Chapter Text
“Target found. Engaging.”
Location: Shi Assoc. Southern Branch Headquarters
“...ngh!”
The sound slipped out before the child with the blue eyes could stop it—a sharp, involuntary noise that betrayed far more pain than she would ever willingly admit. The harsh white light of the Shi Association’s Southern Branch medical ward reflected off the sterile steel tables and the tiled floor, making everything feel colder, more exposed. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, metal, and old blood that had been scrubbed away too many times to ever truly disappear.
“Hold still.”
The child with the pink eyes did not look up as she spoke. Her gravel-colored hair fell forward in uneven waves, brushing against her cheeks as her hands moved with careful, practiced precision. Rolls of gauze, half-used bandages, and small vials of disinfectant were scattered across the table between them, a quiet testament to how frequently this room saw use—and how often these two returned to it.
She was kneeling close, almost uncomfortably so, one knee pressed against the edge of the bed where the other child sat. Her fingers were steady as she wrapped another length of bandage around the child’s ribs, where dark bruises and jagged cuts bloomed beneath the pale skin.
“I am,” insisted the child with the blue eyes and black, messy hair, though she did not raise her voice.
Her jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles in her face trembled. Dried blood clung to her collarbone and the edge of her uniform, and one sleeve had been hastily torn away earlier to expose a deep gash along her upper arm. Even sitting still required effort; every shallow breath tugged at her injuries like a reminder that she was still very much alive.
She stared at the side table, where a gray, bloodied band of cloth sat, refusing to look at what was being done to her, as if ignoring the pain might somehow make it less real.
The child with the pink eyes let out a quiet, almost amused breath.
“With the way you’re tensing up right now, you’re actually shaking.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. She adjusted her grip and tightened the bandage just enough to keep it secure, careful not to pull too hard.
“If you keep bracing like that, the wraps won’t sit right. Then it’ll hurt more later. You don’t want that, do you?”
The child on the bed stiffened even further at that, then slowly, begrudgingly, tried to relax her shoulders. It was a losing battle; every nerve in her body seemed to protest the attempt.
“......”
No response came; only a thin exhale, shaky and uneven.
The child with the pink eyes glanced up at her then, studying her expression. Beneath the stubborn silence, she could see it: the familiar mix of exhaustion and suppressed fear, the kind that followed missions that went just a little too wrong.
“You always do this, you know,” she murmured, softer now. “Act like you don’t feel anything.”
She reached for a small bottle and dabbed disinfectant onto a fresh pad of cloth before gently pressing it against one of the deeper cuts. The child with the blue eyes flinched despite herself.
“Easy. Easy,” the pink-eyed child whispered. “You did good out there. You did good.”
For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustle of bandages and the distant hum of the ward’s machinery.
It had been a narrow floor of K Corp. Headquarters, far below the humming Singularity chambers that pulsed like a mechanical heart. The corridors were sleek, clean, and lined with pale lighting strips that made every shadow look like a stain waiting to happen.
The two children moved through it like whispers.
Black coats, suppressed breathing, the soft whisper of drawn steel. Each carried a sword—long blades that reflected the corridor lights in cold, unfeeling lines. Their orders had come through a dead drop, anonymous and unsigned, but the implication had been clear enough: the occupants of this wing had betrayed something sacred. Information about K Corp.’s Singularity had leaked, and now someone wanted every mouth that knew too much permanently closed.
They stopped before a reinforced door.
The child with the pink eyes knelt, pressing a thin tool into the lock. A few deft movements, a barely audible click, and the seal disengaged.
“Four,” she whispered. “Armed.”
The child with the blue eyes nodded once, already shifting her grip on her sword. They entered. The room was a makeshift office, strewn with data slates and half-packed cases. Four figures turned at once, hands already moving for hidden weapons.
It was over before any of them could speak. Steel flashed.
The child with the blue eyes moved first, a precise, practiced arc that cut one target down before he could even clear his holster. Another lunged for the pink-eyed child, a blade glinting in his grip—but she was already there, parrying with a sharp clang and stepping inside his guard. Her sword slid cleanly through his chest.
The third fired.
A burst of compressed energy tore through the air toward the pink-eyed child’s exposed side. Without thinking, the child with the blue eyes stepped in front of her.
The impact was brutal, a searing shock that tore into her shoulder and threw her off balance. Pain exploded through her arm and side, but she did not fall. She drove forward instead, teeth clenched, and buried her blade in the shooter’s throat.
The fourth tried to run. The pink-eyed child was faster.
Her sword found his back, and he collapsed in a tangle of limbs and blood.
For a moment, there was only silence and the smell of iron.
“You idiot,” the pink-eyed child hissed, grabbing the other’s arm as she staggered. “Why would you—!?”
“You were open,” the blue-eyed child muttered through clenched teeth. “That’s all.”
Alarms began to howl. They did not stay.
Together, they ran through side corridors, down maintenance stairwells, past security teams that arrived just a few seconds too late. Blood dripped from the blue-eyed child’s sleeve and torso, leaving a thin red trail on the pristine K Corp. floors, but she did not slow.
They vanished into the night before anyone could stop them.
Back in the medical ward, the child with the blue eyes drew in a sharp breath. The child with the pink eyes looked at her quietly, the memory of that crimson-streaked corridor still lingering behind her gaze.
“…you’re an idiot, you know,” she said softly. “A real idiot.”
The other child’s lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but no words came.
Outside, the Shi Association prepared for its next anonymous contract. Inside, two children sat in a fragile pocket of stillness, bound together by blood, steel, and a promise neither of them had ever said out loud.