Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ACT ONE:

Hunter

*~*

“Somebody once told me that you’re a killer.”

There was no malice in Hoffman’s tone of voice as she spoke. There was no disappointment — no negativity — to be gleaned from her statement. She simply lays it out there in the space between them, like it’s just another piece of information for the world.

“How many people have you killed, before you came to Lungmen, I wonder?”

The woman was criminally short. A pitiful five feet tall, and not a centimeter higher. She was, in fact, the shortest in her department in the Lungmen Guard Department (L.G.D.) — you couldn’t find a smaller officer with as many accolades, nor ears as big.

“Five? Ten? Twenty people?” She fires off the questions like rounds from a rifle. “You’re from Siracusa, I’ve been told. That’s a pretty bloody place. So… how bloody are you?”

Her guest offers no courtesy of a reply.

“Hm. Do you smoke?”

The little detective takes out a pack of cigarettes, giving a friendly smile.

“Oh, the brand? It’s Fantome. You like ‘em?”

Without waiting for a reply, Hoffman puts a cigarette in her mouth, and then lights it with the tip of her forefinger. A narrow flame erupts from her pointer, and it’s not long before smoke billows from between the woman’s lips.

“You’re so quiet. But you know, one Infected officer talking by herself, doesn’t make for a very good conversation.”

She grins, gesturing with her thumb towards the skyline. It was dusk. The sky had turned yellow, then orange, and now the city of Lungmen was in the twilight between light purple, and deep indigo. From where they were sitting, it was possible to look out a great distance over this magnificent city, what with its skyscrapers — reaching up towards heaven like wide, steel fingers — and its humble shops and establishments, its little pockets of civilization, of entire lives lived and lost amidst the day-to-day hustle and bustle.

Across the I-88, approximately 60 kilometers to the northeast, a man is roused from slumber. He’s tied to a chair in the darkness, and he’s not wearing any clothes. His captor, a woman with big breasts and even bigger horns, asks him a deceptively simple question:

Where is Texas?

“I’ve got a fun question for you.” Hoffman removes the cigarette from her lips and taps away the ashes. “Do you know the difference between a mass murderer, and a rampage killer?”

When Hoffman gets no response — as expected — she opts to continue her little lecture. “Well, I just thought you’d find it interesting, that’s all. You see…”

She takes a puff of her cigarette again.

“The difference between serial killers and rampage killers and mass murderers… it’s not about how many people they kill, but rather… it’s about how long you go before killing again. It goes in cycles for a serial killer. Days, weeks, even years can go by before they kill again. But for mass murderers? It’s all about speed.”

She continued. “Mass murderers kill within a fixed time frame, in one setting. There have to be at least four murders, with almost no downtime in between.” She made the shape of a gun with her free hand, and out shot a tiny, teasing flame.

“Spree killers,” Hoffman went on, “kill in multiple locations. Usually over a brief period of time. From one hour, up to several weeks. And, rampage killers: rampage killers are single people who kill multiple people, in a single homicidal event, without any cooling-off period whatsoever.

“The second-worst rampage killing that ever happened in Lungmen, happened up in what used to be the Deckerville district. 10 years ago, some old guy got pissed off about his old wife’s dinner. Got his gun, went out into the street, and started shooting into windows. Killed 12 people in under eight minutes.”

Hoffman sighs. Her Vulpo ears bend low when she recalls the story.

“Shit was fucked up,” she decided to say.

The wind was blowing just a little bit harder now, and there was change in the wind. One needed a sense for this sort of thing. A sense for change, however small. For a Lungmenite like Hoffman, it couldn’t be more clear that something very, very bad was about to happen in this city.

“Yes, that’s right… that’s the second-worst rampage killing that’s ever happened in the city of Lungmen.” She smiled sadly, shaking her head.

Her guest had finally deigned it time to speak. “And the worst killing?”

Hoffman took a glance at her watch. “Hmm… if I had to guess, I would say that it starts in about two hours.”

The detective flicked her cigarette over the railing, and she removed the small photograph from her jacket pocket. She took another look at it, remembering her irritation with the manner in which the entire scene was framed.

“Hmm. Yes, that’s right… about two hours,” said Hoffman. “So I’d suggest you help me out here. Find Texas. Then, bring her to me. The name Penguin Logistics should be your top priority here. I’d go myself, but… well, I can’t show myself just yet. There’s time enough for that,” she said, with a knowing wink.

“You Lungmenites and your chess master shit spreco di tempo.” They turn up their nose before leaning in to see the photo. “Which one is Texas?”

Hoffman smiled. “Well that’s a really good question now, isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Texas walked inside.

Washing machines! Washing machines as far as the eye could see, as long as those eyes could only see about 2000 square feet.

Fortunately, this gargantuan room full of bright lights, industrial appliances, and scented detergents would not be where she is spending the night. Instead, Texas was renting out a room on the second floor — which was reserved for transients; tenants. This establishment was one part laundromat, and another part motel. It was borderline decrepit, to say nothing of how tucked-away it was here at 7th and 27th, a commercial square in the city downtown. A hole in the wall, where one could lay their head for a day or two… and maybe, just maybe, clean their God-damned clothes.

It would be just fine for now, because Texas had no intention of staying in this atrocious city for very long.

She fished the key card out of her pocket, turning it over with a contemplative hum. Room 2. This was the key card to her room — her room for as long as she paid to stay here. But she still needed one more… just in case.

It couldn’t be overstated just how important it was to have a copy.

She made the short trip to the front desk, and she tossed the small card onto the counter, somewhat surprising the Perro teenager standing with his nose buried in a magazine. “I need another,” was all she said.

The Perro picked up the key card and hummed aloud. “You need a spare key card?”

“Yes, boy.”

The teenager raised an eyebrow, before reaching under the desk and pulling out a second #2 key card, sliding it over to Texas.

And the Lupo staring straight through him slides the key card right back. “Someone is coming. A woman. She looks just like me. I want you to give this to her. Is that clear?”

The teenage Perro nodded, anxiously. “Uh, sure… she looks like you? Sure, I can do that…” He gulped, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Good, boy. And so that’s that,” the Lupo told him.

“Um, miss? Is something… wrong?”

She narrowed her eyes. “With what?”

“With… with anything?” The boy asked.

“Is that what you’re asking me?” The dark-haired woman scoffed. “Is there something wrong with anything?”

“N-never mind… sorry. If you need anything else… l-let me know,” the boy stammered.

“Speak up, boy.” The woman before him smiled secretively. “That childish stammer of yours… it’s unbecoming.”

The boy only nodded this time. Satisfied, Texas turned and went upstairs to her room.

Now he won’t forget to show her, she thought.

With a flick of the switch, the lights come on. Buzzing faintly. Weakly.

The woman closed the door behind her, and she moved to the center of the room. Yet another look around the modest space.

A queen-sized bed.

A mini fridge.

A television sitting on a dresser.

A table. Papers. Pens. The Wi-Fi password.

A closet. A bathroom. A shower. A sink. A toilet.

One single bar of soap.

Texas opened the closet door before doing anything else. No one was inside. Still, it was always good to make sure.

She walked into the closet, turned around, and closed the door, immediately bathing herself in pitch-black darkness. That feeling returned.

The faint sounds of other motel-stayers got even fainter. She can no longer hear the couple in room #1 making love. She can no longer hear the television in room #3 forecasting the weather. Through the tiniest crack at the foot of the door, a sliver a light poured in. Other than that… nothing. Simply serenity.

She opened the door and walked back out into her motel room. Next was the bathroom.

Another light switch to flick, another room illuminated. This one was cold. Square tiles beneath her feet, white paint on the walls. Tan-colored tiles in the shower chamber. Poorly maintained overall. Still, she didn’t care about the state of the shower as much as she cared about what this motel room was missing. Sorely missing.

“Ashtray,” she said.

The teenage Perro looked up from his magazine and cringed. Oh no, she’s back. “What?”

“I need an ashtray,” the woman told him.

“Oh… um… I’m afraid that’s… your room, it’s a non-smoking room.” The Perro knew he was going to regret saying that as soon as the words left his lips.

“I need an ashtray,” the dark wolf repeated. “Or, a glass mug?”

“Miss… I’m sorry. I don’t want to get in trouble with my supervisor. Can you please just smoke outside?”

“No.”

“Miss, come on… I’m really just trying to do my job. If you want, I can get you the smoking room, it’s just…” He waved dismissively. “Look, we don’t even have any ashtrays here. Or glass mugs.”

“Hmph.” The woman narrowed her eyes, until they were razor-thin. She placed her palms on the counter, and the Perro winced at the sight of them. Damaged, marked, scarred hands. When she spoke again, he flinched.

“You’d better hope she brings one, then,” she whispers, so that only he can hear her.

The boy took a step back. “A-are you threatening me?”

“I am.”

And with that… Texas went back upstairs. And waited.

Chapter Text

“Alright, I came down as fast as I could. What’s…”

Texas’s sentence trailed off as she paused, having walked into the room and noticed just how overtly everyone else was staring at her. Sora, Croissant, and Yith. With Exusiai napping upstairs, one could only wonder what had transpired in their absence. Although judging from how they were looking at her…

“…going on?”

Yith was the first to break their silence. He was typically so stoic — that was how he liked to be perceived — yet Texas could see that something was bothering him. That something was bothering all of them.

“Texas,” he started to say, “there’s trouble brewing.” The dark-haired Lupo took a peek beyond the window pane, widening the gap in the plastic shutters with her fingers.

“Are we surrounded? Do we have a job to do? Wait a minute.” She raised her hand, and she furrowed her brow. “What’s that smell?”

“Smell?” Croissant asked. She adjusted her cap, pinching the brim. “So… can you smell her? ‘Cause she was here. Just a few minutes ago.”

Texas chewed on her upper lip. Something didn’t feel right.

This wasn’t Lappland. This was somehow much worse.

“Who was here?” Sora took a step forward, holding her hand over her heart. “Texas! Who was that? Who was she? Why did she look just like…”

Sora cast her gaze aside. The entire ordeal was unlike what she expected. She felt sick, like she knew in the back of her mind that this situation was beyond her station. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Texas made the short trip across the room — past the electrical cables and the used motherboards and the burnt processors — and she found the small table resting up against the wall, upon which was that little red envelope. And when Texas saw it, her eyes went wide, and she reached out towards the stationery.

How long has it been …

She picked up the envelope.

…since we’ve been together?

She turned it over between her fingers, as if she was looking for something, or checking its weight. The envelope itself was thin, with no patterning. Deceptively innocuous in its appearance. Just red. It all became red, in the end.

“I’d like to take this lull to remind you,” Yith said, “that you can tell us anything you’re comfortable with. But we won’t ever force you to speak with us. I’d just like to reiterate that we’ve got your back, rain or shine. Texas.”

Texas …

She scowled, hating herself for how afraid she seemed to be. And yet, she couldn’t stop her fingers from shaking as she carefully — very carefully — tried to open the envelope. Tearing the corner of the flap with an agonizing slowness, like she was defusing some kind of letter bomb. All the better that Exusiai wasn’t here right now.

And after what felt like 100 years, Texas silently opened the envelope, and she dumped its contents onto the table right beside her. Yith stands up now, and he, along with Croissant and Sora, come closer to see this.

“T-Texas…?” Sora fidgeted anxiously. “What’s… what’s that stuff?”

Pieces of the past …

Texas picks up the first item she sees. A letter in her own handwriting.

“Principessa,

Oda è tornato.

Finiamo ci ò che abbiamo iniziato.

la tua ombra …”

All of the blood in her body turned to molten lead. All of the air leaves her lungs. And as Texas pinches the bridge of her nose tightly enough to bruise it, Croissant can only think of one thing.

“Did that say somethin’ about a tornado?”

Chapter Text

“Exusiai…”

Texas roused her angel as gently as she could, despite the panic.

“Exusiai… wake up, Exusiai…”

Exusiai grumbled sleepily.

“Five more minutes, Texas… and then… gimme five more,” the Sankta muttered.

Texas poked Exusiai on the cheek.

“Get the hell up. There’s problems.”

“Wahhh…” Exusiai sniffled, and then yawned, sitting up with a stretch. When she spoke, she sounded like she was somewhere else entirely. Like she was in the land of dreams, speaking to Texas through a twine-connected tin can. “Are we in danger?”

Texas smiled softly. “In a sense. I’m sorry to wake you so suddenly… not much of a nap, was it?” She reached out and gently tousled Exusiai’s hair, raking her fingers through the angel’s strawberry-red locks. A gesture of affection that Exusiai was all-too happy to receive, given how gleefully she leaned into the Lupo’s touch, nonverbally begging for more, similar attention.

“Texas, what’s wrong?” Exusiai rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to frown, but given the sense of urgency in Texas’s voice — and the fact that she was fully dressed — something had most certainly gone awry. “Where’s everyone else? Am I the first to know, or the last?”

“The last,” Texas told her. “It’s complicated. But you have to know.”

“Have to know what?” Exusiai bit back another yawn, throwing her blanket to the side. “Uh, let me get dressed?”

“Mm. Yeah. We have to go on a bit of a drive.”

“Drive? Drive where?”

“7th and 27th. That little square, downtown.” Texas could hear the gears turning in Exusiai’s head, while the angel suddenly looked thoughtful.

“What’s waiting for us down there?” She asked.

I am …

…is what Texas wanted to say, though she thought better of such an exclamation.

“Somebody that I used to know,” Texas replied, with a sharp sigh. “I’ll explain more on the drive over. Just get dressed, please.”

“Alright, alright…!”

Exusiai tried to smile reassuringly, as she put her hands on Texas’s hips. Texas didn’t move away, but she did turn her head to avoid the Sankta’s curious gaze, and to avoid Exusiai’s lips as they came closer.

The sudden and nonverbal rejection made Exusiai frown. She was searching in her eyes. “Texas…?”

“Now, Exusiai… we really can’t afford to waste time on this one.”

“OK. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be dressed.”

Exusiai felt meek all of a sudden, in spite of her affection. She didn’t say anything else, instead opting to bend down to pick up the clothes that she’d tossed aside earlier that night, during her tryst with Texas. She inwardly wondered if there was something that she had done wrong here; if she’d made Texas uncomfortable in some way in light of their relationship. Was it a complicated relationship?

No… it was a twilight of a relationship. They weren’t mere coworkers. But they weren’t girlfriends, either. And something told Exusiai that she’d better not question it right this second. Not when there’s someone — something — waiting for them, downtown.

However lonely the feeling.

Texas turns the key.

The engine doesn’t roar to life. The noise is subdued, and compressed. Pistons and cylinders pumping just beneath the hood of the sedan, purring, like electrical kittens.

However, this car wasn’t technically theirs to own. They were borrowing it.

For a long time.

…sometime between now and forever, is how Croissant described it, at least.

Exusiai leaned back in the passenger seat, looking much less thoughtful than her Lupo companion. She begins speaking almost as soon as Texas pulls out of the garage, and turns the vehicle down the alleyway towards the adjacent street.

Exusiai’s first question was, “do you want me to drive?”

And Texas’s response was immediate. “No.”

Now for question number two. “Are you sure? You seem distracted.”

“Driving there will help me think. Will help me talk,” Texas reasoned.

“If you say so…” Exusiai turned her head towards the back seat. “Do we have any weapons in the trunk?”

“We won’t need them,” Texas said.

“But do we?”

“Mm. There’s a briefcase tucked under my seat. It’s got two pistols.”

“Rubber bullets,” said Exusiai, “right?” And Texas nodded. “You haven’t always been the best shot, you know?”

Texas defended herself. “Hey, I can use a gun if I need to. I just prefer a more direct approach, that’s all. I still have the sword, if need be. But there'll be no need."

“Suuuuure, sure… but what about a real gun?” Exusiai looked out the window as they drove down the street, sparsely populated by other cars — other Lungmenites like them. “You’re not the best at those.”

Texas shrugged. “You’re a Sankta. You people are practically weaned on bullets and arrows.”

“You people?!” Exusiai feigns a gasp, shaking her head. “Wow. That’s racist!”

“It’s not racist if it’s true.”

“WOW. I’m going to be sick. I’m driving with a racist! Is that who we’re meeting tonight? Another, more powerful racist?” She leaned in close, knowing full well she was needling Texas.

“Shut the hell up,” Texas muttered, turning the sedan right down a new street.

“You know if you want, I can teach you how to use a real gun. I know the originium casings are weird to work with… for racists like you,” she said, pausing at Texas’s chuckle, “but with a good teacher like me, you won’t blow your hand off, at least.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Texas remarked.

“You have to call me your senpai though,” said Exusiai.

“Ha. Keep dreaming…”

“Ha ha ha…”

It was back. The creeping, dreadful silence. In the silence was doubt. The unknowing. Exusiai turned the radio on, and Texas immediately turns it off. That makes the Sankta sigh, and there’s no dodging her few statements.

“I’ve never seen you so nervous before,” Exusiai told her. “I’m getting worried, Texas. You look scared. I’ve never seen you look… so scared before. Never ever. This person… who are they? Are they trying to hurt us? Is this a bribe, or… maybe they’re from the L.G.D.? We’re not being evicted from that safehouse?”

More silence. Exusiai wasn’t having any of that.

“Texas. Come on… talk to me. You said you were going to tell me what’s wrong,” she gently spoke, “so please… tell me what’s wrong.”

She tried something dangerous. She lay a hand on Texas’s thigh.

Texas flinched. And so Exusiai pulled away, with a short sigh.

“I’m sorry if I made things awkward. I just… thought, you know. Friends with benefits — that’s what it’s called, right? That’s what we are. I mean… I guess so, right? So just… just tell me if I’m being clingy, and I won’t touch you anymore, and we don’t have to kiss or anything like that, but I—you know, I deserve to know what’s going on in your head sometimes, I think, especially because we’re partners and—and I mean partners as in coworkers in logistics, so…”

The car cruises to a slow and easy stop before a red light. This gives Texas the opportunity to turn her head, lean over, and peck Exusiai on the lips with her own.

And it’s just enough contact — just enough of a spark — to make Exusiai go quiet.

“You’re cute when you ramble like that,” Texas remarked, giving Exusiai a smirk. “And you ramble a lot when you’re nervous.”

“…are you making me nervous on purpose?” Exusiai asked, chewing on her lip.

“Exusiai… we could never be in a serious relationship,” Texas told her. “It would be the most unhealthy thing in the world… for you.”

“For me?” Exusiai scoffed. “Right… whatever.”

“Oh, so now you’re getting moody?”

“No,” Exusiai lied.

“Mm. Right…”

Green light. Once again, they were in motion.

Texas asked, “have I ever told you about my childhood?”

Exusiai looked over. “About Siracusa?”

“No,” said Texas, “about my childhood.”

It took a moment for Exusiai to process what Texas had just said.

“You mean… you weren’t… born in Siracusa?” Exusiai’s eyebrows went up a little higher on her face. This was the most meek she’s felt all evening.

“Did you really not know? Did I really never tell you?”

“I don’t remember. I’m sorry. Where were you born again? Colombia, right?”

“Mm-hmm. Colombia. That’s right… I was born in Colombia.” Texas nodded slowly, like she was trying to verify it in her own head after all this time.

“And then you moved to… Siracusa, for a while?” Exusiai asked.

“It’s a lot more complicated than that. That’s what this whole night is about, actually.”

“So… this someone from your past… this is someone who you know from Siracusa?” Exusiai frowned. That could only ever be a bad thing. “We’re meeting someone from Siracusa… tonight? Now I really wish I did bring my gun.”

“I’m telling you, Exusiai, we aren’t going to need weapons. Not right now. Not for this meeting.” Texas heaved a heavy sigh. God above, why did this have to happen? She doesn’t have the energy for all this angst.

“What if it’s a trap?” Exusiai asked.

“It’s not a trap. It’s an… invitation,” said Texas.

“An invitation…” Exusiai trailed off, fidgeting uncomfortably in the passenger seat of a car that belonged to neither of them. “And you really know this person, huh?”

Texas nodded again. “I do.”

“How well do you know them?”

Texas thought for a long time before responding, this time.

“Better than anyone,” she finally told her.