Chapter Text
“Did you see all the spaceships out there?” The young hunter scoffed, “-as if they need that many people. It’s the day of the equinox, the wanderers will leave us all alone… Right?”
The young women around him snickered-- giggled at his naivety. He had barely gotten his flushed ears wet in wanderer business; the freshest wave of recruits always thought they were bigger than they were. The girls chided him, pressing their palms on his shoulder, and traded teasing remarks. “Are you scared~? The protobeast might want your carnival game plushies!”
Right. The Autumn Festival.
The veteran hunter swiveled her chair away from watching the trainees revel in their youth. No, she wasn’t much older than them, but she certainly felt like it. In the morning, with her knees creaking-- from too many odd landings during battle, too many crashing buildings around her-- and her neck strain -- from the lack of sleep that comes with too much blood seen. She had been as young as them once upon an invasion ago.
A whole group of them had been young.
Most of them had stayed young, though she was adamant she was not jealous of them in any way. Any other feeling would be fatalistic-- and perhaps marked on her behavioral analysis report. No, she wore her dark undereyes with a certain tired pride. Lest she be retired instead.
She turned her eyebags to the floor-to-ceiling windows inside Headquarters, to the outside world she used to enjoy. It was now… too perfect for the horrors she had seen. As her squadron slowly declined in numbers- leaving only a battered single handful- it became less fun to go out as a group to events such as the festival. But--
They used to have fun. All of them. Just like the newbies that giggled behind her. She hopes nothing will ruin their--
She shook her head. Hope has gotten her nowhere. Fun is fleeting- and fickle. And cruel to the future. This was all much too depressing to her. A festival with delicious mooncakes and special baked, shaped treats couldn’t hurt her. Not with all the Farspace Fleet ships that hung above. They shimmered in their idle hover. While she could never prove it, she hypothesized that the glimmery stars that hang in the sky-- at least a quarter of them -- were actually the underside of the fleet ships in camouflage. Of course, that’s never been released to the public. Perhaps never will be, thus their attempt at a surveillance state will remain unchallenged.
Too fatalistic.
The sun, highest it had been, began to slumber and lie down. It was a warm wash along the promenade and streets, the square that the festival had decided to inhabit. The market stall’s lanterns begged to glow the same golden hue the sun was - their poor emulation still ignited a warm nostalgia in her lungs. Or heart. Someone would generally feel it in their heart. She laughed to herself, walking down the closed-off street. Her heart was warm enough with the strange crystal inside it; no need for more.
She sat at a small wooden table, picking at her delicious and intricate mooncake, red bean paste inside. Isn’t it lonely? The voice pricked her inside her head. When life was full of warmth, it made the loneliness feel colder than it is, she rationalized.
To herself.
Perhaps I should reconnect. The voice is hers that time, aware of how she was fighting with herself, or a version of herself. Though Grandma had been dead for many seasons now-- passed peacefully-- and most of my squadron had gone-- not peacefully-- I haven’t made any attempts at forging new connections. She gulped a mouthful of the savory delicacy. Too fickle. Never been good at creating new friends-- But…
She toyed with her phone, scrolling through contacts and messages long left unanswered. Half of these numbers had most likely been disconnected by now. The ones that remained were well into their lives, children, and careers-- perhaps don’t even have time to grab drinks anymore. She can’t blame them. For years, she had blown off their attempts at friendship as she focused on hunting; her workaholic nature deprived her of any opportunity for anything but work. Just like a friend I used to know.
Doctor Zayne: 9 Months Ago (Unread)
It seems you have graced the cover of Hunter’s Expedition. As your friend, I must give my congratulations. Yet, as your doctor…
As my former doctor* and I asked them to fix my undereyes. It’s not really my fault, if you think about it.
I fear that they did the best that they could in removing them. A terrible fear.
( you reacted to the message with: (╥﹏╥) )
She huffed. While she had meant to reply, she had gotten distracted with-- surely something important. An emergency alert, perhaps.
Doctor Zayne: 1 Second Ago (Sent)
Currently at the Autumn Festival. Do you remember when you used to stuff yourself full of mooncakes like this?
( attachment sent: Succulent.png )
Your stomach would ache so badly you wouldn’t go on the rides with me…
Yes, I do. I hadn’t quite built up a constitution for my sweet tooth as I have now. Perhaps I will stop by soon…
Granted, the stalls will be closed when I am done at the hospital. There’s been a surge of injuries related to the festival. I recommend you keep an eye out. Have a nice night.
She laughed bitterly to herself. That’s what I get for asking the only other workaholic I know. He was nice, just like old times, a good sign for future endeavors. But what injuries was he talking about? Her hunter watch showed no sign of life, no warnings or missions pending. A few of the fleet ships had quietly- bizarrely quiet- slipped away from the pack back to Skyhaven Base, a few settled on the ground for children to ooo and aww over as the sun truly set. They were inky black, disappearing in front of her own eyes, even as she stared at them. The pilot closest to her stood outside the ship, looking among the crowd and quietly speaking into his sleek headset, seemingly taking note of the citizens.
His sunglasses seemed to cover his identity more than they protected him from the sun, as the night slipped further and further into the dark. Had I really been here this long? She questioned. Time to slip home. She moved swiftly through the crowd, not touching even a sleeve. When she looked back up at the fleet ship to avoid it in her path, the pilot had stopped talking on the headset. He was incredibly focused.
Only on her.
Jeez, she thought, gives me the creeps. It wasn’t out of the norm; truthfully, she was often stared at and ogled in her hunter’s uniform. Children were wowed, hoping to someday become just like her. Even as she walked the long corner, far from the events of tonight, he stared with his blank, inky sunglasses over his eyes. She only checked from her peripheral vision; no need to make him believe he has reason to watch her. Finally, hidden behind a tall building, she escaped prying eyes. Phew.
It wasn’t like the Farspace Fleet was on great terms with any organization, but they were passably cordial to the Hunters Association due to their shared interest in protocores. The Association would procure the cores, save the day for citizens, and the fleet would-- well, the fleet would… Use those protocores for something she wasn’t even slightly aware of. As long as they let us keep a couple for R&D, I don’t see the problem in selling off the --
Shit.
Shiiiit.
There were soft footsteps behind her. How long had she been lost in thought, dragging her feet, leaving her stupid and vulnerable? How long had they been following? Trying not to show she was aware of the person tracking her every breath-- step-- turn, she knew she had to seek escape in some way. She was used to brute force-- battles out in the open with multiple avenues of escape that she didn’t even need. She was not used to intimate combat or whatever the hell they wanted.
Turn the corner and run. Just turn and run and send out an emergency alert-- hunter in danger, SOS-- anything.
She ducked quickly behind a convenience store and its thick brick walls. They had to be at least 20 paces behind her, which gave her enough time to take a few odd corners in the alley and end up behind the assailant and then- what? She broke into the quietest run she could manage, controlling her breathing and seeing another lit corner just past this entrance--
A dark shadow plastered itself on the wall next to her, not enough time for her to sidestep the equally dark hands that reached out from it to grab her shoulders firmly and squarely. “That’s enough,” his gravelly voice grated on her ears. “You’re going to remain still and compliant, to the best of your ability.” His hand was gloved up to his forearm in sleek black leather that crinkled when he raised it to her face-- her mouth, to quiet the yelp she had barely even begun to get out in time. She attempted to let out a piercing scream, even muffled like this, but she knew everyone was much too far to hear her.
He was rough, standing behind her, wide and tall and with his entire arm across her neck and chest. Pressing. She began to panic, chest heaving under the heavy weight and ribs flaring from the breaths she could barely make. Her body started to writhe out of its own accord, out of fear for its own safety, scrambling legs and trying to twist out or even catch his knee with her boot and get him down enough to run.
He struggled, only a small bit, but it's all she needed to give him a swift kick to his solid shin and snag her teeth in his palm enough to take a chunk between her teeth-- and hear him hiss and grunt and curse. But he doesn’t falter enough to loosen his grip; he grips even tighter across her neck and says, “I didn’t want to do this,” low and rough next to her ear. She didn’t understand what he meant until-- he took a hand off her mouth to reach for what was presumably his holster on his side.
She took the opportunity to scream and shriek as loud as she could with the shallow breaths she had been mustering. It was hideous and scared and frightening, and she hopes to God somebody heard it from inside the shops or-- a painful prick slipped into her neck before she could scream further or louder.
“I just wanted you quiet,” he said before the alley got much darker, much quieter, and much stiller. She faded off into the dark behind her fluttering eyelids and had no choice but to let go and fall into the heavy weight in her limbs.
It smelled like lemons in here…
She stirred awake, slowly, feeling like she had sludge in her veins where blood should be. Her eyelids were just as heavy, but she twisted and contorted her face enough to open them-- she had been placed inside a sterile white room. Barely lifting her head, she looked down at her hands, trying awkwardly to lift her body atop equally sterile and white sheets. A pulse sensor on her finger. Tubes in her arm. A variety of other electrode sensors were strapped across her body; she could feel them now that she was startling awake. She was sore from-- whatever she was struck with, some kind of sedative.
The worst pain came from her heart, piercing and aching and sore. She opened the gown she was draped in-- some kind of hospital then?-- and stared down at the larger sensor covering her entire left and middle chest. Oh.
That’s what they want. Of course.
The grogginess began to fade and leaving confusion and fear in its wake. How was she going to figure out where they were keeping her? And who are they in the first place? Regardless, they know I’m awake by now, whoever is keeping an eye on me. She looked to the red dot in the corner of the room, subtly. They must be watching my vitals as well; best not to panic.
She studied the room for what felt like hours. Almost completely bare save for the medical equipment, which they spared no expense on.
Rich then, she thought. Not an underground organ trafficking ring. Which would have been easier than whatever monster she’s dealing with now.
There was a pneumatic sound at the door, clear across the room. Heavy lock for a heavy metal door. It opened with a hefty struggle of the small, unopposing nurse who walked in. The nurse made it seem like a routine check-- it probably was for her, she thought-- masked and only looking at her clipboard. The nurse scribbled quickly on her papers until she reached the bed, and began fiddling with the IV bag that hung above. In silence, she opened the valve of whatever that allowed more of the mysterious fluid to flow into the attachment site.
The bedbound hunter looked over at her badge. It was almost completely void of information or detail, except for her name-- Eris-- and a small insignia at the bottom, under Head Nurse. She watched the nurse write down something else until she looked at the hunter with eyebags that rivalled even hers.
“How would you rate your pain on a scale of 1 through 10?” The nurse asked plainly and flatly.
It had been a while since she had to speak, now that she thought of it. The question seemed out of place. What would her kidnappers care about her pain level? She thought about exaggerating in hopes that Eris would hasten the flow of the IV bag just a little more and wipe away the soreness still in her muscles.
“Two,” the hunter said hoarsely. She cleared her throat to answer more questions.
But it seemed that’s all the nurse needed, as Eris scribbled it down on her board and readjusted a display with her vitals shown on it. She turned to walk away, flipping her page to a seemingly new patient to get started on.
She couldn’t help the yell in her throat as she watched her start to stride off, a rough and tired “Wait!” in the hopes of asking where the hell she is and reached to grab the nurse’s wrist--
In seconds, Eris had triggered a button by her hip and quickly scampered off without a look back. There was a flashing red light and an accompanying siren blaring right outside the room and above the door. The pneumatic system hissed back into place with a solid thunk from the door, and an audible heavy lock sliding into its place.
She covered her head-- her eyes, her ears, all of them sensitive from whatever they're doping her with. In frustration, she slammed her clenched fist anywhere she could reach. The metal frame of the bed, the nightstand closest to her, and her own thigh, hoping some adrenaline would stop the horrible numbing and haziness she was surrounded by.
The blaring stopped as suddenly as it began. She ripped her hand away from her blinded eyes to see that the flashing had stopped too, and looked up at the slow blink of the camera in the corner. It was inky black when she stared into the eye, just like--
The Farspace Fleet ship.
The insignia on the nurse’s placard. A small triangle cut in half, leaving little slivers at the top and bottom.
The technology and capital required for a state-of-the-art medical system.
Of course.
There were heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the room, loud words being exchanged in argumentative tones. The frosted window stopped her from seeing who was chastizing whom. They stopped outside her door and spoke much more quietly, the shadows bunched together with their heads low so that nobody else could hear them.
One loud sigh. One figure walked off with their heavy boots, stomping the linoleum outside the door as they trailed off further into the facility.
One figure remained, tall and square, even through the frosted window in the door. It watched the other man walk away and then picked something up off the wall outside. My file, she thought. The figure moved to the side of the door, stepping away from view to flip through the pages, she assumed.
There are minutes of silence. She thought, they’ve probably walked away by now, unsatisfied with my pain level, she laughed to herself. There was a window to her right, on the side of the uncomfortable bed. It’s foggy and shrouded, just like the door’s window was, but she could see gleams of sunlight through the bubbles-- and not much else. If it truly was Farspace, this facility was most likely in Skyhaven. The sun does seem brighter. No clouds up here.
The pneumatic lock hissed again, sudden and frightening this time, as it barely had time to unlock before the square figure pushed it open much more easily than the nurse could. The figure-- a man in a sleek dark uniform of the Fleet, with touches of red and shiny gold embellishments adorned all over-- covered the space between the door and the bed quickly. He didn’t get close, but her groggy, hazy eyes could still make out the important things. Her eyes flickered quickly to every piece of him, sizing him up like she did to Wanderers.
Broad. Impossibly broad, she thought. Tall. Dark hair peaking out of his decorated military cap. A long, straight nose and narrowed, heavy eyes. They looked almost mirror-like, so light and with this clay glaze on them-- purple irises. Strange compared to his otherwise regal getup.
He didn't even breathe hard enough to break his statue-like posturing. His eyes searched her all over, from her hands up to her chest, where wires peek through the gown, to the monitors beside her. Not leering. Curious.
Her face hardened, nostrils flared like an angry bull-- but she refused to break the silence.
He watched her face closely, eyes jumping between all her facial tics and studying her reaction. He is just as steeled in the face, more, even. His hands remained behind his back at military rest, his shoulders made him an imposing figure, especially at the angle, as she remained upright on the bed, swaying slowly from the painkillers.
“Do you know where you are, miss?” His voice was low. Rough. Almost on the edge of a sneer. Like I’m in trouble, somehow.
She weighed her options. Posits for a moment about asking for a lawyer, then breathed harshly through her nose. “I’ve gathered,” she spat. As if to make her point, she searched every detail on his suit for an idea of why she was possibly here. Well. Save for the bomb in her chest.
He had numerous medals, badges, and strange pins on his lapel and tie. Everything is carefully pressed. Would love to know who does their ironing. It’s… a lot of memorabilia. Like he had been here for a long time, with his shiny plaques and braids. Extremely high ranking, she guessed. It tickled her pride a little bit that her situation demands such a regal position to observe her.
He searched her face again.
“Now,” he drawled, “do you know why you’re here, miss?”
Not in the slightest, she shuffled in her spot on the bed to move closer to the edge-- closer to his face.
“It seems I’m in trouble when you all are the ones who kidnapped me,” she seethed.
He didn’t quite break rank, but she could see how his eyes flit up in a semblance of an eyeroll. He opened his mouth to scoff on instinct and quickly closed it with an audible clench. There was silence while he turned over more questions in his head. He ignored her intrepid response.
“Are you aware that you have a foreign object embedded in your heart?” It was vague. Vague enough to give her plausible deniability.
She schooled her face before she could react. It was easier to hide her true emotions under the layers of mountainous hate and disgust toward him. She sneered and scrunched her nose into a snarling face.
“A foreign object? Foreign object? Like a pacemaker or what? No, I don’t, and I would appreciate getting this -- shit taken out of my chest! That’s the only foreign object I’m concerned about-” Overreact, act aggrieved by this seemingly random line of questioning.
The imposing man narrowed his eyes at her face again. Searching for any tell that she’s lying- anything. She knew she was good as his eyes returned to a resting glare and he stood straight again.
“Regardless, you’ll be kept here until we figure out what is inside you,” he said.
They already know what’s inside me; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.
“You can’t keep me prisoner here, I’m certainly not within your jurisdiction,” she said. She began to rip off the tape that bound the various tubings to her skin, starting to prod at her veins for a release ventricle for the needles--
The man took a large, silent step toward the bed and grabbed her wrist, caught in his hand. Like a vice or like-
His voice dropped to a threateningly low pitch, too loud to be a whisper, but a command.
“Enough. Remain still and compliant, or things will get much worse.” Low and rough. Strong grip. The leather on his hands..
He was the one who caught her in the alleyway-- stuck her with a sedative-- and dragged her here. To Farspace and their strange torture asylum.
“It was-” she began to thrash, it didn’t matter anymore what got hit in the long run as long as she fought and hit and bit anything in grasp -- “It was you!” she clenched out as he grabbed both of her wrists swiftly and roughly, pushing her to the bed with force. He hissed through his teeth as she began to twist enough to slip a single heavy hand free from his grasp and just throw it as hard as she could.
There was a heavy thud when her knuckles made contact with the gaunt part of his inner cheek, colliding with his nose as her wrist followed through. Blood seeped out of his nostrils immediately, and his eyes went dark, like plum wine swimming in a glass. He didn’t falter a single step before crushing her wrist so tight she could hear it creak. She couldn’t help but let out pathetic, stupid huffs of white hot pain and clench her teeth so as not to scream--
The lights began flashing red again with its matching deafening siren. He didn’t move-- except to drop close to her face and grimace. It was dripping with.. Loathing when he spoke next.
“I’m just doing my job,” he spat.
A voice crackles on the intercom, layered with so much noise it hurts her brain to make it out. “Colonel, move away from the asset immediately. I repeat, move away and exit the room, now.”
Colonel.
It didn’t sway him until he blinked a few times and saw his own knuckles turning white around her wrists. The alarm further brought him out of his fugue, and he released her bruised and splotchy wrists. He moved to say another scathing remark, staring her straight in her eyes, and then-- he stood straight and turned quickly. His dustcoat flew behind him into the air at his great stride back to the door. The colonel didn’t turn around again, and the door locks with a hiss one final time.
Violent, she filed away in her mental library, under the Colonel..