"You never gave a damn about her, Kyarra." I spit with such ruthlessness.
"She needs to go to a hospital, Raven! Don't call me inconsiderate for that!" She shouts back at me. It's weird being called by my birth name, again. Claire—Timber, and I haven't brought it up in years between each other because we've just found it so weird after being labelled as Rocori and Timber.
"All of our faces are broadcasted all over Arcana, probably over the whole side of North America by now! Going to a hospital wouldn't do us any good!"
"Then she's going to die here!" Kya places her hands on her head, trying to ruffle her hair. "I'm so surprised you suddenly care about that." I snap selfishly and she doesn't hesitate to punch me clean in the face.
I stagger back, gripping the closest table and holding my jaw. "She is the only one who can get close to him." She defends, crossing her arms.
I scoff. "Who, Striker? So she's just bait now?" She begins shaking her head. "You're only thinking about winning right now, Kya. Wake up. You might not even have a team if you act like that."
"That's not true—"
"Bullshit." I hiss.
She changes the subject again. "Even if she lives, she'll have to give up the crime life." I shake my head sharply, stepping closer to her. "No. She won't. She will never give up the crime life. We're not done."
"You can't possibly still be thinking
about that—"
"We're not talking about this anymore."
"Fine," She slaps her hands against her thighs and I turn around, grabbing my car keys from the table. "Where are you going?"
I spin the keychain on my finger. "Out. I'm gonna be my own personal American spy!" I mockingly kick my heels together and head down the stairs, making sure to grab a specific bracelet as well.
Before she can protest anything else, I'm already getting into my car and trying to avoid any and all thoughts about Claire's personal health status.
I speed out of the garage and make a break for the highway, merging so good I barely manage to cut someone off.
My real name is Raven Louvremont. I go by the alias of Rocori because my first cat's name was Rocco. I wanted to expand that name to something more uncommon, so I chose Rocori.
My best friend is Claire Alpharo. She stuck with my personal nickname of Timber for her after our first night out in our early youth to celebrate the new path in our life; the crime life.
She didn't know how many drinks she could handle, and ended up continuously asking — and singing — the song Timber. Endlessly embarrassed.
Rolling into the city and parking under one of the sky-tram bridges, I walked the way over to AA; Arcana's finest Apartments. It's just a blissful guess that Striker is here because A) It's rich. And B) He's not from here originally. Our arrest is just part of his job.
While he's spending months here in Arcana, he's losing a bit of his tan. I'm assuming he's from Vegas; I caught a glimpse of a few poker chips in his gear.
If he isn't in this apartment, I've got at least thirteen others to check. I'm trusting my gut for the time being. I can't worry about Timber right now at a time like this, I'm trying to get a peaceful conversation with him.
Listening to the sound of my shoes thud on the stairs leading to the building, I realize that there's no chance I can walk into this building when my face is all over the news.
Not looking like this at least.
With the weird technology brought by the power of this pearl bracelet I wear, I shape-shift my appearance so I now have brighter skin, longer hair and a pair of glasses.
My name is Navaeh Bello.
I walk inside with immediate confidence. Now, I work for the Bank of Arcana. There were security guards in here, and I'm only wondering how to get a card off of one of them because I know for a fact all of the security cards in this building work on any and every door for safety.
"Ahem," I gently clear my throat when I approach him, he slowly turns his head to me. "Yes? Can I help you ma'am?" He asks, straight to the point. "I've wanted to report some suspicious crime activity around here. I work at the Bank of Arcana just around the corner and wanted to let you guys know of the sightings." I love sounding convincing.
"Are you sure it's important, ma'am?" The guard lowers his gun a little and looks a bit nicer. "Yes. I've been worried about this area recently and with the accident that happened the other day, crime has gone up."
"Unfortunately so. What do you have for me?" He puts his gun back over his shoulder now and I relax even more. "Oh, do you think we could talk in more of a private place? I'm trying not to worry the public, yet." I mildly gesture to the people hustling through the lobby, of all varieties.
I just don't need people hearing me threaten his life, that's all!
"Uh huh, is down the hall here good for you?" He said with a hint of annoyance in his voice, I nodded and he held a hand out saying: lead the way. I followed him down and felt even better when it was empty, dark, and out of public eye. This is good, perfect actually.
The guard slows down and is visibly relaxed. That's his first mistake.
I lunge at him with such speed he was almost able to dodge it, but I got ahold of him first. He groaned somewhat loudly in anger as I pressed him against the wall. That reaction made him spin around, knocking me back into the opposing wall, while he dropped his gun and got his fist ready for a punch.
He took his chance to charge at me and shit was he quick, I reacted clumsily and dove under his arm and managed to remember each humans weak spot; their ribs. Flattening my hand out just after I dodged him, I jabbed it into his side. He shouts out in pain but I'm quick to shut him up by leaping on his back and wrapping my hand around his mouth.
"What the fuck do you want from me?" He asks through my hand. I shove him down to the floor and press his head into it with the bottoms of my heels. "Your card. And Officer Striker's room." He laughs into the marble flooring. "Who's that?"
I'm going to call his bluff. I press my foot harder on him and he groans louder again. "Come on buddy, I'm giving you the chance to choose the easy way or the hard way. Clock's ticking, five... four... three..."
"Okay, ALRIGHT!" He shouts, shoving my foot off of him. I bring out my gun from inside my blazer and aim it at him. I like the mark I left on his face. He sighs to himself, dusting off and places his hand around the handle of his pistol.
"Ah ah ah," I click my tongue. "Gun away." He fuming with rage. "Then put yours away too, girly." I laugh, pulling the safety off. "This is for precautions. You'll use yours just because you feel like it." I'm looking for a name-tag on him. Connor.
"Bah," Conner groans, let's go of his gun. "What do you even want with him?" Looking at me with a tired expression. "I've got business with him. I need his room number."
"Business?" He rudely looks me up and down. "I'm surprised a girl like you has business with a man like him. He's nobody good to make with; all messed in the head." He coughs the last few words out.
Messed in the head?
"What's... that supposed to mean?" I lowered my gun just a little so I could look him in the eyes, but I still kept my finger on the trigger. "It's nothing," Connor sighs, looking me in the eyes again, too, "And since you seem so damn persistent about his room number — which I'm surprised you don't know — it's 9B9."
Nine? Shit. I didn't calculate there being nine floors to this building.
"If you're lying about any of the shit you just told me he'll deal with you himself. He's good at cleaning up messes like that." Connor turns to walk back down the hall. I cackle quickly at his statement, "No he's not. I'm tired of his lousy shit."
"Are you not working for—"
"Anyway," I interrupt, placing my gun back in my pocket because he seems to be done with me. "The last thing I need from you, Sir, is your card."
"Card?" He smiles. "Which one? I'll give you my Taco Bell gift card." I punch him quickly in the face and he blinks, holding his nose with a small groan. "You know the one."
"God, I hate criminals." He growls at me, placing a black and silver ID card in his hand. It's got his address, full name, everything. "Change your occupation then. The less, the merrier."
"That's not how that statement works."
"That's how I work, Connor." I cringe at his ID photo. Connor looks at me one last time. "I don't think I got your name?"
I blink real quick at him before swinging my foot up and colliding with his jaw. I hear something crack lightly and his eyes roll back, while he crumples to the floor.
His chest is still lightly rising and falling, so I'm confident he isn't dead. I check out the hallway. I can't leave him here because it's in too obvious of a spot.
I drag him into the men's bathroom and throw him in the handicapped one at the end.
I really hope there isn't a truly handicapped person here.
Washing my hands off of his germs and whatever, I stare at his card. I'm trying to memorize his face so the bracelet I have can shift into him better.
Shutting my eyes, I relax, and when I open them I am now a tall, tanned caucasian with barely-buzzed brunette hair.
"Damn." I say and immediately cover my mouth. It's so weird that my voice is a representative of masculinity. Eugh.
Exiting the bathroom, I salute someone who walks by me calmly. I really hope he didn't lie about his room number, because I can't afford to check every floor and room looking for him. Preferably, I'd rather not shout shit at some poor citizen.
I press the button for floor 9 and the doors close loudly. I'm left with my thoughts and them only as the elevator is speeding up. I am not surprised by its speed, even though normally I would be.
It abruptly, but smoothly, slows to a stop and I step out, listening to his boots pad the floor. God, I try to remember that this place is an Apartment Complex and not some bougie ass hotel.
Marble lining along the walls, with sleek smoke colored wooden pillars, linen lamps on the outside of the rooms, there was only a few rooms on this floor. My guess is that they're suites, because how do you not get a good view like this if you're facing east, and on the ninth floor.
I follow the signs and turn down the hall, standing tall and keeping a strong stature because it's all an act. My name is Conner Lash, and I am a two-star security guard and I do have affiliations with Officer Striker.
I am not an official officer, but I do have the right to arrest those who disobey the law. I am a guard.
I'm standing in front of 9B9.
My heart is racing.
I bang my fist on the door three times.
"Who is it?" A man's voice booms, with the sound of rustling paper. "Connor, Sir." I say, staring at the door handle. "Bah." He groans, and seconds after the door opens.
I have to pull myself together when I realize I am a bit taller than Striker while in Connor's body. It's so scary. He's not a super tall guy in general but I still have to look up to him. He invites me in and I carefully sit myself on his sofa. It's cozy, I like it.
Slowly putting away his papers as he sits down, I try to note down what he's looking at. He's going through something and I'm unaware of what. "So... why are you here?"
I remember that I actually have to speak and think of a good answer. "What's your status with those criminals?"
Striker creepily looks from the papers to me. "Which ones?" He just had to enunciate that to weird me out even more. God. I have no words.
"Louvremont and Alpharo." I tilt my head a little, resting my forearms on my thighs. "Oh... they both hate me. So bad. Rocori wants to gut me out like a fish, I think." He stands up. Paces the length of the large window.
"I haven't quite heard what happened," I lie. I watched every second of it. "Care to share?" I wonder how he'll explain the story. Striker seems so... so happy and proud of what he did as he paces once more, trying to think.
I feel like I watch everything hit him at once because he looks so stressed all of a sudden. His breathing picked up in speed and he's looking down at the ground more.
"I might've fucking killed her. Timber." He blurts. "The one with the 3.4 million bounty?"
"Four-point-three," His voice wavers as he immediately corrects it. "I didn't want to kill her. I didn't. They won't take her body. No, they will take her body but not as a reward."
He sits down so quickly and then stands back up, placing a hand to his forehead. I'm stressed watching him. "I don't care about the money. I just care about getting the job done. That... was not part of the deal."
"Slow down, Sir," I swallow hard. "Is she dead?"
My heart is pounding so loud I might have a heart attack and die.
"Not yet. I don't know. Maybe. Probably. She's dying," Both hands are now ruffling his hair. I didn't realize he wasn't wearing his mask until this second, and it's so weird seeing the absolute fear in his eyes. "Fuck, I should've looked at every possible outcome, looked through it more."
I never thought I'd say this, but I think I feel sorry for him. Maybe not sorry, but pity at least. "What," He looks at me harder. "Will they do with her body?"
"Dispose. Burn it. I don't care. She needs to be alive because the hierarchy ordered her execution to death sentence, already. They will not risk having her in jail one more time, and after tallying up her records she's a walking law-breaker."
My breath is running short. Execution. Death sentence. Risk. Records. Law-breaker. Disposable.
"Timber Alpharo is Arcana's, and the Government's biggest threat. She pokes holes in the justice system and that is influential proof that the Officers and Military are not strong enough to handle a 26 year old girl."
"What happens to Louvremont then? When she gets caught?" I have to say when because the word if would be too obvious. I stand up and make my way to the window.
"Same punishment. Unless she kills herself instead." I freeze my raging nerves and slowly turn to him. "Why would she kill herself?"
"Grieving." He says flatly and that was the hint I got. My eyes have been opened. Would I kill myself and give everything up because she is no longer in this world with me?
Yes. Yes I would. If she goes down, I am going with her.
"Right. I forget how close they are. Good point." I nod back at the cityscape. "God... I just... I cannot with them. They are hurting me," His hand is over his chest. "These stupid little sewer rats are destroying me. It's all yelling and yelling."
"Yelling what?" I cross my arms and turn my head at him. He's a few steps closer to me again and his face changes. No fear. No creepiness. No happiness. Neutral; no emotion.
"You're gonna fucking die. This next bullet is going down your goddamn throat."
No. No. There's no way. He doesn't... remember that, still. Timber doesn't know.. right? She never knew. She'll never know.
I keep my face calm, blinking out the window.
"I must say," Striker has this weird tone in his voice again, he's slowly walking over to me. "Your technology has truly impressed me, Raven."
I take out my gun and scan the room. "Is she here? How did she get in?" He sighs in disappointment and I fear my performance was not good enough. "There's two of us in the room and she is here, does that narrow it down for you?"
All of a sudden Striker was standing in front of me holding a black and silver card in his hand. I try not to panic. If it's broken or slightly damaged, I'm fucked. It won't work anymore.
He spins his gun out of his pocket and puts a bullet right through the centre of the card. I watched him drop it on the ground, and when I look back up at him, I can no longer see the top of his head.
"You should've done your research, R," He chuckles, stepping back from me. "Connor may work with or for me, but he hates me with any chance he can get. You should've come as yourself, or not at all."
I'm sent into bit of a shock, holding my chest because he threw me into the wall. He's walking towards me again and I fumble for my gun and fire right at his head.
"Missed me!" He taunts because he just so happened to tilt his head at the right time. The sound of a lamp on the wall shattering is deafening my eardrums.
Striker grabs me by the collar and lifts me up, pressing me into the wall hard with one forearm or elbow. His free hand is gently shaking the gun, smiling horribly.
That next bullet is going down
my goddamn throat.
I decide to fight back, finally, and swing my legs up to kick him in the chest. He's sent back into the side of the table and he's holding his side. I'm sprinting. I'm making a break for the door because I am a pussy and I will not fight him if it means I'll die without saying a proper goodbye to Claire.
"Don't be a coward, Raven." He shouts, grabbing the hood of my zip-up and yanking me back. I'm on my side and he kicks me back into the window and I hear it crack. I'm holding my stomach or my ribs because I can't breathe and I'm going to be sick.
"Do you think you can just run out of here? Especially after what I just said?" Striker's hands are in a praying position over his mouth when he sighs. "You actually fooled me. Maybe I should listen to other people when they say I'm messed in the head."
He squats down in front of me and I'm hardly sat back up, coughing. "Raven we've been over this before. The universal language is violence. The people will always resort to violence, even the most innocent of people."
"Like children. Babies get upset and throw a tantrum and start swinging and throwing things; violence. From your birth and to your death, violence grows up with you. Whether or not it's inflicted on others or yourself is up to destiny to decide."
I think I'm crying. My face feels hot and stingy and my eyes hurt and my throat is heavy. "You're only doing this for the money, Striker. There is nothing you could do to change my mind on that."
"Shut up." He deadpans. The glass starts to break a little more, I think he's noticed that. "You're a witness now, R. Do you know what that means?"
I blink twice. No... he wouldn't. He wouldn't go two-for-two like that.
"I've gotta clean up my messes!" Striker smiles and takes out his gun, "You have officially lost The Hunt, Raven Louvremont!" And shoots the glass behind me.
I scream louder than ever before but I've slowed down in my fall. Again, my life flashing before my eyes.
I've heard that if you're falling from a high enough distance that you will die on impact, you pass out while going down. It's like rollercoasters, except I won't wake up when the ride is over.
I feel like I will pass out.
Shutting my eyes and getting ready to give up on the world, the wind is knocked out of my severely and butterflies have entered my stomach when I'm roughly grabbed and pulled upwards.
My first assumption — as the color comes back to my eyes — is that Striker decided to save me. But that doesn't seem logical now that I'm hearing Kyarra scream orders to someone else in the aircraft.
"Kya?" I choke out as she lands back in the plane, ripping off her jetpack and laying me down on a stretcher inside. I sit myself up vertical and immediately gasp and grab one of the bags off the wall, and puke.
Kya is giving me such a worried, and angry look at the same time and I'm panicking about Striker again. Jacob walks into the back, geared up and holding the doorframe. "Are you using autopilot?" I ask.
Maybe, this is all some bizarre dream and Claire is flying it. The sentence I want to hear is 'No, Timber's flying', but unfortunately, "Of course I was! Who else is supposed to fly it?!" Jacob shouts, stressed.
I held my stomach, leaning back. "How's Claire? Is she awake?"
"I don't know. She's still back at base."
"She's what?!" I yell and Jacob is already back in the cockpit plotting course to go back home. "We had no choice! We had to get you! I couldn't risk moving her, it could kill her!"
"Why didn't you just leave Jacob then?!" I stand up, holding onto the things around me for support. "Hey!" He protests from the front and Kya shakes her head, turning around to join him up there.
Kyarra side-eyes me before closing the door to the cockpit, separating her from I.
STRIKER *******
I worry I've just had a heart attack.
I threw Raven Louvremont — my last chance of any sort of win — out the window of my nine-story-high apartment building.
Oh, god.
I look out the window in hopes I can do something to save her but there's nothing there. Nobody.
All I can hear is the extreme faint whir of a propellor but it's fading. I'm probably hearing things, too. Digging through my papers on my desk I slide on my wristband and begin gearing back up.
"Hazel please give me the most up to date status on Raven Louvremont, quickly." I demand, trying to clean up the mini crime scene in my room. I place some caution tape I have in my back over the partially shattered window, sweeping up the remains.
"Right away, Striker," Hazel chimes back at me but she hesitates, my computer fucking hesitated. "Officer I am not too happy with the name 'computer'."
"Oh, come on," I say, dropping the shards into the trash and messily organizing my papers back into their fucked up folders. "Others do not need to know you are a HZL-A. That info is my weak link."
I pull up Raven's file the second it's confirmed, I'm reading every single word carefully.
"My model is standard knowledge, now. It would not be out of the ordinary if someone knew."
"Yes it would," I quickly argue, kind of losing an attention span to this topic. "You are no longer found anywhere. I have upgraded you higher than your maximum potential. If you were normal, it would not be an issue whether or not someone knew."
"Claire Alpharo knows of my existence."
"Truthfully, she doesn't. She would have immediately thought I was talking to a girl."
"I am a girl, Officer." Hazel reminds me and I shove the last of the files away and finish debriefing Raven's. "You are wires and circuits."
Result; Raven is alive. She did not die from the ungodly foot fall I dropped her from. Maybe, just maybe, I can turn her in too.
I need to fix Claire. That's the problem here. The department and higher-ups have given me permission to do whatever I have to if it means they are arrested, but I know they don't mean dead.
Or... almost dead. I have no excuse for them. They are not allowed to know that she has an admiration for me because that would piece my actions together for them.
When I'm working, Claire Alpharo means nothing to me.
"Have my car delivered to the front of the building, Hazel. Input directions to Claire's location." I finish gearing up, sliding small knives into hidden compartments and exiting my room.
"Please also send room service up here." I mutter, stepping into the elevator. "Right away, Striker." Hazel says.
I've set up an older technology. I'm basically projecting an image of myself into the room at the volcano base because It's too risky to walk right inside.
Rocori is sitting on Timber's bed, constantly checking her vitals and around the room for any other life forms or threats, and it seems like the perfect opportunity to make my presence clear.
"How is she?" I ask her, knowing that my feet look fuzzy from her perspective, and that I'm glitching every few minutes. Truth is, I know the answer. She's not doing well.
A part of healing for her could be admitting it.
"Don't fire." I say when I realize she's shakily pointing her gun at me. Tears instantly form in her eyes. "Why are you here?"
I see her notice that it's just a hologram of me, really. "I'm not actually here, of course."
"You fucking threw me out a window!" She shouts, holding her stomach like she's still imagining it happening. "That was an accident."
"Don't give me your crappy excuse—"
"It is not an excuse," I snap at her and she shuts her trap. "I'm here to see her."
Rocori holds Timber's hand in hers tighter, placing the gun on the bed. "You know this was not part of my plan. It was not supposed to go down like that."
"Do I? How was it supposed to go down; me on the same deathbed as her?" She laughs, shrugging rudely. I exhale out my nose quickly. I don't like giving her answers but I truly have no choice here.
"I was given a new directive. That's why I left the scene. The rock hitting her was pure coincidence." I walk closer to her, hands in my pockets.
"Directive? What—what does that mean?" Her eyes seem to look everywhere but me. She really does not understand.
"Piece it together yourself." I sigh, turning off the hologram and deciding to actually make an appearance for real, in the base.
I seemingly pop into thin air and she spins around, panicking off the bed and falling to the floor, clattering some items. "I really do care about her, Raven. You need to stop thinking otherwise and that I'd just use her."
"You... you're a manipulator! You fucking gaslight everyone around you and treat her like shit!"
"Is that not my job?" I yell, angry. "Do you see me? I'm a Commanding Officer for the LAPD, and right now, arresting both of you is my current directive."
She stands up, grabbing her gun and I pull mine out quicker. "Don't risk putting yourself in a deathbed too, Raven. You haven't heard my end of the bargain."
"This was a bargain?" Roco hisses through her teeth, putting her hands up in surrender, slowly emptying the clips from the pistol. "Now, it is." I smile, lowering mine as well.
"Fine. Talk." She demands, crossing her arms. I smile larger at her again. "She's dying."
"I know that."
"Let me finish, holy shit," I blurt. "She's dying, and I can do something about it—" She drops the coldest, most untrustworthy expression, "If you trust me. Judging by that disgusting look you gave me I'll assume not."
"What then? What are you going to do for her?"
"I know somebody." It is true. I know someone who can help her. The man himself is not super loyal but he likes his money. He'll do the job.
Raven gave in. She doesn't know my 'somebody', but she can't trust that Claire will actually pull through without some sort of extensive treatment.
The guy I know wants me to do a Transparent Scan, they call it.
I made Raven sit at the back of the room because she kept pacing behind me and ruining my patience, while I talked to my accomplice and was given all the steps needed.
The Transparent Scan will do a full body scan and pinprick the weakest point(s), which means I will unfortunately have to open her up and place a chip inside.
It's a form of medical chip. Seen it once or twice in the advanced medical industry and it works wonders. The temptation to just arrest Raven is getting bigger and bigger but I am choosing not to. I've got the self control.
I'm running the scan and stepping out of the frame so I don't mess it up. Tapping my foot on the ground because it's a slow process which is entirely infuriating.
It beeps in completion and I open it up right away. Sighing in embarrassment at the results because It's quite literally a real transparent scan of her body.
"Rocori I'd advise you to step out of the room." I ask. She stands right up. "No. I don't trust you." I take many small steps just to turn around and face her. "Would you like her to live or die?" I shout.
Her brows flatten. "Shouldn't be that hard to save her if I'm right here, huh?!" Rocori starts walking towards me. "And I should be the one asking if you'd like her to live or die."
I lift my head with a strong exhale. "I don't want her to fucking die, Roco," I reach into my pocket and aim my gun at her. "Now get the hell out."
Painfully, she sniffles and steps back. Opening up the trapdoor, she loudly cusses at me, "I don't know how Claire could even consider the thought of loving someone like you."
My heart stops and my hearing is fuzzy. What?
I put my gun back into my pocket slowly and focus on Timber's features. Even in her unconscious state, her brow is still furrowed and her lips parted just enough to get airflow.
It's hard avoiding the possible romantic scenarios playing in my head, but I have to focus on the fact I am going to, and want to, kill her.
I want to kill her. Kyarra, Raven. All three of them. Dead. I have to carefully put it in a timely order.
I'm staring at the open hole in her side, now, and putting myself in a headspace to fix it. To fix her. Coughing on choked air for half of a second, I begin working on her stitches and establish a strong hold with them.
Luckily, stitches have come so far in the last few decades that the only way they would break is if she somehow broke or undid them herself, or if someone grabbed the skin being held together and pulled very hard.
I try not to picture how painful either of those options would be.
God, why can't I just kill either of them? Why does this reoccurring question or thought keep coming back to me?
If I kill Timber, I have failed my job and took the easy way to bring her to justice, and Rocori will hunt me down.
If I kill Rocori, I get no love chance with Timber or any way of bringing her to justice because she would disappear off the face of the earth, and she, too, would avoid me.
It's a series of conundrums that I can't manage.
I put down the tools roughly and place my hands on the table a few feet away. I'm pissed. I'm feral. I yell out in anger and throw all of the papers off the desk.
Squatting down and gripping my hair so hard, I pant into the air, listening to the sound of my own breath. I realize what the papers in front of me are.
They're photos. Of Raven and Claire.
As kids.
I lower to my knees and pick one of them up, analyzing it closely. None of these photos can be in file because they're primary photos. They are real time, paperback pictures from a camera.
It's a photo of Claire standing in front of a pale, yellow Lamborghini — at the time — and she's got a bright smile on her face. I look at the caption; claire's first car.
Cute. I pick up the next one, it seems to be a collection of her cars. First Mercedes, Bugatti, Skyline, Ferrari. All of that shit she paid for with stolen cash, how impressive.
A more recent photo truly caught my eye, I check the date written on the back and it's only from four months ago.
'Claire's first black-market vehicle'. It's her Blackhawk, shiny and sleek, old dark camp designs embedded into the sides and it looks fresh out of the military.
Minimum she would've gotten it for was One million, but to her, that probably seems like pocket change. I put the rest of the photos back — including one from when they were 11 and 9 — with a small smile on my face.
Giving one last look at Timber, I turned around and walked away. I just have to hope that my miniature surgery went well enough.
"How is she?" Rocori asks the moment I get downstairs, fixing my sleeves. To my possible luck, Kyarra wasn't around. She was probably out robbing something, or distant errands.
"Unconscious, still. The strength of the procedure I've done on her only lasts twelve hours," I say, "Whatever it does to her for the next while, is final. She's on her own after."
She nods quickly. I place my hands in my pockets. "I admire those photographs of you two as a kid." Roco is fast to judge and she steps forward, "You were snooping? I should've known! I shouldn't have ever trusted you!"
I laugh. "I think I'll be leaving now." And spin the plane keys in my hand while backing my way to the door. Suddenly, she panics. "Wait—wait Striker, wait!"
I stop in my tracks and she's only inches away. This isn't like her. I'm frustrated by her ever longing silence, "What? Speak up."
"What did the scan really say?" Her pupils are tiny and I raise a brow. What an odd question. "Be more specific."
"She was hit by a boulder," She blurts. "Yes. I know." I say and she shakes her head, clearly she wasn't finished. "And she seemed really out of it afterwards, she was acting super weird."
"Be realistic, Rocori," I spit, "She went into shock. She probably thought she was going to die."
"That's not what I'm saying, please," Roco begs, "Seconds prior to her passing out, she was staring at her feet so hard and seemed confused. And even more so after she looked at herself, specifically her hands.
"Kyarra and I checked countless times to see if she broke an ankle or a wrist or something but there was nothing. Just... Claire's limp body. I don't understand."
Why would Claire have any other reason to stare at her feet or hands? Had someone shot a bullet into her palm? Her foot? Did she wear the wrong shoes?
"Recite that same thing you just told me, but with more detail. Make it long, make it satisfactory." I tell her and she frowns at me.
"Kya and I noticed she was down on the ground with a hunk of rock on her chest. It took a while to actually get it off and we immediately stripped her vest and gear because we needed to see the damage.
"She was covered in blood. Crazy amounts of blood. What was once a dark, sage green shirt had been turned into Flander's Fields. Again, we checked everywhere on her as well as we could and there was no obvious broken bones. Claire had never seemed so uncoordinated in her life, and I'll admit that Kya and I kind of gave up on her."
"Tragic," I say and she slaps me in the face. Okay. I deserved that. "Let me think." Roco steps back and holds her elbows.
Claire Alpharo is wearing a sage green shirt which now looks like a blood moon, and her shoes also had the same green embeddings as a form of camouflage. Her vest did too, but that was stripped and tossed nowhere.
'Claire had never seemed so
uncoordinated in her life'.
If I go under the assumption that her hands were stained with her blood, then I think I've got her answer.
"I don't know," I lie, clean and smooth. "Assume it was just effects of her going into shock, Raven." She looks so upset, but at least she believes me. "Believe me, shock is a traumatizing experience."
"If you've even got a little bit of heart left," She steps further back, kind of acknowledging my departure. "Let me know if you figure it out. I'll take any information right now."
"Is that it? I don't want to be here any longer than I have to." God, she's so gullible sometimes. Easy to fool. Roco scoffs rudely, "Why don't you want to be here any longer than you have to?"
Because I want to kill you.
"I'm done putting up with your shit and now, I wish you hadn't survived the quick execution out of my apartment room."
"Why the fuck do you keep switching up on us?! One minute you're blessing us like it's Christmas and the next, you're trying to assassinate us!"
"I know how to play my cards right to get what I want, Louvremont," My threat is so harsh and cruel that she has to swallow and take a deep breath for air. "You need to make better judgement calls on who to trust."
"I fucking hate you."
"Tell that to my face when
I finish my Directive."