3.19

“Unfortunately, the other denizens of the city are no help. I do not have the kind of leverage they want, and I have no desire to gain it.”

— Vincent Hall, Encoded Notebook; Section 17, page 12

Racc.

I suppress the cry of alarm that tries to force its way out of my throat and make frantic eye contact with the kid as they creep closer to the ensuing fight. Their expression is determined, and even though I know they understand my intention, they dutifully ignore me.

I resist the urge to curse as Crush leans down and throws another chunk of road at me, tearing another large divot in the ground as I’m forced to yet again dive out of the way. I backtrack, dancing past overturned rubble in an effort to keep Crush facing away from the kid, and thankfully, it seems to be working. It’s difficult to tell with that mask, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed Racc.

Crush steps forward, choosing an unbroken section of terrain to throw, and I prepare to dodge, but —

Racc trips over a piece of concrete, cursing, and Crush’s head whips around.

They immediately recover and try to salvage the situation with a well-placed shot to Crush’s skull, and the sound of the bullet firing is only overpowered by the shriek of metal tearing itself apart against Crush’s palm.

Racc curses, again, and I find my composure rapidly crumbling.

“The fuck are you doing?!” I shout, leaning over to see past Crush. The kid rolls their eyes.

“Saving your stupid ass, what’s it look like?!”

I grit my teeth. “I assure you, child, I was doing perfectly fine before you showed up!”

“Oh yeah, of course, you look perfectly fine to me,” they snark, gesturing to my bloody clothes and shattered weapon.

I open my mouth to bite out a retort, when a soft mutter pierces the air, and reminds me of the reason behind my dishevelment.

“So that’s…” The bubbling energy drifting off Crush’s palms dissipates as he reaches up to scratch the back of his cowl. He turns, staring at me from over his shoulder.

“You know this kid?”

I scowl. No way to deny it, now. Even as I keep my silence, he nods slowly.

“Gotcha.”

Crush turns, power sparking to life in his palms, a harsh, droning buzz filling the air as he steps slowly over broken rubble and approaches Racc. The kid lifts their weapon, and Crush raises a hand in turn, carefully tracking the weapon as it jerks back and forth, target changing shakily.

Racc fires, once, twice, and both projectiles shatter against Crush’s palm.

Crush advances. Racc takes a step back.

My body moves before I decide to. I dart forward, lamenting my lack of pressure boosters, skating across the cracked pavement and leaping off a larger chunk of concrete to land just past Crush, and in front of the kid. I lunge, broken weapon extended and aiming straight at his windpipe.

He dodges, the blade skates past his throat, and he catches my arm in one hand. The limb immediately crumples.

His other hand reachs for my skull.

I dip into my power, burn the remaining muscle in my forearm, and disconnect the limb entirely from my elbow down, not bothering to staunch the spray of blood.

Crush stumbles, and I duck his grasping hand, twisting to elbow him in the gut with as much force as I can muster without a pressure booster.

He grunts, and takes a step back. I stand before him, breath coming in short bursts and blood dripping from my remaining stump.

Crush idly holds my severed arm, staring at it for a moment. Then, he drops it to the ground, shaking his head.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

I snort, despite myself. “I get that a lot.”

I hear a sigh. “Think I got what I need. Try not to get yourself killed. Maybe if you’re worth something next time I see you, I won’t try to smear you across the pavement.”

He pauses. As much as I try to read into his body language, that cowl is infuriatingly effective. He stares, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. Another head shake, and he turns, walking down the street and kicking stray bits of rubble from his path.

He’s… leaving? I resist the urge to call out, to scream obscenities at his retreating form.

He’s just fucking leaving. “The fuck…?”

I glance at Racc, behind me. They look a little green in the face, but they shrug anyway. “Dunno, man.”

I sigh, casting one last look at the retreating figure. “We should leave, just in case anyone decides to come see what all this was about,” I mutter, absentmindedly reaching for the kid’s hand.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

They take a step back, and I blink, realizing abruptly that I probably look like something out of a horror movie.

I take a moment to seal the wound on my arm, and make sure everything else is functional. I don’t have the time or resources to repair the arm at the moment, so I remind myself to stop by Chloe’s shack and pick up the last of my calorie bars before trying anything else.

“S — sorry,” I huff. “Are you… alright?”

They give a shaky nod, head ducked. I take a breath.

“…Where to?”

I tilt my head, thinking. “We’ll stop by a friend’s place, and then head back to the house. You alright to walk?”

Racc rolls their eyes. “Obviously I can walk.”

I shoot them a half-hearted glare. “Are you alright to walk a lot,” I clarify.

“Pssh. I’ll be fine,” they whine, waving a hand dismissively.

“If you say so,” I shrug, and start walking. To their credit, the kid does manage to keep pace, even while I duck into a nearby alleyway, and begin taking a scenic route.

Still, I decide to take it slow. For my sake as much as theirs. Even if my biology is relatively stable, at the moment, I can tell I won’t last much longer without more intensive care.

Racc follows behind at a significant distance, head darting back and forth and jumping at shadows.

I try to respect their need for space as best I can.

“Never bringin’ you anywhere ever again,” I mutter, and in hindsight I’m glad they don’t seem to hear me. We make surprisingly good time, and before long I start to recognize the shattered buildings we shamble past.

As I step out onto the street, catching sight of the shack nestled into the opposite corner, my foot catches against a bit of upturned concrete.

Not usually an issue, but here it only serves to remind me of how heavily exhaustion drapes across my shoulders. I stumble, vision blurring.

Maybe… maybe I’ll just take a second to, uh. Psych myself up. I’ll just…

I close my eyes, and take a breath. In…

“…Claire?” I blink, and Racc’s standing next to me, hand extended hesitantly. I release my held breath, and try to shake the fog from my mind.

“I’m fine. Let’s just —“ I try to lift my boot, and, to my eternal surprise, it does not go well. My legs crumple, aching muscles finally deciding to give out at the worst possible moment, and —

A strangled yelp, and my momentum is halted by a pair of surprisingly strong arms latched around my torso, gently guiding me to the ground. I struggle to focus, vision fading in and out — when did it get this bad? And —

Racc looks distressed. They maintain their distance, but their hands twitch, like they want to act but aren’t sure what they should be doing.

“Calorie bar,” I mutter. “Shack, over there, mini-fridge at the back. Might as well grab all of them.”

They nod, and turn to leave, but stop when I call their name.

“Racc.” They tilt their head.

I sigh. “Sorry about… all this.”

Racc doesn’t reply, but they do scamper across the street and start attempting to break into the shack.

A wheezy chuckle forces its way out of my throat at that. The kid seems determined to live up to their namesake. I can only hope they don’t trash the shack too much.

Time blurs, and before I know it, a gray-and-black fuzzy blob encroaches on my vision, pushing an object into my hands. The blob says something, I’m pretty sure.

I look down, and dimly register the given object as a calorie bar. How sweet. What a kind indistinct blob. I somehow muster the energy to stuff the bar down my throat, and dip into my power.

Dissolving the bar’s calories directly lets me use it without waiting for it to digest, and slowly, conserving my available energy, I begin to stitch my body back together.

Half-healed fractures, torn muscles… the biggest issue is, seemingly, the lack of blood. Must have slipped my mind in the heat of battle.

I open my eyes, and even if they cloud of exhaustion I find myself hovering in doesn’t entirely dissipate, I no longer feel like I’m on death’s door.

I sigh.

…Not enough leverage, huh?

I pick myself up off the ground, trying on a smile in an attempt to ease the anxious look on Racc’s face. “Thanks, kid. You’re a lifesaver.”

They huff, and roll their eyes. “Whatever.”

I laugh. “Let’s get you back to the house, huh? I’ll let you break as many dishes as you want.”

Racc’s attempt at remaining calm at that suggestion is feeble at best.

—

“So? What do you think?”

They guy adjusts his beanie, glancing out at the surrounding plaza. It’s not much to look at.

He’s nervous. I keep my smile plastered onto my face, even as Ava rolls her eyes from the corner of my vision.

The patient sighs. “…This’ll help?”

My perpetual grin softens involuntarily. “That’s the idea.”

“…Fine. Yeah. I’ll get the others in on it.”

“Thanks,” I chirp. “We’ll contact you with the details.”

He nods, and we part ways.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and begin walking down the street, Ava following just behind me. I hear her breathe out, and smoke curls out in front of my vision.

“How do you feel about some more extensive modifications? I’m not going to do anything you’re unwilling to deal with, but it could be helpful to have a bit of extra durability, just in case,” I say. “I’m going to need to update my own as well, and without consistent access to my calorie bars, I’ll need to find a consistent source of organic fuel. Maybe we can co-opt a meat packing plant at some point…?” I’m rambling, but it helps to have the plans spoken aloud. Maybe I’ll stop by a store on the way home and pick up a notebook?

“I’ll take care of it,” Ava states, snapping me out of my musings. I glance at her over my shoulder questioningly.

She nods, and gestures vaguely. “Organic fuel. High calorie food, right? I’ll find something. And, if you can write up a report on the kind of modifications you’re thinking of, I can probably convince the others to give it a shot.”

I stop, and turn to face her properly. “…I don’t want you doing too much work.”

Ava laughs, and it sounds more like a wheeze.

I frown. Maybe I can convince her to get that checkup sooner rather than later.

“Nah, I’m in my element,” she denies. “Sending Gordon on fetch-quests is the reason I get up in the morning.”

Her face softens. “But seriously. Don’t think I can’t see how much you’re already doing. Even Chloe seems like she’s working up to something. And, to be honest… if this works, you’re only gonna get more busy.”

Ava chuckles, sticking her cigarette back between her teeth. “Think of it like… seizing stable employment by the horns, yeah? Everyone’s gonna have their work cut out for them. I’m just getting my part done ahead of time.”

I huff. “’Course.”

Ava brushes past me, ambling down the street. “C’mon, kid, those new dishes aren’t gonna buy themselves.”

I stifle a groan. That child is going to end up killing me before anyone else does.