azazelbunny (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azazelbunny) wrote2018-06-12 06:36 am
azazelbunny) wrote2018-06-12 06:36 am
CMO
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Talon
Simple jobs going awry is something of a constant; both for people on the 'right' side of the law and for those who thrive on the 'wrong' side. Competing teams, last-minute readjustments, sudden complications; the list goes on.
This time, stealing information for a client has into something supernaturally worse. It feels like a tear in the world, a rift to a place where mortals shouldn't go. Shadows are creeping up the walls.
This was, possibly, what that client was attempting to prevent, but it seems that as darkness seizes the building, working its way up from the lower floors, they've left it a little too late.
Hidden mechanisms dump flammable material and flames right after; some failsafe meant to contain whatever they were doing here. The darkness battles with the flickering firelight, shadows pooling like oil as they're hemmed in by flames.
The building is definitely going to burn down. Magical senses can feel that deadened rift still spreading down below, like numbing cold.
This definitely could have gone better. ]
no subject
[Rival teams aren't exactly a rarity, but ones that were willing to pool resources and cooperate for the job rather than turn the meeting into a bloodbath? Few and far between. His team's decker would go for one data package, their team's decker would grab the other, they'd copy the data and deliver it to both parties, and it would all be swell.]
[After all, data theft was one of the easier and less guilt-inducing jobs Talon usually accepted. But that never made him lax in the field. Unlike some people, he thinks as he shoulders through a locked door, carrying his team's unconscious decker awkwardly. Figure's he'd trip the alarm. No such thing as a cakewalk run.]
[The shadows are concerning enough without the quiet hissing noise that starts up shortly after. Then he smells the gas. It's too familiar a smell to mistake it for anything else. The panic swells in his chest instantly, consuming every ounce of reason. They have to get out. He has to get them out. All of them. He has to get them all out, somehow.]
[Staggering across the room blindly, stumbling around sudden pools of flame and shadow, Talon's not even sure where he's going. For all he knows, he could be going deeper into the hellscape. His breathing filter amplifies the sound of his hyperventilating. This may be a good time for someone else to take the lead.]
no subject
They stumble at first, getting used to their new state, to a body that doesn't work the way it's supposed to and then, as the mask sets into place, suddenly does. They cough at the billowing smoke more out of an old reflex than because it's necessary.
They can feel that they're alone, despite the darkness spilling in. Something had gone off before the strange machines and strange people had finished their...disposals.
(They try not to think about it. They try not to think about limp bodies and broken masks, the horror of those brief flickers of consciousness immediately snuffed out.)
Light burns. They have to get out.
A small figure comes hurtling through the flames. Though it confuses their senses, they know where darkness is, and where it is not, and that helps them to navigate away and out.
But - who is this, stumbling around? Not the scientists responsible for them, not the strange people who had given them life and watched them behind glass. This one is carrying someone else, while trying to get out themselves.
The nameless shadow makes a decision.
They take hold of Talon's hand, leading him out towards the night, where they know the light that hurts them is weaker. Through burning passageways and over fallen debris, until darkness and cold washes over them like a balm and they're outside.
They cough, quietly at first, then louder, finding that even if they're not really hurt by smoke, their body still rejects it with violence. Still struggling for a breath that they don't strictly need. ]
no subject
[The night air hits him hard. Damp and cool in contrast to the blistering heat at his back. He stumbles, dumping his unconscious cargo on the ground and seizing the opportunity to rip his mask off. The filter has prevented the smoke from bothering him, but the heat is unbearable.]
[Behind him, only three of the 6 teammates have made it out. He has failed, again.]
Fuck. Fuck!
[But there's another matter to attend to, he realizes, as the numbness of fresh grief sets in. Their savior. Without his mask it's hard to see the figure clearly, but he reaches out to put his hand on their shoulder to try and steady their breathing.]
You okay, chummer? Slow breaths.
no subject
Though the individual certainly looks human (they're proportioned like a child, despite their armor-clad form), at their core they are not.
That aside, though, they seem harmless enough, since at this point they're having a coughing fit. On his instructions, their breaths slow, the hand clutched at their chest loosens, and they gradually gain control of their breathing again.
(That roiling surge of feeling is impossible to ignore. Loss, grief. Were there more, left behind?
Can't leave others behind. Already, there's been too much lost here.)
They cough again, this time attempting what seems to be speech, and finding that no words are forthcoming, only stuttered sounds. Their hands move, after a moment; they're holding up fingers. One, two, three, four, five, gesture towards him. Repeating it, where Talon can see, giving him a sidelong glance.
How many? seems to be what they're attempting to ask, lacking a voice. ]
no subject
[He catches on to the question easily enough. His breath hitches a little, a sound that is actually audible through the breathing filter. How many? Too many. Too many now, too many then, too many always.]
Th-three. Hate to say it but they're probably dead. [Or unconscious, and so lost to the inferno all the same.] We can't...we...th-they're...
[We can't stay here. He can't stay here. They're dead, or dying, and he can't face the smell of burning flesh again.]
no subject
They brush ash from their shoulders, straightening up, and indicate three fingers. Counting them, several times.
The purpose of this little gesture is revealed when they begin to walk, fast - back towards the burning building. ]
no subject
[Uncomfortable sense of emptiness aside, Talon lunges after the little creature and clamps a hand on their shoulder. The rest of the teammates exchange nervous glances in between trying to revive their downed decker.]
W-whoa - unless you're immune to heat and fire, just the mask ain't gonna cut it, chummer.
[He won't let them die for strangers, not after they got him out of there. Something inside the building collapses and stokes a new rush of heat and smoke from the doorway. Talon shields his face from the light and licking flame. Sirens blare in the distance. They don't have a lot of time.]
I don't like it either, but we've gotta cut our losses.