and more like you're drunk, okay? Ought to make this easier." If they could get past the place's security, if they could get to the ride he'd arranged to get out of here, they'd be fine. Probably.
Mercer felt his muscles tense as Taishu started rising to his feet, and wondered if the man was averting his eyes intentionally. That’s what people did when they wanted to show they weren’t a threat, right? Like wild Pokemon – appeasement behaviour. Usually he’d feel smug, but by that point it was overshadowed by something more akin to relief. His face was twisted into a pained scowl, brow furrowed, and he couldn’t bring himself to relax even remotely. He was half considering demanding that Taishu return the gun – just to be safe – but Mercer assumed he wouldn’t readily surrender it to him now. Hell, he wouldn’t had their positions been reversed (not that he would let Taishu leave the room at all if that were the case). Instead he opted to simply stay close enough that should Taishu try to pull the gun on him, he could still feasibly move to knock it out of his fingers. Instead he gingerly leaned down and to retrieve the knife, balancing the hilt unsteadily in his fingers for several heartbeats, before holstering it. An exchange, as it were.
He glanced back at the room, at the splattering of his own blood, and then at the flecks of Finch’s blood on the glass. And then at the body, ever still and forever cold. Mercer stifled a sigh only because breathing in too deeply fucking hurt. The entire scene needed work, so he’d have to come back to clean up somewhat before anyone missed the man and came searching but only after he… recovered somewhat. While Mercer was certain that Parallax – let alone Irisian – authorities had his DNA samples in their systems, he would rather not be connected to this quite so… obviously.
Mercer flinched unwillingly when he felt Taishu press against his side to help him walk out into the hallway, regarding him with some suspicion for several moments before gingerly accepting the assistance. “Enough,” Mercer snapped at Liesel as he tossed its ball at it, relying on instinct alone to catch it when the ball neatly boomeranged back to his hand. He made sure to gently lock the door behind them, instinctively double-checking that there was no blood on the handle. At least he still had it in him to be thorough, he thought.
As they moved towards the elevator, Mercer found himself having to focus intently on specific things because the lights of the corridor were too bright for his eyes, and he was starting lose track of them between the flickers of white he was seeing at the back of his head. He wondered if he should be in more pain, and whether the absence of it in itself ought to be a matter for concern. When they entered the elevator, he was half considered sinking against the cold steel of the walls because Taishu’s warmth against him was in equal parts comforting and nauseating. Words brought him out of his reverie, and for several long seconds, all Mercer could do was muster was an icy glare.
“I’ll have to come back here to clean up later. I was intending to make it look like a self-inflicted gunshot wound, but unless you have an idea on how to make it look like he smashed his own skull open, that option is out of the question.” Mercer tried to sound curt, the sharpness of his tone hopefully making up for how hazy his head felt. And yet he incomprehensibly found his mind turning to the fact that Taishu’s hands must be injured from reducing Finch’s face to blood and cartilage.
“I’m not leaving the city yet. But since you’re such a bleeding heart, did you say?” Mercer’s lip curled as he repeated Taishu’s words back to him, pausing momentarily to savour the irony. He didn’t like how strained his voice sounded to his ears. He sounded like he was dying. “I would appreciate it if you do me a favour and escort me to a… A friend of mine with something resembling a medical background. They should be up on the surface level –” Mercer shifted slowly as he started reaching for the cell in his pocket to bring up a carefully annotated holo-map for Taishu’s benefit because something told him that the man had never bothered to navigate Irisia’s slums, when the elevator’s movement began to slow. It pinged cheerfully as Mercer interrupted himself with a groan and shrugged deeper into his jacket to hide the stab wounds in his side.
Post by Tàishū Hǎi on Jan 16, 2017 12:22:51 GMT -6
我想回家 . . .
[attr="class","postbody"]He had half a mind to just drop Mercer then and there, leave him to die or to the cops. Just how incompetent did Mercer think he was? And god, what an amateurish idea, staging a suicide. Had he taken the idea from those grossly popular crime shows on television? "Had you not interrupted," He looked at Mercer sharply and long lashes did little to dampen the edge, "there already wouldn't have been a body to even find. A story to feed the media and police had already been prepared. A real pity you had to fuck it all up." He was starting to feel rather angry with Mercer at this point. He had worked hard to get to the point of being invited over and he didn't even get to finish the job. He still had work to do. He needed to get back there before the police realized there a corpse in the apartment.
Mercer was quiet for a moment, then continued on, and Taishu was suddenly very aware of the weight Mercer put on him. He was heavier than before. Leaned on him harder. He sounded labored, like each word took incredible effort for him to form. Tai wondered if some unlicenced doctor would really be enough to ensure his life. Worst case scenario, Mercer died, his death potentially linked to him, and then he'd be charged with treason or something. No big deal. Taishu let out a sigh that hissed between his teeth as he looked at the map. He was familiar with the area and it wasn't a place he felt particularly comfortable going to. He didn't have a good alternative once you crossed out hospitals, though. "Alright, I'll get you there." He assured, "In the meantime, don't talk so much. Focus on staying awake." He looked up at the doors as the elevator slowed to a stop. They still had to actually get to the surface.
Taishu fiddled awkwardly with his pokegear, his dominant arm occupied with supporting Mercer. He had to adjust his grip twice before he was able to get the call through. "Hey!" He hummed cheerily, smiling as if he wasn't half dragging a dying man, "We're coming out now, so can you come pick us up? Okay, great. Thanks!" He snapped the pokegear shut and shoved it in his pocket successfully on the first try. He continued helping Mercer out of the lobby and to the underwater streets outside.
The girl in the car certainly didn't seem happy when she drove up. Tai ignored it and helped Mercer into the back seat before sliding in next to him. "Change of plans, Valerie: I need you to take us here." He pulled up the information Mercer shared with him several minutes ago and sent it to her pokegear. She hissed something but obliged in initial silence. She broke it as they drove through the tunnel to the surface, yellow lights zipping by in even measure.
"Who is he?" She eyed Mercer for a couple of seconds through the rearview mirror, then looked back at the road.
"A dying asshole." Tai grumbled, but he paused, sighed, and continued again, "He's with us. It looks like he was sent by the republic to take out Finch. We got into a fight and so I stabbed him. On the other hand, though, his death would bring trouble. How long will it take to get there?" She assured him that they would get there in time and fell quiet again, focusing on the road.
Taishu shifted around to get a better look at Mercer's side, pulling up his shirt and so gently touching at the skin. "Pity I don't have my suture kit." He let go and wiped the blood in Mercer's shirt, " You'll probably be fine. A few stitches and a bath." He wondered if Mercer was afraid of dying. He personally felt that after the Imum war, death had a disjointed feeling about it. He'd already been on its edge, teetered there precariously before falling back to the side of continued life. Now somehow, to him, death felt like a housecat trying to be a lion. "Don't fall asleep, okay?" He patted his shoulder and settled back down in his seat.
He watched the city lights sparkling like stars zip and fade by, darkness rapidly creeping closer as they drove into the less reputable area of town. He didn't pay much attention to the details of their surroundings, though, and was more interested in keeping Mercer awake. It wasn't like staying awake would actually help him stay alive, but if he passed out then it meant he'd lost too much blood and had only a little time left.
The car lurched to a stop and Valerie quickly got out to help Tai get Mercer at least to the door. Taishu knocked hard and incessantly, not stopping until the door was opened.
Mercer found himself staring at Taishu with some indignity. A story, he had said, with such brazen confidence that Mercer felt himself bristle. No matter how airtight it was, no matter how carefully constructed the narrative, people like Mr Finch don’t simply fade into obscurity. Not executives. Not high-ranking Parallax members. People would go looking – hounds with a smell for blood. Mercer knew because he was one of them. The more elaborate the lie, the more pleasure they’d take in unravelling it no matter how long it took.
The body was going to be the story, Mercer wanted to hiss. No assassination was ever perfect, but at least this had finality in it and no paper-trail to trace. He wanted to argue, opening his mouth to inhale sharply through his teeth, but thought better of it and snapped his jaw shut again, opting to glare at Taishu for several long moments in silence instead, watching as he called someone on his pokegear to request a pick-up. The fact that he should at least consider being grateful for Taishu’s assistance flitted across his mind, a distant and barely tangible afterthought. It was an odd sort of dissonance, because while Mercer could see his blurred reflection in the steel of the elevator – laboured in his breathing and posture – the severity of his plight didn’t quite register as it should. He had been closer to death’s door, and this wasn’t it. He probably wouldn’t have died, not with his Pokemon still functioning, and with his contact points throughout the city. Still, going down like this would have been a real hassle, and perhaps somewhat humiliating.
As Taishu sat him down in the car that seemed to have appeared too quickly, as though it were waiting for them, Mercer bitterly resolved to pay back the stabbing in the future. At least he still had a pretty good idea of where the man lived and worked in Old Veherna. An unpleasant and dour place, and Mercer wrinkled his nose at the mere memories. Taishu told him to stay awake, and he rolled his eyes with a sniff. His limbs felt too heavy, a chill on his skin. He wrapped his arms across his chest, and stared out the window, the tension in his shoulders slipping slightly as they entered familiar streets.
When the car came to a slow, Mercer found himself eagerly grappling with the door to get out into the street. The pettier part of him was glad to see his blood smear on the handle and the seats. He hoped they would enjoy cleaning that out. The driver got the door for him in the end, and he smiled a toothy grin. Did she always look so sour, or had she noticed his blood on the car seat?
Summoned by Taishu’s knocking, the door cracked open an inch, and an icy-eyed woman peered at them through the gap. Even as her eyes rested on Mercer and recognition twitched up the corners of her unmoving mouth, her facial hardly changed.
“Oh Trieu, you always come when you need something,” she said with a sigh, unbolting the door to let them through, before snapping it shut rather quickly. In the dim light of the room, only the whiteness of her hair gave away her age, her skin uncannily smooth. When Mercer was in Imum, they used to joke she used Ekans venom to paralyse the cells or something. It didn’t seem such absurd a proposition now. The furnishing hadn’t changed in all these years – Mercer noted, hazily. For how flashy and clean the main streets of Irisia were, this quarter was still entirely the same. An apartment looking from the outside as though it were carved into a concrete block, with all the warmth of one. The wallpaper, patterned with something that must have been flowers once, yellowed and peeled. The furniture was almost entirely made of poorly textured plywood, worn down over the years, and it all felt a bit at odds the makeshift surgeon’s studio behind a curtain at the back of the house to which the woman hastened Mercer to.
“This is my dear friend and colleague, Concordia,” Mercer explained to Taishu, not even looking at him as he passed through the corridor in something of a daze, his eyes flickering across the photographs in the hall. He pretended to not feel the twinge in his chest when he saw familiar faces of past (and now passed away, in some cases) friends.
“So what are you doing back in these parts,” Concordia queried lightly as she sat him down, and had him carefully roll up his shirt while she snapped on some gloves.
Mercer smiled tightly. “A bit unfair of you to try to take advantage of my state and ask me now isn’t it, huh Connie?” Mercer made an effort to make eye-contact with Taishu over her shoulder and gave a pointed, barely visible shake of his head. He hoped that was enough to communicate that it was far from safe to discuss anything delicate, or even relating to The Republic at all, in front of Concordia. Bless her heart, Mercer thought, but she had always been a snake.
“Fine, I’ll ask again next time you come to visit me. I need you to not talk now.” Concordia grinned with a face that didn’t seem her own, like she were wearing a mask, and Mercer pursed his lips and tried to keep his skin from crawling under her touch.
Post by Tàishū Hǎi on Jan 30, 2017 19:01:59 GMT -6
我想回家 . . .
[attr="class","postbody"]He was hesitant to even step inside, let alone trust someone's life to a doctor working out of such a shoddy apartment. However, at this point, there were no alternatives. This Concordia was Mercer's only hope at survival. So, he helped get him onto the table in the back.
"So what are you doing back in these parts?" He glanced at Mercer, wondering if he would say that he'd been stabbed by the guy now trying to save his life. He avoided the question, though, and Tai saw the way he shook his head ever so slightly. His attempts to make eye contact failed for the most part, but he got the idea. Either she wasn't to be trusted or Mercer valued his pride too much to admit that five foot four got him good. Tai didn't care, whichever it was.
With Mercer on the table and Concordia doing her thing, Tai stepped away to a sink. He washed his hands and face of blood, both Mercer's and Mr. Finch's. The water was so cold it made his hands ache. His skin was numb and it seeped fast into his bones and joints, tightening them up. He hastily dried them before shoving them in his jacket pockets, eager to warm them again. He wandered off to look out onto the street from a hazy window.
He'd been here before. He'd been just about everywhere or so it felt like. His work brought him all over, but before that he was looking for someone in the wake of the Imum war. Never did find her. Dead end after dead end and he still didn't know if she was alive or dead. It was a common story, enough for him to know that she was probably dead. He'd accepted that fact over a year ago and now it was all just a dull ache in his chest. Still, he could smell the smokey air and taste the shitty beer of the seedy bar they'd gone to once around here. Dear Jackie always felt more comfortable in the dark shadows of buildings built too close together. Just another face lost to the war and another friend he couldn't find.
He didn't want to stay here longer than necessary, but he felt morally obligated to stick around to find out whether Mercer was going to die or not. Knowing benefited him, too. If he died, he had a little head start on fabricating an alibi and if he didn't, then ideally Mercer would thank him for not leaving him to die and not come after him. Perhaps he ought to start thinking of an alibi now. Just in case Mercer turned out to be too bug of a threat.
He turned away from the window and settled down on the sofa. It was a composite wood frame with cushions tossed onto it, but he was just grateful to sit again. His whole body ached and now without adrenaline keeping him going, weariness weighed heavy on him. Don't sleep, he told himself though. They'll kill you in your sleep. He watched Concordia as she cleaned up Mercer's wounds. He didn't look conscious anymore, but at least he seemed to still breathing.
"What's your blood type?" Concordia's voice snapped him out of the dozing sleep he'd falled into. She was standing in front of him, wiping blood from her hands, and the sudden proximity made him jump. How long had he been asleep? A few minutes or an hour or more?
"B positive." He stammered over the reply as his brain kicked back into activity. She nodded satisfied apparently with his answer and gestured for him to follow. He did after a split second of hesitation. The only reason she would be asking for his blood type was if she needed it and although he certainly didn't trust Concordia, he could do without the extra corpse for now.
He hated giving blood. He hated the tense feeling in the crook of his arm and just knowing that something that was supposed to stay in his body was gathering in a plastic bag outside of it. Made him feel kinda sick. He'd done it enough times after the war to have learned how to ignore the feeling, though. He didn't watch as the blood flowed from his arm and instead eyed Concorida. She was cleaning some tools and occasionally checking to make sure Tai's blood was draining properly.
"He needs to rest, but he can't rest here." She checked Mercer's stitches again, "I need this table and I don't have anywhere else for him." She eyed Tai expectantly and his sigh hissed from between his teeth. Of course he was expected to take him, probably because he was the one who brought him. A real damn pain in the ass. He supposed it wasn't an absolutely horrible idea because he could keep an eye on Mercer and try to convince him that they weren't, in fact, enemies and they weren't, in fact, going to get arrested for murder. And if they did, it was most certainly Mercer's own fault. Had he not been so quick to assume—
Then again, Tai did let it become personal. He felt his knuckles throb and he was suddenly aware again of the burning heat in them as well as the pain. Had he broken something? He would get them checked out later. For now, he just let his mind settle on the ghost feelings of punching Mr. Finch's face again and again and again. It had been unprofessional. He'd let his anger at the abuse he'd done make it personal and he'd wasted too much time beating up an already dead man. If he'd been quick about it like he was supposed to, maybe at least he would've been able to dispose of the body. A little of this was his own fault, he would admit that much. A little of it.
"I'll take him." He gave in as he continued to tell himself this wasn't an entirely suicidal idea. Concordia flashed a grin that looked out of place on her face and double checked Mercer's stitching.
"So, what's your name kid?" She suddenly broke the silence of the room and Tai was a little irritated by it. They had time to kill, though, as the blood dripped down the tube and into Mercer. Taishu eyed it impatiently before turning his attention back to Concordia. She was looking at him again. He didn't like the way she looked at him. Her eyes seemed to hide something and it made his skin prickle and crawl.
"Yuru." He pulled a name from off the top of his head. Always a different one, always someone who didn't exist. He always covered his tracks. Carefully filtered information and crafted lies so as to give the impression he was giving information when he was giving nothing but dead ends. He wasn't new to this game anymore. Neither was Concorida, considering she was friends with a hitman like Mercer and so he was certain she knew he was lying. She didn't call him out and instead nodded, seemingly satisfied enough with having something to call him. She moved along to idle talk. She told him the details of Mercer's state and listed how to generally care for stitches, although she seemed fairly confident in Mercer's ability to take care of himself. Taishu remained quiet for the most part, offering comments and awknowledment as needed. He wasn't invested in the conversation, but it helped pass the time, at least. He wasn't sure what her intention was in such idle chatter, perhaps just to harmlessly pass the time, but he was grateful when she pointed out that the blood transfusion was done and said they were okay to leave. Together, they helped Mercer into the car. She waved them off and Tai watched her grow smaller and smaller as they drove away.
In the safety of the car, Taishu pulled off his gloves and examined his hands. His fingers were black, blue, and swollen. Somehow looking at them made them hurt more, so he carefully put his gloves back on and folded his hands in his lap. It was going to be a long drive back to Old Veherna and for a while he watched the city lights zip by, growing in density, then decreasing as they headed out of town. Eventually it was just the rhythmic passing of warm yellow street lights and the hum of the car engine. They were safe enough in the car, more and more distance being put between them and the the city, and with Mercer likely to be out for another several hours, Tai let himself fall asleep leaning against the door and window. He was just so tired. Between murder, attempted murder slash self defense, and then trying to save Mercer, he was exhausted and it weighed on him like lead. He couldn't have stayed awake if he'd wanted to.
