Chapter Text
The harbour let out a groan.
It wasn't a single sound, but a chorus of old metal protesting the weight of time. Rusted cranes shifted lazily in the wind, cables creaking like tired bones. Shipping containers, stacked in uneven rows and stained orange with corrosion, clicked softly against one another whenever the sea breeze rolled in. The docks had been abandoned years ago, left to decay after the companies packed up and vanished, leaving behind little more than hollow warehouses and forgotten machinery.
Rainwater collected in potholes scattered across cracked concrete, reflecting fractured pieces of the grey sky. The tide sloshed against algae-coated supports beneath the piers, carrying with it the smell of salt, oil, and something older that refused to wash away. Sewer outlets spilled sluggish streams of murky water into the harbour, their constant gurgling filling the silence where people once had.
The place sat far enough from the city that its noise arrived only as a distant murmur. No traffic. No crowds. Just the faint glow of skyscrapers on the horizon, blurred through the mist like another world entirely.
But nowhere stayed isolated forever.
Reality hiccupped.
Somewhere deep between the abandoned warehouses, hidden in the shadow of a collapsed loading bay, a single pixel shimmered where no screen existed. It twitched. Then another. The air compressed around the distortion, colours folding into themselves as if the world had suddenly forgotten how to render that small corner of existence.
The glitch spread for barely a heartbeat.
Pixels fractured into static, stretched impossibly thin before collapsing inward with a muted, almost apologetic pop. A soft explosion, quiet enough that anyone ordinary would've mistaken it for a settling pipe or a distant wave striking metal.
Then everything was still again.
Except it wasn't.
Tiny squares of corrupted light lingered in the air before dissolving like ash caught in the wind. Beneath the surface of reality, unseen code continued to unravel.
The server was eating itself from the inside out.
The harbour settled once more into uneasy silence. Water sludged from cracked sewer pipes into the sea below, the sluggish current carrying oily ripples beneath rusting docks.
Then a voice sliced cleanly through the quiet.
“I know where your secret base is, Wemmbu.”
Spoke grinned, all teeth and arrogance, perched atop a rusted shipping container as though he'd climbed there just to irritate him. His boots scraped against the corrugated metal before his ankles thudded against the frame with a hollow, echoing clang that rolled through the empty dockyard.
The sound lingered in the silence.
Below him, Wemmbu stopped.
He tipped his head back slowly, eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hood. His expression didn't change much—just a faint crease between his brows—but anyone who knew him would've recognised it immediately.
Annoyance.
Not fear.
Not concern.
Just the exhausting irritation of someone whose day had already been ruined before this conversation even began.
"..Are you serious?"
A long, tired groan escaped him, dragging rough against his throat. He pinched the bridge of his nose before running a calloused hand across his temple as though trying to massage away a headache that Spoke himself had caused.
For a few seconds, he didn't even bother looking back up.
"I haven’t got time for this. So work with me here."
Spoke's grin only widened.
He swung one leg lazily over the other, leaning back on his palms like they were discussing the weather instead of threatening each other. The container creaked under his shifting weight.
"And if I don't?"
Wemmbu finally met his eyes.
The irritation disappeared. His face became unreadable.
There wasn't a trace of anger left—just a cold sort of certainty that made the air feel heavier.
He spoke quietly. Too quietly.
"You'll just be another corpse on the pile."
Silence.
A gull cried somewhere overhead.
The wind rattled loose chains hanging from an abandoned crane. Spoke blinked once. Then gave a tiny, almost impressed nod.
"Ouch."
He pressed a hand to his chest.
"You really know how to make a guest feel welcome."
Wemmbu didn't humour the joke.
"You think this is a game."
"I think watching you get worked up is."
A muscle twitched in Wemmbu's jaw. Spoke noticed.
Of course he did. That was the whole point.
He lived for finding the cracks in people and prying them open with a grin.
"C'mon, you've gotta admit it's impressive."
He tapped the side of his head.
"Your little hideout wasn't exactly impossible to find."
That got a reaction. Subtle.
Barely noticeable. But Wemmbu's shoulders stiffened for half a heartbeat. Spoke caught it instantly. His grin sharpened.
"There it is."
"...There what is?"
"That look."
He hopped down from the container in one smooth motion, boots crunching against scattered gravel. Now they stood only a few metres apart. No smiles from Wemmbu. No visible weapon in his hands. That almost made him seem more dangerous. Spoke rocked back on his heels.
"See, now I'm wondering."
He tilted his head.
"Should I tell the Enforcers?"
The question hung between them. Wemmbu didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward.
One step.
Measured.
Calm.
Close enough now that Spoke could see the tiredness behind his eyes.
"You already made one mistake."
Another step.
"Don't make a second."
For the first time since the conversation started, Spoke's grin faltered. Only for a fraction of a second. Then it returned. Smaller this time. Less certain.
: "...You know, most people threaten me with a knife."
Wemmbu stared at him.
"I don't need one."
⌣- 𝖠𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗏𝗌 ╯ 𓍼 ✦ ⟡
𝖻𝗋𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗈...
◝
𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀...
𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽!
Parrot's mouth pressed into a thin line, exhaustion settling deep into the lines of his face. Fresh bandages wrapped hastily around his forearms and ribs, the white cloth already beginning to stain through in places. Whoever had patched him up had done it quickly—just enough to stop the bleeding, not enough to make it comfortable.
Flame's sharp orange eyes tracked Parrot's every movement.
He didn't blink. Didn't look away.
Just watched him with the kind of scrutiny reserved for liars and people who'd earned suspicion.
Parrot shifted his weight under the stare.
"You still talk like I'm supposed to believe all of this."
There wasn't any mockery in his voice. Just flat disbelief.
Parrot frowned.
"...Well?"
A nervous laugh escaped him.
"You aren't?"
Flame answered without hesitation.
"No."
The single word settled over the gym like a weight.
Parrot rubbed the back of his neck, searching for something—anything—that might change Flame's mind.
"Why not, Flame?"
Flame let out a slow huff through his nose. His jaw tightened.
The tape around his knuckles creaked as his fists clenched.
"'Cause the Enforcers locked up Lomedy."
His voice had grown noticeably colder.
"And you just happen to have been one."
Parrot's eyes dropped.
"...Ex-Enforcer."
Flame scoffed.
Flame: "Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter if they threw you out or not."
He stepped closer, stopping just short of arm's reach.
"Because the badge is still in your pocket."
Parrot instinctively froze.
Without thinking, one hand drifted towards the inside of his jacket before stopping halfway.
Flame noticed.
Of course he did.
A humourless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"See?"
He gestured towards Parrot's coat.
"You still carry it."
Parrot looked away.
"It's... not like that."
Flame: "Then throw it away."
Silence.
Parrot didn't move.
Flame shook his head.
"I thought so."
He turned, walking towards the centre of the gym. Heavy bags swayed gently from old chains overhead, and the faint smell of sweat and worn leather clung to the air. His boots echoed across the cracked concrete floor.
"So you can quit blowing that whistle."
He glanced over one shoulder.
"If you don't want to attract whatever it calls to."
Parrot watched him go.
For a moment neither of them spoke. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Finally—
"The management here says you're their best fighter."
Flame shrugged without turning around.
"Somethin' like that.."
"I need confirmation."
Flame barked out a dry laugh.
"Bro..."
He turned just enough for Parrot to catch the irritation in his eyes.
"So what?"
"You gonna arrest me for winning too many fights?"
His voice sharpened.
"Charge me with punching people too hard?"
Parrot shook his head quickly.
"No."
Flame wasn't listening anymore.
"Or maybe you've already got the paperwork."
He spread his arms sarcastically.
"'Flamefrags. Dangerous individual. Recommend immediate detainment.'"
Parrot flinched.
"I never wrote anything like that."
"No?"
Flame's smile vanished.
"'Cause somebody did."
The room seemed to grow quieter.
Flame walked towards one of the heavy bags and struck it without warning.
THUD.
The entire chain rattled violently. Dust drifted from the ceiling.
He hit it again. Harder.
THUD.
"You know what people like you do?"
Another punch.
"You collect names."
Another.
"You write reports."
Another.
"Then somebody disappears."
The final blow twisted the bag sideways, sending it swinging wildly across the room. Flame lowered his fist slowly. His breathing remained steady. Parrot stared at the worn canvas bag.
"...Lomedy wasn't supposed to go to prison."
Flame laughed bitterly.
"But he did."
"He wasn't supposed to get framed."
"But he did."
"He wasn't supposed to lose everything."
"But he did."
Every sentence landed like another punch.
Parrot couldn't answer. Flame finally faced him completely.
His orange eyes burned with resentment.
"You weren't there."
Parrot swallowed.
"I was."
Flame's brow furrowed.
"I saw the arrest."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I argued against it."
"They shut me out."
"I kept pushing."
"They kicked me out."
He looked Flame directly in the eye.
"I lost everything because I wouldn't sign off on what happened to him."
Flame searched his face for a lie. He found none.
Still...
He folded his arms.
"That's a nice story."
Parrot sighed.
"I don't need you to forgive me."
"I know."
"I don't even need you to trust me."
Flame raised an eyebrow.
Parrot stood there. In the middle of the empty gym, unsure whether the conversation had taken a step forward or three steps back because it had just become silence.
Flame had wandered over to a row of battered steel lockers, leaning against one with his arms folded across his chest. The metal gave a dull groan under his weight.
"There's... a rebellion growing."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"...Or, I guess, it's more of a safe haven."
Flame raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Seeing he still had his attention, Parrot continued.
"It's run by a guy named MinuteTech."
He paused.
"And Wemmbu leads the fighting half of it- i think.."
A loud, unmistakable scoff escaped Flame. He actually laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it sounded exactly like something he'd expected.
"Of course."
He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.
"Of course Wemmbu's gotta be getting into this shit."
Parrot blinked.
"...You know him?"
Flame looked genuinely offended by the question.
"Yeah."
A beat.
"And I hate him."
He pushed himself off the locker with a grunt.
"Guy's an asshole."
He counted off on his fingers.
"Entitled."
"Annoying."
"Thinks he's the smartest person in every room."
Another finger.
"Never shuts up."
"And somehow always ends up dragging everyone else into whatever mess he's started."
He muttered something else under his breath.
"...smug little—"
Parrot couldn't quite catch the rest.
"What?"
Flame shook his head.
"Nothing."
"No, you definitely said something."
"I said he's insufferable."
Parrot studied him.
"...You don't sound like strangers."
Flame let out a short laugh.
"We're not."
He walked over to one of the punching bags, giving it an absent-minded shove. It swung gently.
"I've known Wemmbu for years."
Parrot's eyes widened.
"You've worked together?"
Flame made a face like he'd just bitten into something sour.
"Worked with him?"
He pointed at himself.
"Him?"
"No."
"Worked against him?"
"...More often."
Parrot frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Flame watched the bag sway back and forth before answering.
"It means every time I had a job..."
"...he somehow ended up there too."
"He'd interfere."
"Steal information."
"Beat me to whoever I was after."
"Then act like he was doing me a favour."
A reluctant smile tugged at one corner of Flame's mouth.
"...Cocky bastard."
Parrot noticed it immediately.
"You smiled."
Flame's expression vanished.
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I was remembering how much I wanted to punch him."
Parrot wasn't convinced.
"So why didn't you?"
Flame shrugged.
"I tried."
"...Did you win?"
Flame looked away.
"...That's not the point."
Parrot folded his arms.
"So you lost."
"I said that's not the point."
"You lost."
Flame groaned.
"He fights dirty."
"So do you."
"I fight efficiently."
"There's a difference."
Parrot couldn't help smiling.
For the first time all evening, the tension between them eased.
Only slightly.
"So if you hate him so much..."
Parrot asked carefully.
"...why are you smiling every time you talk about him?"
Flame stared blankly.
"...I'm not smiling."
"You are."
Flame glanced towards the rain-speckled windows. The city beyond the panes of glass. The corruption.
"...If Wemmbu's leading this rebellion..."
His tone became serious again.
"...then either things are a hell of a lot worse than I thought..."
He paused.
"...or somebody finally gave that idiot something worth fighting for."
The room fell quiet once more.
Parrot watched Flame carefully.
"You trust him."
Flame snorted.
"I trust him to be reckless."
A faint smile returned despite himself.
"...But if he's sticking his neck out for other people..."
His gaze settled somewhere far away.
"...then he's probably telling the truth."