Jett dropped out of the sky like a stone, teeth clenched against the blinding pain radiating from his side. The truck rushed up and it was all he could do to flare his wings at the last second to slow his fall. He barely noticed Tarrod and Gant and the others fling themselves to the side as he slammed into the truck box between then. He hit hard, the shock resonating through his ankles and legs.
A long hiss slipped through as he remained motionless for a long moment, struggling against the pain that blackened his vision. Even through Gray had barely grazed him, the Talon had still managed to crack some ribs. Maybe even break them - Jett wasn't sure. He drew in a shuddering breath. The power behind that kick had been absolutely terrifying.
"What the hell?" An enraged voice drew Jett out of his haze, and he glanced up to see several unhappy Crossfires. He realized that his sudden crash landing had nearly hit some of them, but at the moment, he couldn't quite bring himself to feel guilty about it.
"Sorry," he muttered. He glanced back at the direction he'd came from. Even though the distance between them was rapidly expanding, the plumes of smoke and flashes of explosions were still visible. It appeared the Kairg were doing a great job at keeping the Troit flyers busy.
But why? Why are they helping me?
In his mind, Jett pictured a man with cold black eyes, staring through the holes in a metal mask. The man was smiling. Jett nearly growled at the mental image, and imagined himself punching the man in the face hard enough to make a dent in that mask. Of course, that would never happen in reality - Jett would probably break his own fist in the process, and that was even if the masked man would stand still long enough to let Jett hit him.
Ra'Skevvor, Jett thought darkly. What are you trying to do?
"What happened back there?" This time it was Tarrod.
Jett looked at the young man. Tarrod, who had once been someone Jett considered a friend. Or close to one, anyway. Tarrod didn't show any hostility, unlike his other buddies in the truck, but the mistrust was there. Even Jett could see it, lurking within the slightly narrowed eyes, the direct, cool stare.
Grimacing, Jett disengaged his helmet. Immediately, wind blew across his face. He was sweating, he realized. He could feel the cool wind whisking away the moisture from his skin. Carefully, he shifted from a crouch into a sitting position, with his legs beneath him. The movement sent pain lancing through his side and although he managed to keep his expression blank, he went pale.
"Jett," Tarrod said. "What's going on?"
The use of his name was a bit of a shock, but Jett wasn't in the mood to feel happy about it. There was too many questions whirling through his mind, and he was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed.
"Yeah Jett," Gant spat his name like it was a mouthful of phlegm. Hostility oozed from him like oil. "Why don't you tell us?"
Jett ignored Gant. He met Tarrod's eyes. "What do you think?" he said bitterly. "I defected from Troit. They're not exactly happy with me right now. Those flyers were sent to track me down and bring me back."
A frown furrowed Tarrod's brows. He glanced back at the distant smoke, which by now was starting to fade. "You fought them?"
A short laugh made its way to the surface despite Jett's attempt to hold it down. "More like I survived them. I don't think he'll come after me right now, but he'll probably find me again." He looked at his white-gloved hands, which were resting tensely on his thighs. Gray would find him again. There was no doubt about that.
Gant started to laugh. It was a cruel, ugly sound. Everyone in the back of the truck looked at him warily. "Poor little flyer," he sneered. "You ran away from home and now mommy and daddy want you back. What a steaming pile of bullcrap. You think we care about your sob story? Heh. If life's too hard, how 'bout I put you out of your misery right now?" He lifted his rifle, pointing it right at Jett's head.
"Gant!" Tarrod exclaimed. "Don't -"
"Shut it," Gant snarled. "This ain't none of your business."
Jett warily watched the crazed man. Ever since he'd met Gant, he knew the man would be nothing but trouble. When he'd first met him as a flyer trainee, he'd been frightened by Gant. The man carried a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. Mix that with a touch of insanity and a tendency for violence and you got a dangerous explosion waiting to happen.
Now, however, Gant's threats fell flat. It wasn't that the former Crossfire member had gotten less frightening, but at the moment, a guy with a gun didn't really compare to having just survived a couple of rounds with an enraged Gray.
Jett lifted his chin, staring right past the muzzle of the gun to meet Gant's dark expression calmly. "Don't point that at me unless you're going to use it. And if you are .... then you won't be the first guy with a gun that'd I've had to take down."
A strange look passed over Gant's sharp features like a shadow. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a peculiar smile. "Are you threatening me, little flyer?"
Jett blinked as realization set in. He had only meant to tell Gant to lower his weapon. He hadn't intended it to be a threat in any means. That wasn't him. He didn't go around terrorizing people - not like those silly village boys near Puta village, the place where he grew up. But what he had just done - that was nothing other than a clear threat.
He felt cold. And slightly off kilter, like he didn't quite fit in his own body.
Jett exhaled slowly. He turned away from Gant wordlessly. Unfortunately, on the other side of the truck box was Tarrod. The young rebel simply watched Jett, a unfamiliar wariness in his gaze that made Jett feel even more out of place. It was just as bad as Gant's open hostility.
This wasn't what he wanted! I came here to help! I'm not an enemy! Yet even he knew that those words mean little. It didn't matter what he thought, what he wanted, or even what he intended. To these people, he was simply a flyer.
An enemy.
And after seeing the ruins of Shann Tei, he honestly couldn't blame them. He closed his eyes, shutting out the stares even though he could still feel them boring into him like drills. How am I supposed to do anything like this?
~*RW*~
Just before nightfall, they pulled off the road and set up camp. Jerrick had found an abandoned farmhouse, and while it wouldn't possibly fit even a quarter of them inside, it would provide shelter for those who needed it.
Tarrod and the others didn't waste time getting off the back of the truck. Before it had even come to a stop, they were already rising. It was like they couldn't bear to be on it for even a second longer.
Jett sat motionlessly, barely breathing. If it were possible, he would choose to not to breathe at all. Every shift of his ribcage sent sharp agony throughout his entire torso. In this situation, he was rather content to sit where he was for as long as possible, letting the others disembark first.
A part of him marveled at how quickly they had left him. Even Mickey, who had a considerable bulk to him, managed to scamper away with surprising speed.
Gant was the last one to leave. Unlike the others, he was in no particular hurry. He stood languidly, stretched a bit, then laid a hand gently on his rifle. Then he glanced down at Jett. The corner of his lip curled, a hint of revulsion and something dark showing in his expression.
He said nothing. He didn't have to.
It was very clear to Jett that this man absolutely loathed him with every fiber of his being. As Gant turned and jumped off the truck, Jett frowned.
Even though he knew that people didn't like him just because of the suit he wore, he sometimes had to wonder. Was it something about him in particular, maybe? Not the suit, but something about him personally that made him so unlikable?
Hesitantly, he lowered his nose towards his shoulder, and gave a tentative sniff. Nothing. So it couldn't be that.
He sighed. There was nothing to be accomplished by sitting here. Might as well get this over with. This isn't going to be fun...
As Jett was trying not to die while stiffly climbing out of the truck, Jerrick paused nearby to give him a cool look. "Don't go too far. We need to talk about what happened earlier."
Jett held that unyielding gaze for all of two seconds before he had to look away. "Okay."
Jerrick began to shout orders at people, organizing them into groups and assigning them tasks. Some were ordered to gather wood and build a couple of fires, others were put in charge of putting together food and drink for the rest, and others were told to help the wounded inside the farmhouse.
As he was getting this done, Jett quietly stepped back. Maybe if he was very still and very quiet, Jerrick would forget about what happened earlier with the flyers. Besides, it all turned out well enough in the end. The flyers were diverted, no one died, everyone got here safe and sound - there was absolutely nothing to complain about.
No big deal, right?
"Hehe," he chuckled bitterly. Considering how the past year of his life had went, he'd be pretty stupid to believe that Jerrick would let something like this go.
Since there was little he could do to help, Jett didn't even bother to try. So he picked a solid oak tree off to the side and sat stiffly at its base. His entire side was bruised and swelling, and he could feel the pressure of his armored suit against it. At least it was serving to hold him together, somewhat.
Trying to distract himself from the discomfort, he turned his attention towards the western horizon. He had to squint against the fading light, but he was able to see the distant outline of Mianka rising like a hazy fortress. Orange light hovered above the city, born from the massive amount of light she generated. She was about three-quarters the size of Shann Tei, and while Shann Tei had grown sideways, Mianka had reached for the sky instead.
Jett found it somewhat surprising that Jerrick would take them this close. Mianka had a strong Troit presence, and until a few months ago, one of the Twelve had been stationed there. Even though the elite flyer had left to join up with the main forces, some remnant of soldiers still remained. And if they knew a defected flyer was nearby, they'd be more than happy to sound the alarm.
He'd been there before.
It seemed like an incredibly long time ago, but the memories of that city had never faded far from his mind. Mianka was where he'd first met Raven, after all. He couldn't help but shiver as he thought about that particularly ... painful introduction.
Thinking about it for a bit, Jett managed a half smile. Raven always did things in his own way... His smile abruptly morphed into a scowl. But what kind of monster throws a kid through a bus as soon as he meets them?!