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There was a before, and it felt like a sucker punch to the jaw.
The blow made Triira's head reel back, stars dancing across her eyes as sharp pain traced up from the point of impact and deep into the bone. She staggered back, stunned, and her opponent pressed the advantage. A body barely larger than her own slammed into her, trying to bowl her over and pin her against the cool alloy floor. The impact pushed wind from her lungs as her feet lost their purchase, and that sickening feeling of falling twisted her stomach. The ground met her back a moment later, pushing what air remaining in her out in a pained cough.
The boy on top of her seemed her age, though she had no idea for sure. He had been just one face in the thousands of children aboard the Zariman Ten-Zero until a moment ago, and now he was climbing on top of her and punching down at her face. He hadn't pinned her arms, and she hurriedly brought them up to protect her, though the blows rained painfully down on her forearm and wrists as he tried to simply beat his way through her guard. Another boy was screaming, terrified by the display of violence unfolding before him. If she'd the time to think about it, she would have recognized the voice that had been sobbing a minute before in those shrieks.
Thud, thud, thud - the stream of impacts against her forearm were slowing only slightly, and through her own angry tears, Triira could see the hate on her assailant's face, indignance at her intervention, rage at her righteous fury. Her guard would fail, and he would keep hitting her until she gave or until an adult came. The boy didn't seem to care which.
Another punch collided on her arm, sending a shock of pain through the bone. Like a snake, Triira whipped it about, clenching his own arm by the wrist. Before he could pull free, she struck once, hard. There was a horrible crunch that rang out, the nerves in her hand alight at the blow, and it was her opposite's turn to reel his head back, blood already starting to run down his nose. The hit had unseated him enough to push back against him, and Triira moved as fast as her aching body would, rolling them both over so that now it was him with his back to the ground, and her holding him in place. Unlike her opponent, she did not make the same mistake, her knees oppressively holding his arms down while she pulled back a hand and made a fist.
Thud, thud, thud - the pain in her hand grew worse as she drove decisive blows into his face, her eyes narrowed in her own hateful rictus. The screaming hadn't stopped, and she could feel a crowd forming around her as she kept hitting him, watching his face already begin to swell from bruises. Just a few more, she thought, then she'd stop. Counting down from five, four, three-
"Triira!" A hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her up and off with jarring speed. Her already injured arm was screaming at the sudden violence of the maneuver, and she stumbled as she tried to find her footing. Another hand grabbed her by the shoulder, holding her square to face her father. "What the hell are you doing?"
It was the swear that shocked her back to her senses. Her father never swore. "Dad?" She asked, stunned, but her father was already moving her back, away from the sobbing boy on the floor, away from the adults flooding into the scene to pull the children away.
He stopped her again, dropping on a knee to stare her in the eyes. His face was stern, but his eyes - hazel, bloodshot from lack of sleep - were worried. "What were you thinking?" He looked back over his shoulder. A mother was cradling her son, med-techs looking over his injuries with idle concern. "You were beating him half to death!"
Triira blanched. "What?" She exclaimed, staggered by the accusation. She shook her head violently, copper hair brushing and sticking to her own bruised, sweat-damp skin. "I wasn't… I…" She stammered as the adrenaline left her body. It was a family rule to let every member say their piece before responding, no matter how young - but the patience her father was giving her now made her only feel terrible. Unwanted guilt began to nestle in her gut, a feeling she fought vigorously, trying to find that just anger that she'd had only seconds before.
"He was choking someone," Triira restarted, swallowing hard and struggling to keep her suddenly nervous voice even. Her father's expression shifted, eyebrows furrowing as he processed the new information. "I-I tried to pull them away, make him stop, and he just…" She trailed off. The insults didn't matter, but the bruise on her chin said more than enough. "He hit me first!" She protested anyways.
Her father waited for a moment, both to think and to make sure that Triira was done. He sighed before starting, never a good sign. His eyes flicked their focus between hers - a deep emerald, puffy and red from tears - and her injured jaw. "I know you meant well, kiddo, but you hitting him like that won't make things better." He looked back again, only to see the crowd already dispersed. A security officer stood where the medics had been, his quieting gaze scanning the metal halls.
She couldn't stop herself. "I made him stop!" She interjected. Her father's expression hardened.
"And then you sent him to sickbay." He retorted. "You didn't teach him to stop bullying, you taught him to be afraid of you."
"What if that makes him stop?" Triira pressed onwards. Her throat was feeling only tighter by the second, strangled by her indignance and the regret her father's gaze summoned. It had been a mistake to continue; she knew that now, but it was too late to swallow her words. Her father set his jaw, the corners of his lips going taut, and his eyes bored into her inexorably.
"It won't," he said finally, his voice distant and tired. Had he ever sounded so before the Zariman? Triira couldn't remember. He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped himself. "You'll understand when you're older, kiddo."
He pushed up off his knee, standing once more. His gaze returned to where the fight had been, only to find the guard watching them both warily. Triira watched his posture stiffen as he drew in a sharp breath. "Go to the room and get cleaned up." He instructed, starting to walk. "I'll be there soon."
Triira didn't move. "Dad?" She asked, voice quiet but even. Her father stopped, turned to look out of the corner of his eye, and she swallowed. "I'm sorry." It took everything she had to croak out the words.
"I know you are, kiddo." There was a thin smile on his face, but a strange trepidation in his voice, like he'd only said half of what he'd meant.
The Void would take the rest.