Chapter Text
Branzy could hear the rain falling fast outside the factory building as he looked carefully over the blueprints for the assembly machine. The only reason he could hear the rain at all was because his attention was wandering: if he had been focusing, the noise would have disappeared to him. It was late, and the blueprints weren’t interesting now that he’d identified the flaw that had caused one of the machines to shudder to a halt. It was cold in the factory, dark save for the lamp above the table he’d commandeered into a desk.
He cast a glance down the row of machines, all still, fading into darkness the further they got from the warm light of his lamp. A shiver came over him, likely because of the chill that hung in the air.
It was important to check over the rest of the blueprint, Branzy reminded himself, forcing his attention back to the dull work. If there were similar poorly thought out valve connections elsewhere in the design, it was better to catch them now than have to repeat this process in a few months’ time.
A few minutes later, eyes fuzzy, he found another connection that could fail from the awkward angle it must be shoved at. He could see how he missed it before: on the two dimensional paper it looked fine, but when he pictured it in three dimensions he realized the pipe must be at an angle sharp enough to put unnecessary stress on the seal. Branzy could examine the machines themselves, and he had earlier, but now he didn’t want to get up from his folding chair and go out to the dimmer edges of his light where the first machine rested, or further into the murky artificial twilight where he’d find the switch for the main bank of lights.
He was halfway through circling the valve connection when he was shot in the back of the head.
The starburst of pain was completely unexpected, and he screamed shrilly even as his Lifestealer healing kicked in, code crackling around the wound as his body spat the bullet out and mashed together the flesh and brains into an unblemished whole in a matter of seconds. Before the wound was even fully sealed Branzy was up, gun drawn and spinning around to face the dark factory.
There was a figure, far enough out that his light didn’t reach them. He could only see their silhouette because they stood in front of one of the windows, the orangey light of the streetlamps betraying their location. They were paused, maybe startled at coming across an unexpected Lifestealer, and his first shot hit them directly in their chest.
They didn’t scream, but they moved with a sudden burst of speed that took them out the open window. For a split second they were framed perfectly by the sides of the window, and that was when Branzy’s second bullet caught them, again in the upper torso.
Two shots. Branzy was a man who didn’t like leaving room for error, and his good aim meant that at least one of them had gone through a lung or something similarly vital.
For a moment he just stood completely still, scanning the darkness for any accomplices. The factory was silent, empty.
Irritation flared through him at the interruption. Bodies were always a hassle to hide, and despite the indifference people felt towards to violence in this city, he didn’t want one hanging out on the sidewalk next to one of the few of his factories that was traceable directly to him.
He flicked the safety back on his gun and shoved it into the holster on his hip. His grey raincoat was folded on the end of the table, and he picked it up, the smooth surface dry between his fingers. The clouds that afternoon had looked like dark bruises, threatening rain in a way that meant he grabbed his raincoat when he left to see the issue with the factory, even though it had been dry at the time.
Coat on, hood up against the weather and to hide the blood in his hair, Branzy picked up the bullet that had recently been in his brain from the concreate floor and rolled it between his fingers. It was warm, deformed somewhat from impacting with his skull, but it hadn’t fragmented. He dropped it into his raincoat pocket as he switched off the lamp and moved stealthily through the darkness to the exit.
The street was empty when he opened the metal door. Warehouses and other factories rose around him, some with operating lights still on, but the late hour meant it was unusually quiet in the industrial district. The tall forest of cranes and metal walkways that made up the quarry down the road was the only thing properly lit up, but even there Branzy knew only a couple people would be at work. The rest of the district’s labourers wouldn’t be back until the morning.
Branzy shivered at the drop in temperature as he left the doorway, hurrying down to the corner with his hands jammed in his pockets.
Rounding the corner, he stopped. There was no dead body underneath the open window. He breathed slowly to keep calm. Okay. It was possible, if they were stubborn enough and had a high enough pain tolerance, that they had dragged themselves off to hide, even with lethal injuries. The heaviness of the rain made it so he couldn’t judge how much blood they had lost.
He walked to the open window, stepping off the sidewalk into the strip of gravel that bordered the factory. It crunched and sloshed under his work boots, saturated from the rain. Branzy closed the window, stopping the water that was already forming a wet area on the concrete floor inside.
If they were alive, they were still a problem. Their gun was useless against a Lifestealer, but they could still draw attention out of the quiet streets if they screamed. He undid a couple of the buttons on his raincoat, sticking his hand through the gap and pulling out his gun again. Cold fingers closed the garment, his vest already somewhat wet from the rain that managed to find its way in during the short moment the coat was open.
One hand in his pocket, curled around the bullet, the other holding the weapon carefully, already uncomfortably cold, Branzy set out to scour the surrounding gaps between the large buildings. Meticulously, he searched everywhere around the factory that someone as injured as his target could drag themselves to. Long minutes passed, the alleys devoid of life other than a single raccoon and a handful of rats. Still, he searched systematically, until the fingers around his gun were nearly numb from the rain and he had found nothing.
Stopping again by the window, he leaned against the pole of the closest street lamp, considering the empty space between him and the factory, which was still conspicuously free of a dead body. The orange light of the lamp showed the rain falling slower than before, but still persistent. Carefully, he looked over the window, the brick wall of the factory, the rain-soaked gravel strip, and the sidewalk.
There was a glint of something that didn’t quite look like rain. Branzy stopped leaning on the lamp, taking a step forward and crouching down to consider it. In the small gap between squares of the sidewalk, a bullet lay. Branzy looked at it for a long moment as the water ran in a rivulet down the gap, failing to dislodge the piece of metal, before he took his free hand out of his pocket and picked it up.
Similar to the bullet in his pocket, it was somewhat deformed. The metal was cold and slick between his fingers, frightening, because Branzy knew he had not missed his shots. A terrible possibility opened in the back of his mind, and Branzy straightened up quickly, putting the bullet in his raincoat and hurrying around the corner.
He got back into the factory, every sense on high alert as he went to his desk, leaving wet footprints behind him.
Once he flipped on the light of the lamp, it was easy to see both bullets, slightly different sizes and makes. Branzy knew guns with an accuracy and ease few other people did, and he could tell the new bullet was the same type that he fired from his handgun. Given the location, it was certainly one of the ones he’d shot the would-be murderer with.
Branzy didn’t miss. He hadn’t seen the other bullet, but that didn’t mean it was still in the person. Leaving the bullets on the desk, he quickly walked into the dark of the factory, coming to the window. It was easy to identify because of the small puddle under it, and in the light of the outside street lamps, Branzy saw what he’d feared. Another bullet, the first one he’d fired, on the concreate floor.
This one had splintered, but even so, it was easy to recognise as not just random metal. He bent down, gathering as many of the pieces in his hand as he could find, before coming back to his table. He felt like a strung wire, prickling with fear, but the calm was holding.
The three bullets were lined up, two whole, one shattered. He looked at them for longer than he should have, noting that the first and third had blood on them, protected from the rain that had washed clean the second one. Only the blood on the first was his own. Worse, calling up his memory of the figure, he was certain now that he’d seen the shape of sword on their hip.
Another Lifestealer. Branzy breathed slowly to keep calm. Though guns were much more effective than swords at killing normal people, the incredible healing that came with the Lifesteal code mutation worked based on the amount of area damaged, not how critical it was. This let Lifestealers shrug of the small damage-area of gunshots with ease, making them resort to dealing large amounts of damage with cutting edges and explosions instead. You can tell a Lifestealer by the sword on one hip and the gun on the other, went the common saying. The swords to kill each other, the guns to kill normal people.
Branzy didn’t carry a sword, but he was a complete unknown to any Lifestealers not name Rek. The fact that hearts ran in two lines down either side of his spine was one of his most well guarded secrets, a secret that whoever just shot him had undoubtedly just uncovered. Nothing could heal like the Lifesteal mutation, and they had seen him ignore a gunshot to the head.
At least they hadn’t decided to properly attack him. Between having no effective weapons against Lifestealers, not being trained to fight them, and his terrible lungs, he would have easily lost a heart.
Somewhere out there in the city, an unknown Lifestealer knew his hidden status. Worse, the fact they’d found that out by attempting to kill him meant that they were not one of the heroes like Rek, no, they must be at least a criminal, if not a villain. Branzy rubbed at his face with fingers still wrinkly from the rain. If they had a team, the team probably knew. He needed to get back to the apartment, to Rek, and he needed to be very, very careful not to be followed.
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In their apartment, Rek sat on their light purple couch, attempting to read some sci-fi novel that had been left on the low coffee table in front of him. Apparently, humanity was at war with an insectoid alien species. He was doing his best to relax in full hero gear, but he was sure he struck an awkward picture between the shield on his back, the sword at his hip, the various guns and knives hidden around his person, and the belt of potions vials at his waist. He absently traced the smooth surface of the singular emergency ender pearl on his potion belt. With the End sealed off and endermen extinct in the Overworld and Nether, every remaining pearl was precious.
He lifted his hand from the pearl to turn the page, trying not to wince at the bullying the protagonist was undergoing. Instead of the pearl, he fidgeted with the edge of his hero mask, which was diagonally chequered in gold and blue and covered the entirety of his face. It hooked into the hood of his hoodie, completely hiding his head.
Rek caught himself fidgeting and dropped his hand to hold onto the book instead, ignoring the way his fingers itched for the communicator strapped to his arm. Like usual, he was waiting for Branzy to make it home before heading out for his night’s patrols as a hero. Branzy had warned that he’d be somewhat later than usual tonight, but this was significantly later than usual, and about an hour past the time he said he’d return. The part of his mind people called paranoid was alert, but his suspicions were usually true, so he considered himself not paranoid but cautious.
His attention drifted momentarily from the book, and he regarded the coffee table, which was half hidden under small bits of machinery, disassembled firearms, loose papers, and empty mugs he forgot were there when he did the dishes earlier. There were a few other books in the mess, but he’d already read them, so he looked back down at the novel in his hands.
He’d not gotten five pages further before several soft noises alerted him that someone was at the door. Rek glanced up, only to see the door open of its own accord with absolutely no one behind it.
In the first half second Rek realized it had to be someone invisible. In the second half second he was moving, book forgotten and sword and shield at the ready, glad he was already wearing his hero mask. He crossed the room, bodily blocking the entry area to prevent them from disappearing, and cut towards the seemingly open air with his sword.
“Wait wait wait, Rek—”
He arrested the slice with some difficulty at the sound of his roommate’s voice. “Branzy?”
“Yeah, sorry, I forgot I was invis.” The door swung closed and locked.
“Why are you invis?” He asked the empty space.
Branzy let out one of his forced, nervous chuckles. “Well, you see, we may have a bit of a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
On one of the hooks by the door, Branzy’s grey raincoat materialized, shimmering out of his invisibility as he released it from the grasp of his code. “For one thing, I was probably being followed, which is why I took a while to get back and used an invis pot.”
Rek felt Branzy brush past him in the direction of the kitchen. He stood in the entryway for a second, processing it that. Someone was following Branzy? Why? They had both worked very hard to ensure Branzy was a non-interest, the faceless owner of a few factories, not someone worth following. The deception was to the point not even Rek knew how many corners of the city’s industry Branzy actually controlled, or how many less-than-legal operations he had a hidden hand in, or how many important people were in his debt.
“You did the dishes! Awe, thanks,” Branzy said from the kitchen, delighted.
There was the sound of water, and when Rek made his way down the short hall to the kitchen he saw the sink running. The stream of the water was disrupted partway down by something invisible, which was somewhat bizarre to look at.
“Yes, I did the dishes— Branzy, do you know who? Why?”
There was a pause that stretched out, and then the water shut off.
“Sorry, didn’t want to get water in my mouth,” Branzy said, appearing with a shimmer as his potion ran out. He was leaned over the sink, silver-white hair dripping wet. “Wow, I was cutting it close with that invis pot.”
Rek watched silently as he squeezed excess water out of his hair, waiting for him to keep going.
“I got shot in the back of the head,” he explained, gesturing to his wet hair, “figured I got some blood in it.”
“Someone shot you? Did you get them?”
“Now that’s the fun part: I did. Twice! Two shots to the chest.” Branzy straightened up, his hair hanging wet around his face, but no longer dripping. He looked at the dish towels for a second, before walking to their bathroom instead, which was adjacent to the kitchen.
Rek followed him into the small room. “And?”
Branzy grimaced, drying his hair more thoroughly with his bath towel. “And they walked it off. I’m pretty sure they had a sword, too.”
Lifestealer. Frick. Rek unhooked his mask, sliding it to his forehead and letting the fabric of his hood fall as he leaned heavily against the bathroom wall.
“They know you’re a Lifestealer.” It wasn’t a question.
Branzy answered anyways as he combed out his hair. “Yup.”
“And we don’t know who they are, or why they came after you.”
His roommate didn’t respond. The silence sat, long and heavy, as Branzy continued combing out his hair. Rek watched the repetitive motion and tried to find a silver lining. At least they didn’t actually fight him. Despite his great proficiency with guns, Branzy couldn’t swordfight to literally save his life, and with his lungs, no amount of practice could make him able to survive the kind of extended fights common between Lifestealers.
Rek voiced the thought. “At least they didn’t try to fight you.”
“They have no idea what my combat ability is. I’m a complete unknown—” his tone turned frustrated— “and it should have stayed that way.”
“Ah, yes. Your incredible combat skills,” Rek said dryly, and some of the terrible weight of the conversation sloughed off at the gentle mockery.
Branzy snorted, amused. “Rek, you wound me. I’m a master of battle, undefeated, the legendary warrior who’s never lost a single heart in combat.”
“That’s because you’ve never been in combat,” he pointed out, lips quirking into a smile at his best friend’s dramatics despite the dread hanging over them.
“Hey, don’t say it like that, you’re making me look bad.” Branzy tossed the comb onto the counter, where it clattered against the stone and his concealer.
His best friend left the bathroom, getting a glass of water from the kitchen and leaning against the counter.
Rek followed him, sitting on the edge of the counter for lack of a chair, letting his legs dangle. “I hate that there’s not any action to take.”
Branzy nodded, mouth twisting. It was likely worse for him. If his mind was presented with a problem he wanted to solve but couldn't, it would fester, and the open loop would chew at him more than it would for Rek. “I didn’t see anything identifying other then the fact they had a sword.”
“Was their face covered?” Rek pictured unique masks like Prince Zam’s, or ClownPierce’s, or his own, or any of the ones used by heroes and villains to hide their identities while being easily recognisable.
“Just with black cloth, I think, not anything distinctive,” his roommate answered. “They probably didn’t want to deal with other Lifestealers.”
Rek smiled despite himself. “And you messed that up for them.”
“I didn’t want to deal with other Lifestealers either! We could have gone our separate ways to do our own probably illegal business, no need to cause any problems for each other, but no, they had to shoot me.” Branzy took an aggressive sip of his water, and promptly started coughing. “Wrong— freaking— pipe—”
Rek hopped down off the counter and took the glass from him as the coughing fit continued, the initial coughs irritating his flower-entangled lungs and causing him to cough more and more violently. Branzy was covering his mouth with his hand, but Rek was sure his coughs were bloody. Rek rubbed his roommate’s back sympathetically.
The fit died down after a while, and Branzy cleared his throat several times, then walked to the kitchen sink. Sure enough, when he took his hand away from his mouth it was splattered with blood that he washed off in the sink. Rek handed him his glass, and he swished a mouthful of water that ended up pink when he spat it out.
Luckily, there hadn’t been any flowers or leaves, but Rek still felt that familiar sting of guilt that his love for Branzy wasn’t sufficient. Because his love just wasn’t obsessive in the same way as Branzy’s, no matter how much he cared for him they were stuck in unequal love, the trigger for the Hanahaki code disease that plagued his best friend. At least returning his love as best Rek could meant Branzy’s symptoms were on the mild, manageable end of the disease.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” Branzy rasped, and he cleared his throat again. “Like you said, there’s not much we can do. Hopefully they’ll just leave me be.”
Rek thought that was unlikely, given that they were either willing to kill random civilians or they targeted Branzy because they already knew too much about his influence. The look on his roommate’s face made clear he also didn’t believe the Lifestealer would ignore him.
“And you’re sure you weren’t followed?” Rek checked again. He wouldn’t want to leave Branzy alone in the apartment if an unknown Lifestealer was simply waiting for one of the top heroes to leave the area before attacking.
“I’m sure. I took the most convoluted route possible, to the point where I was in both the apocalypse district and the river docks for a bit, and I used invisibility once I was in the area of the apartment,” Branzy explained patiently. The river and the rubble from the Apocalypse were on opposite ends of the city, and neither were particularly close to their apartment. “You can go do your crime fighting, I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Rek agreed after a second of hesitation. “My old sword should be under the couch if you need it.”
It wouldn’t do much good, they both knew, but Branzy nodded anyways.
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The next morning and across the city, ClownPierce quietly and efficiently murdered one of his clients, an important figure in non-Lifestealer organized crime that he’d been hired by many times before. He didn’t leave the signature he would for a normal assassination, only the dead body, sprawled out on the dark wood floor of the man’s hideout with a bullet in his chest and another in his head.
It was highly unusual for him to back out of a deal once it was made, and he didn’t want the client alive to tell.