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You step out onto the bleary night streets of the N109 zone, closing the door to Philip's workshop behind you. You always had your own motivations when venturing anywhere in the N109 zone--in this case, investigating underground protocore technology for the Hunters' Association. When Sylus requested some protocore modification parts when you went into the city next, your interests neatly aligned, and this was the explicit reason for your excursion. As for him, he was out for the night on business, whatever of the myriad possible implications that might mean. But you imagine you may get to see him later, after the business wraps.
You reach your motorcycle parked on the street and begin emptying the parts from your pockets into the bike's saddlebag. The still air transforms into a faintly blowing breeze. With your back turned to the motorway, you feel the hairs on your neck raise, sensing a kind of looming danger. Before you can turn around to look, your watch beeps loudly, and a wanderer emerges out of its protofield, charging at you full speed! Caught off guard, you reach for your weapon, but not before the wanderer lashes out at you, raking its massive claws across your body.
You cry out, stumbling down, a massive gash ripped open at your side. Then the wanderer lunges a second time, leaving no time at all for you to catch your bearings. You can only roll across the ground, barely in time to dodge its attack.
You reach for your guns, thankfully still attached at your hip, and open fire on the wanderer, aiming for all of its weak points that you studied in hunter school. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, guiding your hands, you hit the wanderer dead-on, shot after shot, staggering it backwards. With a final bullseye in its eye, you defeat the wanderer and watch it disintegrate in the middle of the empty road.
Imminent threat subsided, you drop your guns to the ground and look down at yourself, vision blurring at the seams. There's blood everywhere. It covers your clothes and coats your hand that had grasped the wound. A puddle of crimson pools onto the ground. Help, you think, as your head gets dizzier. Call for help! Damn it, your phone is where you just left it in the motorcycle bag. Maybe you can crawl to get it?
Hearing the commotion of the prior gunshots, Philip emerges from his workshop and sees you lying in pain. Immediately, he dials Sylus.
In your delirium, you hear snippets of Philip's voice as he's on the phone. “...she's injured bad, must have been a wanderer...Hurry Sylus, I'll wait for you.” Then your vision goes black…
=====
You snap back to consciousness at the roaring rev of a motorcycle engine. Your head is ringing. Fuck, everything still hurts.
You hear footsteps, a pair of fast-moving boots, and begin imagining what new threat must be closing in on you now in this vulnerable state. Could it be a rival faction to Onychinus? Just a common criminal?
Weak as you feel, you still refuse to resign your fate. You reach around blindly on the ground for your guns where you dropped them before. Your hand miraculously lands on a gun, but immediately you feel another hand clasp on top of yours, pinning it immobile. You try to recoil your hand, but when it doesn’t budge, you jerk your head to look at this new enemy and find it’s Sylus kneeling over you.
“Relax kitten, it's me,” he says, eyes scanning furiously across your body. “Where are you hurt?”
“Sylus,” you choke out. You gesture to the wound at your side, the center from whence all the blood soaking your clothes is emanating.
“Philip! Are there medical supplies in the workshop?”
“No, none.”
Sylus turns to Mephisto, perched at his shoulder. “Tell Luke and Kieran to prepare the medical bay. And to call Zayne.”
Sylus removes his leather jacket and drapes it over your body, breaking the wind that had started sending you into shivers. He kneels close and with gentle precision, snakes a hand beneath your back and another beneath your knees. You inhale sharply at the pains from being jostled.
“Try to relax, kitten.”
You brace as Sylus picks you up in his arms, pulling you into his chest to carry you over to the motorcycle he rode here. Flush against his chest, your head weighs heavily against him, and you pull in deep and rapid breaths, trying to siphon any strength you can from the proximity to him.
Upon reaching the motorcycle, Sylus goes to straddle it. In doing so, he carefully shifts your body to set you down on the bike seat in front and facing him, where he can secure your body close, his jacket now wrapped around your back. He drapes your arms around his neck for more security and pulls you in tight.
“Hold on if you can, sweetie. We're going back to base.” His voice in your ear is gentle yet firm. “Stay awake,” he commands.
You hear the rev of the engine starting before feeling the bike beneath you take off, speeding into the night with smooth yet steep acceleration. Soon the speed climbs dangerously high, faster than Sylus has ever dared to ride with you before. Feeling your stomach jump, you dig your fingers in a grip behind Sylus' neck with what little strength you have, clinging to survive even this ride. You feel Sylus’ arm pull you tighter in response.
“I've got you.”
Sylus navigates the neon-illuminated streets of the N109 zone with expert ease, cutting every turn the bike could possibly make to get back to base faster. It's harder when controlling the bike with one hand, but not a second can be spared with you in such an injured state. He can't imagine what he would do if any of your injuries are permanent, or worse, if... He shakes his head and vanquishes the thought with a low growl. The endgame calculus Sylus normally performs before going into any situation as leader of Onychinus holds far less value here and now, where he has so little control. The helplessness is painful, but he must focus only on the things over which he has some control: your pain, and getting you to medical facilities.
City lights streak past and begin to dim from your view, as Sylus spots the Onychinus headquarters fast-approaching in the distance. He jerks the bike to a skidding halt upon arriving inside an open garage. As the garage door falls, you feel Sylus' arms moving, shifting your weight to pick you up again.
“Easy kitten.”
He lifts you from the bike, carrying you snug against his chest again, and starts striding towards the medical bay.
“Luke! What did Zayne say?” Sylus barks.
“We need to apply pressure and start stabilizing her wounds. We should prepare a saline IV and depending on the amount of blood loss already...”
Sylus sets you down as gently as possible onto a bed, and the medical chatter about you fades from your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat ringing, pulsing into focus. You squint at the harsh lights above and must fight the urge to plunge headfirst into darkness, yes... eyes closed... peace... a place free from pain...
You feel a calloused hand caress your cheek. The connection back to reality, back to him, sends an adrenaline-fueled shock coursing through your veins. Your eyes flicker open, landing on the concerned face of one Sylus Qin.
“Stay with me, sweetie.” Sylus’ caressing hand moves as he scans his eyes across the rest of your body, taking inventory of your injuries. With his other hand, he presses ever so slightly at the gash at your side. You gasp as a rippling pain shoots out, but the distraction of his caress splits your focus, making it easier to bear.
“We need to clean that wound now. Can you hold her still, boss?” says Luke. You hear him prepping a side table of wash solution and dressing supplies.
“Is there something we can give her first?” asks Sylus.
“Unfortunately no. Zayne said we need to be able to identify pain sources up until her wounds are fully stabilized, so no pain killers.”
Sylus sighs heavily and turns to face you on the bed, taking a moment to assess what to do. He leans in over you and presses his forearm down across your torso and ribs to hold you down, just below your chest. He cradles his other arm around your head where it rests, as if he were protecting you from an oncoming avalanche. His controlled embrace surrounds you and consumes your field of view.
“This is going to hurt, but stay strong, kitten. You can grab my arms if you need,” he says, eyes soft and full of worry.
“Hold her steady, boss! I'm gonna start.”
The first wash of liquid across your wounds sears like a splash of pure acid. You hiss and tense up, instinctively grappling onto Sylus’ arms. But the burning pain only sharpens. You shudder under new and intense shock-waves, as Sylus keeps you pinned flat on the bed, tightening his embrace.
“Just a while longer, Miss!” Luke exclaims, as he continues working.
You clamp your eyes shut and throw your head backwards, searching for some kind of relief, but there's none to find. Secured by Sylus’ arms, you have no escape. You moan in pain as Luke presses down on your gash to treat it with a new kind of antiseptic.
“Aarghhh!”
“Stay with me,” Sylus says as you grip his arms increasingly tighter, beginning to leave claw marks. “That’s it...”
The edge of your vision blurs once more, and you try as best you can to only focus on Sylus, pushing down the stubborn sear of pain, as Luke continues washing out your wound with the burning medicine. You feel a rag lift away from your screaming skin, and for the first time, you think your pain must be past its climax, on to falling action.
“That's the last of that wash. Now I'm going to start some stitches and bandaging. Boss, can you help? Hold it here...”
At Luke's words, Sylus is hesitant to let go of you until you release some breathy sighs as the height of your pain slowly subsides. When he’s confident you have your bearings, Sylus releases your body as gently as possible from his cradling arms. He goes to help Luke position several strips of medical tape across your wounds, and then he places a steadying hand on your exposed stomach. You hear the faint clanking of medical tools setting up.
“Stitches, kitten.”
You breathe in steadily, hoping this won’t hurt as bad as the hell from just minutes ago. But Sylus and Luke must be trusting you now not to thrash under the needle and hurt yourself. You grip the edge of the medical bed and tense your arm to brace. Feeling Sylus’ presence through his hand, his words repeat in your mind as a mantra: You can handle it.
You wince as Luke’s stitching needle pierces your skin and thread tugs it tightly into place. Eyes screwed shut, you steel yourself and focus on holding your body still through every twinge. It’s not easy, but thankfully, Luke and Sylus make quick work of the remaining necessary dressing, aided by your resilience in resisting to jerk at each new, painful pressure.
Eventually, Luke peels off his surgical gloves and declares victory. “Aaand that's the last of the dressing. You made it, Miss! I'll leave you to start the recovery process.” True to his word, you hear Luke leave the room.
When you open your eyes again, you are met with Sylus’ waiting, crimson orbs. For your sake, he tries to soften the tense expression that’s been been clinging to his face this entire time.
“Did you hear that? It's time for you to rest now.”
Sylus sweeps a couple fingertips through your hair, brushing the strands behind your ear. You nod against his hand, offering only a moan of acknowledgement, the best that you can muster. Sylus notes the beads of sweat lining the top of your forehead, a testament to the effort you've endured.
“I'll be right here,” he whispers. “Just say the word, I'll get you anything you need.”
You hear Sylus pull up a chair and plop down into it, just a foot away from the bedside. Thank god he isn't leaving, you think. Then you hear another clattering. Cracking your eyes to identify the sound, you notice your Harrier 700 guns now resting on the bedside table. You heave a soft sigh at the sight of this second source of comfort. Of course only Sylus knows what it means to have your weapon kept within reach, ready in your control to pull at a moment's notice, even though you know he would never let danger invade this space far enough for you to need to use it.
“Sylus?” you whisper into the silent air.
“Mmmh?”
You give a brief pause. “Thank you.”
He gives a pause of his own, deciding whether to accept your thanks. Perhaps it’s because helping you almost feels like a selfish act.
“Of course, sweetie. Now rest~~”
Feeling small yet secure under Sylus' protection, you release more of the tension you've been holding in your body for hours. You flop your full weight back into the bed, hoping to knock on the doors of sleep. Just let go, it's safe now, you think, as you let exhaustion finally hit you full force and plunge you deep into slumber...
=====
Running, fast as you can, wind at your face, its breath at your neck. Without seeing it, you know the beast is swooping low, closing in on your flesh, here to destroy you. Now, it's upon you!
With a horrid puncture, the wyrmlord's tail pierces through your heart, releasing your aether core from the resting place where it was pumping your life energy. The unhomed core levitates before your eyes, and when you reach to your chest where it just was, there is only a gaping hole...
“My heart!” you gasp, grabbing at your chest, your breathing ragged, adrenaline coursing. You snap awake and look down to your body, bracing to find pieces missing. But it's still intact, no hole in sight. An aching pain emanating lower at your stomach draws your attention. But looking down again, you see a familiar wound and start to recollect where you are and how you got here.
I'm at the medical bay at Onychinus' base. There was a wanderer, but then Sylus came. Your breathing calms, gradually decelerating. It’s safe here.
Slowly, you regain your composure. As you do, you scan your eyes across the room. You're all alone, except for a curious crow perched on a countertop near the doorway. It meets your gaze with a tilted head, before belting a familiar call. “CAWW!!”
“Mephisto,” you murmur.
You lay back down in the medical bed with a thud and release a deep sigh. Mephisto takes off and flies to the bed, landing next to your shoulder. He peers curiously into your eyes, cocking his head. You raise your hand toward him and offer a pet across his sleek, onyx feathers. Mephisto leans into the touch, cooing happily. “You were worried about me too, huh?”
“He quite likes you, you know,” chimes a deep voice. The summoned owner of the voice stands looming in the doorway, the silhouette of his broad shoulders clearly recognizable to you by now.
You give Mephisto another long pet, beginning with a head scratch and ending with a smoothing of his magnificent wing feathers. “It's Stockholm Syndrome,” you say. “He has no choice but to like me, given how often you deploy him to keep tabs on me.”
Sylus chuckles and grins. The chuckle evolves into a soft sigh when his brow furrows into a more serious demeanor. “Mephisto is not so easily swayed.” Sylus locks eyes with you. “He knows exactly what he likes and what he doesn't like.”
Sylus’ gaze spills out unspoken words, brimming with a mixture of yearning and sadness you can only describe as vulnerable. His scarlet eye flashes, and though you know the power that lies there, you feel as though his eye is revealing more to you now than it is for him.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he says softly.
You avert your gaze, feeling exposed yourself. “It was nothing much. I'm already feeling better. I~”
You look up at Sylus again and cut yourself off, suddenly aware how little he wants to hear you downplay any aspect of your pain. “It's over now.”
Sylus nods. “It was the aether core, wasn't it?”
“How do you know?”
“I've had such dreams.” He walks over to your bedside and extends his hand to press it to your forehead. “How do you feel?”
“I'm feeling better, thanks to you and Luke.”
Sylus lets his hand fall from your forehead to hold your cheek, satisfied after finding you haven't developed a fever. “And what about the nightmare?”
You sigh a release of tension you hadn't realized built up in your body. You let your eyes wander down to your side, wondering what to say, but suddenly Sylus tilts your chin up, demanding an answer. “It's...fading out of mind. I'm glad you're here.”
He offers a faint resemblance of his typical smirk. “Good. You'll have a hard time getting rid of me for a while.”
A rush of warmth floods your cheeks at the attentiveness in Sylus’ words. He gets up to pace around the room for a second, suddenly caught up in thought. Then he turns to you.
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
“What?” you stumble.
“I mean, stay in my bed to rest while you heal. And if you wish, I'll stay with you.”
Looking at him, you wonder how it's possible for the eyes of a criminal overlord to look so warmly innocent. And then you wonder between the two of you, whose fears are the ones which will be put to rest if you sleep side by side? But you don't dwell long on this thought, for fear that somehow Sylus’ offer might be rescinded. On a day like today, you can barely imagine being left alone.
“Yes!”
Normally, Sylus would tease you for such an open admission, but he doesn't this time. He simply nods and approaches the bedside again.
“Carry you?”
You nod, and he lifts you into his arms once more with now-practiced care. On the way to his bedroom, with your head against his chest just as it would remain later that night, you whisper to him, “Sylus, am I still your prey?”
He leans his cheek against your head and rumbles from his chest, “Miss Hunter, you are an apex predator.” <3