Shadows and Silence

[Paladienne]

PART I

I’m going to get food. Did you want to come with?

Dekval pressed the ‘send’ button on his com and sent the message to his best friend and fellow Raven, Prox Lutore. He sat watching his screen for a moment, then switched to the various chatrooms he was a part of to check to see if there were any new messages there to read. Finding nothing interesting, he switched back to his DM with Prox. Dekval pushed back his chair and stuffed his com into his pocket, grabbed his jacket and headed out of Nevermore, walking slowly while he waited for  a reply. He really wasn’t expecting one, since Prox was probably with Valentine and nothing but a disaster could likely tear his friend away from her. He was happy for Prox, he really was, but sometimes he felt like a third wheel, even though Prox constantly assured him he wasn’t.

He emerged out into Ryun and began walking, trying to decide what it was he really wanted to eat. He wanted something other than sushi - it felt like he’d been existing on sushi ever since he moved to Ryun - but he knew of few places nearby that offered other options. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to partake of those options. He’d have to decide fast, though, because if Prox did message him back, he’d need to have an answer.

Oh. There’s that place...

He’d seen it advertised on t.v. once before, and there were little menu flyers that were posted around the city on various structures. It had looked interesting. The food looked tasty. A little reminiscent of his childhood, and one of the better things he preferred to remember. Dekval wondered if the food tasted as good as it had looked, and decided he would go there. So he headed in that direction, pulling out his com to check messages.

As he walked, he thought about texting Bransen and inviting the older man out for a bite to eat. Dekval liked Bransen. They had a few things in common, and they were slowly becoming friends, so he didn’t think Bransen would mind the break. And even if Bransen declined, Dekval intended to leave the invitation open-ended, such that the offer could be taken up at another time.

Dekval glanced up from his com to thread his way through a crowd without being accosted by fans unawares. He smiled and waved at a few, stopped once or twice for the obligatory photo-op and autograph, but he kept going afterward, as if he had somewhere important to be. He was slowly getting used to the fame, and it didn’t bother him as much as it used to, but he didn’t like strangers coming up to him and firing off questions and shoving things at him to sign. It felt abrasive, intrusive. But Dekval understood that part of his role as a Raven was to cater to the populace whenever he was in public, and viewing it as just another mission allowed him to get through those incidents without too much of a problem.

Free of the crowd, Dekval took a sharp turn down an alley. He’d taken this one before as a short cut, and knew where it would let out. It would put him only a few blocks away from his intended destination, and it was a decent walk from another of his favorite restaurants. Either way, it was a win-win for him.

He looked back down at his com and let an easy smile appear on his face.

He heard the scuff of boots behind him and Dekval dropped low, feeling the wind of the pipe against his hair. He spun in a single fluid motion, fingers curling into fists, and as he came back up, he got a good look at his attacker - male, heavyset, slightly taller than Dekval himself, thick grey hair - and lashed out with his fist, catching the man in the nose. The man’s head snapped back with a wet crunch and he grunted, stumbling backwards away from Dekval. By the time the man recovered, Dekval was balanced, ready, and most of all, armed with a thin stiletto blade.

Dekval was not just any Pilot. He was a Raven. Only a fool would attack a Pilot, and only someone with a death wish would attack a Raven.

He didn’t care why he was being attacked. He could think of a thousand reasons. He only cared about putting the man down and not letting him get back up.

The man adjusted his grip on the pipe, his lips pulling back in a snarl to reveal bloodied teeth. Dekval watched his attacker measuring the distance between them, but before the man could make a move, Dekval moved first.

He flashed forward with learned speed and struck with his stiletto at the man’s torso. When the man flinched back, Dekval continued his forward momentum, his blade biting into flesh and drawing blood. Or he thought it had, because he felt his weapon catch on something and drag, but when he slid to a halt and glanced at the wound he’d inflicted, he saw that the man was wearing some kind of body armor. Dekval cursed under his breath. The sight of the armor told him that this man had prepared for this fight, which made the young Raven quickly reassess his opponent. This wasn’t just a random attack; this was planned.

The man charged him, swinging the pipe like a bludgeon. Dekval danced away from the pipe, unable to get close to strike with his stiletto. It didn’t matter, though, so long as the pipe didn’t hit him. The blade wasn’t his only weapon. It took him only half a heartbeat to bend the light around himself, and Dekval vanished from his attacker’s sight. Or, more accurately, he stole the light from his enemy’s eyes, using his illumokinesis to blind the man. He jumped back away from the pipe that was now swinging through the space where he’d been only seconds before, colliding with the brick of the walls on either side of them and the concrete of the street. The man cursed and clawed at his eyes with his free hand, as if that would help fix their sudden affliction. The whole while, the man continued to swing the pipe through the air around him, but Dekval was already moving, intent to finish this little debacle before it could get too far out of hand and before anyone noticed.

No one attacks a Raven without expecting to die.

Dekval ducked under the swinging pipe and flashed his blade along the man’s thigh, this time cutting through fabric and flesh and muscle. Blood fountained. The man howled and chased Dekval with the pipe, but the Raven was already out of range. His knife dug into flesh again, this time on the opposite leg, severing muscle and tendon in the ankle. The man’s leg buckled, sending him to the ground. He blindly swung the pipe behind him, trying to catch Devkal with the desperate strike. It was clear to Dekval that the man hadn’t anticipated this outcome. He had intended to win. That fact alone had Dekval changing his mind about killing the man. He was curious now as to why he would attack him. Perhaps he didn’t know that Dekval was a Pilot and a Raven. Perhaps the man had just believed him to be some helpless citizen, an easy target for a mugging, and the presence of the armor may have been a coincidence.

But he was still going to put the man down.

Dekval avoided the pipe and caught the man’s arm in a tight hold with his own. He jerked the captured limb back and twisted, forcing his attacker to release the pipe lest risk his arm being broken. When the pipe clattered to the ground, Dekval twisted the man’s arm even more until he could pin it behind his back and forced all of his weight down, forcing the man to bend in two and forcing his head down onto the concrete. Balancing carefully enough so that the man couldn’t throw him off with a surge of power, Dekval angled his stiletto just above the man’s eye, and removed the man’s forced blindness, allowing him to see the danger so close.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Dekval said, his voice even and friendly, “so please tell me the truth. Did someone put you up to this? Or did you think I was just an idiot kid and an easy target?”

The man’s eye went so wide at the sight of the blade’s tip so close, but he said nothing.

“I’m going to find out the answer one way or another.” Dekval added. “You see, my Commander doesn’t take kindly to people attacking her people, even on accident, and my new friend is an Inquisitor. Or I could call my dragon. I’m sure she’d love to have a chat with you.”

The man grunted and his shoulders tensed, but Dekval had him pinned. He’d had plenty of practice with such maneuvers, considering he trained just about every day with people who were stronger, faster, and more cunning than this fool.

“Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’d really prefer you just tell me. I’m not really good at this whole torture thing.”

The small hairs on the back of Dekval’s neck suddenly rose then and he launched himself off the man, hitting the ground and rolling back to his feet. His eyes went wide as shock rushed through him. It was such a sudden, hard emotion that he felt Sophitia’s presence fully in his mind as she sought to discover the source of his visceral reaction.

Dekval would never know if Sophi saw what he saw. The next events happened too fast even for him to really react. Even though he tried to dodge, he was a hair too slow, and the tines pierced his skin with a jolt that felt like a sweet caress compared to the shock that ran through his body. It felt like every nerve ending was on fire, a scream locked in his throat, unable to be voiced. He thought he heard Sophi cry out in pain, feeling the electrical shock herself, connected as she was to him. He hit the ground, the volts making his body twitch violently. When it finally, blessedly, stopped, Dekval couldn’t do anything more but lay there and try to breathe, eyes closed tight against the waves of pain that coursed through him.

He heard boots coming closer.

His fingers, fisted around the hilt of his stiletto because of the jolt of the taser, tightened even more.

He had one shot. One chance.

There was the scrape of metal on concrete and Dekval forced open his eyes in time to see his original attacker lurching toward him, dragging the pipe with him. Behind the man, in silhouette, stood another, finger still on the taser’s trigger.

One chance.

Dekval knew he couldn’t reach the trigger man in time, but his original attacker, oh, yes, he could reach him. There would be scant seconds, but he could do it.

He closed his eyes again, but only slightly, so he could look out from beneath his lashes. He concentrated on making his body obey him as the man with the pipe came closer, and closer still. The man raised his arm, lifting the pipe up high. His face was twisted into a manic snarl. The moment that pipe dropped with speed and murderous intent, Dekval moved. Even as electricity surged through his body again, Dekval forced his body to ignore the shock and the nerve-twitching pain and forced his body forward.

He drove his stiletto into his attacker’s throat, up to the hilt, and let the unconscious jerking of his arm rip the blade through the soft flesh of the man’s neck, severing both arteries. Dekval felt the heat of the man’s blood against his skin as it pumped out of his body in high-velocity squirts, painting the brick of the walls and the concrete floor of the alley bright red.

Dekval collapsed atop the corpse of the man, his body violently squirming as the electricity surged through his system without stopping. The trigger man wasn’t letting up this time, sending thousands of volts of lighting through Dekval’s body.

When it stopped, Dekval wasn’t quite unconscious, but he was helpless. He couldn’t make his body move even if he wanted to. The trigger man approached then and grasped a fistful of Dekval’s brown hair, yanking his head back to stare into the boy’s glassy eyes. The trigger man’s fist drew back.

It was desperate and foolish, but it was the last option Dekval had left to him if Sophi was compromised by the shock she’d felt through him.

Even as that fist drove toward him, he sought out the minds of his squad - minds he knew well because of their training together - and shouted, ATTACKED/KILLED/CORPSE/DOWNTOWN ALLEY! PROX IT’S-

----

Any Ravens may respond with reactions to Dekval's cry for help!

[Paladienne]

PART II

Pain.

That was all Dekval felt when he came to. His eyes opened, but all he saw was darkness. The sensation against his skin was scratchy, irritating, and it went across both cheeks and around his forehead. Blindfold. It was tied tight enough around his head that he couldn’t see anything under the edges, and it felt like a bit of his hair was caught in the knot behind his head. His shoulders hurt, and based on the way they were pulling, he decided that his arms had been drawn behind his back. A minimal effort was all it took to confirm his suspicion and to discover that his wrists were bound. Based on the feel, his binding was plastic rather than metal or rope. It was also a little too tight, cutting into his skin with a viciousness he’d felt before, but in other ways.

His head was turned awkwardly, as well. His cheek was pressed into some kind of padding, but it was thin, and it smelled of age and mold. He could feel a hard floor beneath the padding, but he couldn’t tell if it was concrete, wood, laminate, or tile. He decided it was concrete, because he was folded in half, with most of his weight was balanced on his neck and shoulders and knees, and he could somewhat feel a texture through the padding that lent more toward quick-pour concrete than anything else. And he could only feel the texture because of the weight pressed down on him, a weight he hadn’t felt in a long time. A weight that shifted forward and back and forward and back, and sent fire up his spine.

Dekval closed his eyes tight and fought to remain still, not wanting the man behind him to know he was conscious. It would be over soon, anyway. The man’s breathing was rough and rapid, his movements jerky. Dekval had learned long ago to read the signs, just as he’d learned long ago to pretend it didn’t hurt, that he didn’t feel anything, and not to fight, because he’d been so much smaller then. At this moment in time, there was no point in fighting. It would only alert anyone nearby that he was conscious, and there was nothing he could do about it anyway, not with his hands bound and blindfolded. He wasn’t a telekinetic, where he didn’t need to really see what he was trying to destroy. His powers worked mostly on visual input and if he could get a feel for the minds around him, so he could alter their perceptions. And even if he could get a feel for the minds around him right now, rendering himself invisible to their perceptions would be a terrible idea until he could figure out how to escape his bonds. Blind men were still dangerous men, and with Dekval blinded himself, he couldn’t tell where he was or if there were any weapons nearby or even how many men were around him.

The man behind him shuddered and Dekval did his best not to react, biting the inside of his cheek to focus on that pain rather than anything else. The man’s harsh breathing moved away from him then and then there was the sound of clothes being set right. He heard footsteps approaching and then a voice Dekval had never wanted to hear again.

“Pay up. Half before, half after, and it’s after.” Came a deep, greasy-sounding voice from somewhere above Dekval and to his left.

There was a grunt. “You charge too much. He ain’t that good.”

“You didn’t pay for a participant.”

Dekval squeezed his eyes shut even harder and bit his cheek until he could taste blood. His memory flashed back to a time when he was six, sitting on the edge of a bed, his fingers idly playing with a dirty quilt. A stranger stood before him, stroking his hair and talking to him about things Dekval really didn’t understand then. Reciprocation. Paid good credits for a few hours.

He’d escaped that life and never wanted to return to it.

Funny how his life seemed to come full circle to what he didn’t want.

The two men continued to talk above him, complaining and haggling and cursing at each other. It was disturbingly hilarious to Dekval, too reminiscent of his childhood, and this time around, he couldn’t do anything about it.

Yet.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re dead.” Dekval spat out. “Both of you. You’re the walking dead.”

He heard someone come closer and there was a sudden pain in his stomach as the toe of a boot connected with his skin. It drove the breath out of him and knocked him to the side. He landed hard on his side and hissed as the plastic binds bit into his wrists even more. He didn’t cry out as the boot connected again, and then twice more. Instead, he let his body go as limp as possible and accepted the blows, wincing only when the boot hit bone instead of more malleable flesh.

When the blows stopped, Dekval felt fingers curl in his hair and yank his head up. He felt the heat of breath against his face and could smell rot and alcohol and other things that he couldn’t quite identify and didn’t want to identify. “I’d stop talking shit if I were you, boy. From where I’m standing, you’re nothing. I know what you can do.”

“Of course you do.” Dekval spat. “You’re my father. But I’m not thirteen anymore. And you’ve fucked up.”

There was a rough laugh. “I fucked up? Nah, I’m just getting what I deserve! You owe me! I’m the one who got you into the program! I’m the one who allowed you to become part of that stupid party squad. You should be thanking me! Not blowing up yachts and having water balloon fights on the beach!”

There was a tickle in the back of Dekval’s throat. He wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a scream, but the sound that was born of that tickle was rough and harsh, full of disbelief and anger and hate. “Party squad? Do you even know what the Ravens actually do?”

Dekval’s head was slammed into the floor. His head rang with pain and he saw stars against the black backdrop of the blindfold. Faintly, he realized he’d been right; the floor was concrete.

“The Ravens.” his father spat. And really spat. Dekval felt the warm wetness against his cheek. “Fucking party squad is what they are. So rich they don’t know what to fucking do with it all. I got you into that squad, and you owe me for that.”

“I owe you nothing.” Dekval growled. “And the more you hurt me, the more you take it out of me, the more will be taken out of you. If I don’t kill you, someone’s going to.”

There was rough later from above him. More than just his father’s voice. Dekval counted at least nine individual voices. Since he hadn’t heard the other voices approach, he assumed they had been there already, watching him. It made sense, really. Dekval was merely a pawn, a piece to be moved and used and sacrificed. This wasn’t about him. It had never been about him. It was about his father, what his father wanted, what he thought he deserved. Like before, Dekval was just a means to an end. Only this time, Dekval wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He was a Raven.

He was a killer.

And once he figured out how to free himself, he would prove just how wrong they all were.

“You can’t do shit, boy.” Juhn said, emphasizing his point by kicking his son again. “Your squad can’t do shit. Your dragon-bitch can’t do shit. You’re gonna give me what you owe me, and maybe work off the rest, if I’m feeling nice.”

“My Commander will find you, no matter where you go.” Dekval replied, his voice soft and gasping. “If I don’t kill you, she will.”

“Like hell some high and mighty Commander’s gonna come trawling through the trash just because you so graciously decided to help your old man out.”

Dekval laughed. “You don’t know my Commander. She scares the shit out of me just by being in the same room. You don’t want to piss her off.”

He didn’t mention the rest of his squad, each and every one of them capable of moving unseen, would be pissed off too. Especially Prox. He hoped Valentine was able to keep a leash on his best friend and keep him from doing something stupid. He’d only seen Prox break a few times and those breaks had terrified him, but he hadn’t abandoned Prox to them. Rather, he’d stayed by Prox’s side and he’d been able to bring him back from those breaks. Prox would be gunning for blood now. Dekval was certain that if he was the one to kill these bastards, he’d disappoint Prox.

Well, that was a disappointment he could live with.

“I don’t really care,” Juhn said, “what your precious Commander wants or doesn’t want. She’s got no dog in this race. She ain’t gonna come after your useless ass. Now, why don’t you be a good boy and tell me what I want to know?”

“What, my shoe size?” Dekval laughed even as his father hauled off and kicked him again. “I’m not telling you shit, old man! Kill me and Sophi will know. And nothing - nothing - will keep you safe! And if you think she was bluffing that day, you better make peace with whatever gods you pray to, because she won’t let you get away.”

Dekval grunted as the breath was, quite literally, kicked out of him. He thought he felt a rib crack, but he wasn’t sure. The pain that erupted inside him overwhelmed everything else, until he was only able to feel pain again.

When it finally stopped, Dekval wasn’t sure if he could even breathe without causing something to pull and send a fresh round of pain through his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he hurt this badly. Definitely when he was younger. Much younger. When he couldn’t defend himself or fight back.

He heard voices, but they were blurry, like his head was under water. But he could imagine what was being said, especially when he felt the presence of bodies close by. Yeah, right now Dekval knew he didn’t have any power. He was trapped, alone, weak and helpless. But he wasn’t about to lay there and be a good boy and just give up and give in. He’d endured a lot of crap as a kid to get where he was today, and he wasn’t about to make all that hard work mean nothing. He had to get out of here. Had to get out of here on his own and make everyone here pay. And even if he failed to take his pound of flesh, there would be no escaping those who wanted their own revenge.

[Paladienne]

Part III

Time was a mysterious thing for him with his eyes covered by the blindfold. He knew nothing but what was done to him, and there wasn’t much rhythm or rhyme to what - or when -  was done to him.

He’d endured worse. Much worse. He’d endured hunger and thirst as a kid, and he endured it now. He’d endured a lot of things as a kid, and he endured a lot of things now.

The only thing Dekval didn’t do was give up.

He didn’t give up the information Juhn clearly wanted. He didn’t give the men the satisfaction of seeing him wince or make pained noises to boost their egos. He didn’t beg. Whatever they had been expecting, Dekval didn’t do.

What he did do, however, was try to figure out how to escape his predicament. Whether or not his squad was coming for him, he wasn’t about to wait for the cavalry to arrive. He was going to get out of here, and he was going to make sure these bastards got what was coming to them. He just had to figure out how to get his hands free from the plastic ties and get the damned blindfold off. And he had to figure out how to do it without alerting anyone to what he was doing.

Which was easier said than done.

Dekval knew he could easily wriggle his head against the padding or the floor itself to get the blindfold off, but that wouldn’t do him any good if his hands were still bound. Nine or ten guys, even blinded, were still dangerous. Especially to someone who was bound and couldn’t do more than make sure he wasn’t in the trajectory of whatever weapon that was brought to bear against him. And he couldn’t guarantee he’d get all nine, anyway. If even one was out of his line of sight, he couldn’t render himself completely invisible to that one. To do so would require touching that person’s mind in order to mess with the asshole’s senses, and Dekval wasn’t completely sure he wanted to touch any of their minds more or longer than he had to.

Besides, if he wanted to do what he wanted to do, he’d have to get his arms free.

Couldn’t necessarily snap necks easily without hands.

So Dekval listened, and he began to learn patterns. The sounds of footsteps approaching and fading, the sounds of voices growing louder and softer. He measured the sound of silence and the sound of noise. When he was confident that he had learned all he needed to know, he began to formulate a plan.

During the moments of silence, Dekval began to twist his wrists, testing how far he could actually rotate his hands in the cuffs. The tension was horribly tight, but not tight enough that it was cutting off circulation. Definitely tight enough that he wasn’t going to easily get free. Bright side was, neither Juhn nor anyone else had seen the need to tie his legs together. Mistake number one.

Everyone would be so disappointed in these asshats. Dekval thought as he rotated his shoulders. You don’t want your prize escaping, you make sure you cut off all escape routes. You make sure there’s no way they can get free.

Of course, his dad wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the LED screen, and he only wanted what he wanted. He didn’t think anyone could outsmart or outwit him, especially someone who was in a weaker position. He’d never thought much about his own son, didn’t give him any credit for getting where he was today on his own power. Nope, everything Dekval had achieved had been because of his old man. Nothing he’d ever done or achieved was under his own merit.

Dekval rolled onto his right side and took a deep breath. He held it for a heartbeat and released it slowly. As he continued to breathe in this manner, he rolled his shoulder in a counter-clockwise motion, trying to loosen the muscles. He knew how to do this, but he’d never done it on purpose. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his left wrist and tightened his grip. He continued to breathe in that rhythmic fashion. Then he jerked his shoulder one way while pulling on his hand the other way. It failed the first time. It failed the second time. He jerked his arm and rotated his shoulder in the opposite direction and swallowed the groan that wanted to crawl out of his throat as his left shoulder popped out of its socket.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then sucked in another and let it out slowly. The pain slowly receded, but there was still a steady ache in his shoulder, an ache that seemed to get steadily worse as he used his right arm to manipulate his left lower, towards his legs, which he drew up and as close to his chest as he could. He moved slow and careful, doing his best not to make noise and alert anyone who might be in the room. The only thing he was sure of was that they hadn’t moved him, and so he was in the same place he’d been for the past... however long.

He pushed his dislocated left arm down as far as he could and wiggled his right leg through the awkward circle his arms made behind his back. It took some effort and it was slow going, especially when he had to move in careful increments in order to get his leg through fully. When it was, Dekval carefully manipulated his left leg through his arm-loop, then carefully straightened his legs out until he was fully extended. He kept all of his weight on his right shoulder and side, trying not to jar his left arm any more than he had to.

After a moment of steady breathing, Dekval pushed himself upright, and reached for the blindfold. He ground his teeth against the flare of pain as his left shoulder protested the movement, but he ignored it in order to give himself sight. He pushed the blindfold up and away from his eyes and blinked rapidly as light assaulted them, making them burn and smart and water. It took a moment for them to adjust, but once they did, Dekval found himself sitting in what looked to be an office tucked into a corner of the abandoned production line floor of a warehouse. Staring out the open door, he could see that the equipment had long since been removed, but in its place were sleeping bags and crates, metal folding tables and metal chairs, and garbage littered the floor, varying in age. His eyes drifted from side to side, spotting dirty windows that let in a scant amount of faded light, streaming in beams across the open area. In his own space, there was only him, the pallet he sat on, an empty card table and a single folding metal chair. He was honestly surprised that there wasn’t a guard posted at that table or at the door, but then, as he thought about it, the surprise faded into skepticism. They thought him cowed and helpless.

Dekval pushed himself to his feet, wincing the entire time. First mission, shoving his shoulder back into place. It seemed easier said than done, but he moved to brace himself against the wall, using it to give him the leverage he needed. With one, rough motion, he shoved his shoulder against the wall, pushing up on his arm at the same time. His bones grated for a few tense heartbeats and a flash of heat went through his body instead of pain. Or maybe it was pain, and it was just so terrible that he only felt it as fire. Then his bone snapped back into its socket and the heat was suddenly ice and his breath hissed out from between his clenched teeth.

Faintly, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Dekval had scant seconds to make a decision - hide against the wall and wait or get back onto the pallet and pretend he hadn’t just managed to somewhat free himself - but his body was protesting his unfair treatment of it, so by the time he made the choice, it was too late.

The man was in the doorway before Dekval had a chance to move. He froze, eyes going wide at the sight of the Raven standing, and then his mouth dropped open.

Dekval lunged toward him and caught the bastard in the stomach with his combined fists. When he doubled over, Dekval looped his arms over the man’s head and yanked him into the room, tightening his hold around the man’s neck. The man struggled, but Dekval had the leverage, and it was just a matter of adjusting his arms before the man’s struggles actually managed to get him loose. He pressed his forearm hard against the man’s throat and pulled as hard as he could, twisting as hard as he could. The man’s neck snapped wetly, and suddenly he was holding dead weight. He let the body drop unceremoniously to the floor. Dekval crouched by the body then, feeling up the corpse to see if it had a knife or some other kind of sharp instrument on it. He felt along the corpse’s pockets, turning them out to see what was within. He found a simple pocketknife, the foldable kind that didn’t have much use beyond opening boxes, but he’d take it. Something about beggars and choosers.

He moved quickly, pulling out the blade as best he could until it was fully extended, and he slid the blade between his flesh and the plastic. He rose as he sawed the blade back and forth until he created enough of a split he could break the tie on his own, and moved to the doorway, peeking out into the open warehouse floor.

He had a better view of the windows now, and through the grime and grease he could see a familiar skyline. He closed his eyes briefly, then withdrew back into the little room to finish getting the rest of the plastic tie off his wrist. In the meantime, he sought out a very familiar link, his mind brushing against hers.

He knew he’d startled her when she slammed into him with the force of a hurricane, her anger and worry hammering at him even as she sunk into his mind and saw for herself what he’d experienced and where he was.

Hey, Soph. You miss me?

Where have you been?! Sophitia snarled, her voice filled with a feral bite. You jerk! Where are you? You couldn’t have contacted me sooner?

Love you, too, Soph. Looks like I’m in a warehouse. In Ryun.

There was a long space of silence. ...Who kidnaps someone and keeps them in the same city?

Remember who we’re dealing with. Anyway, would you do me a favor?

Tell them you’re okay, don’t worry, you’ll be home soon? She scoffed. I’m coming to get you.

Nah. Dekval snapped the pocketknife blade through the last bit of plastic and shook of the ties. I got this. Just keep an eye on me and mark faces.

Fine, fine. How many are left?

Eight, I think.

Sophitia fell silent, and Dekval shook out his wrists, adjusted his grip on the pocketknife, and bent the light around himself to render himself invisible to any eyes that might be looking. As he crept out of the room, he swung his head left and right, studying the area. There was only one way out, and that was a door on the far side of the room, opposite where he was standing. There was a staircase that led up to a second floor catwalk, and upon inspecting the catwalk above his head, he discovered an open door that led into another room. He listened, but he didn’t hear anything. So the question was, did he check it out or did he simply move on?

His answer came in the form of the far door opening and admitting two men into the open space. Dekval recognized their voices immediately and felt a chilling cold settle over him. It was with a steady step that he closed the distance between him and the men, neither moving too slowly nor too fast. He didn’t bother to mask the sounds of his footfalls, though he walked on the balls of his feet to minimize his noise. He reached the first of the men just as he started to call out a name - probably the name of the bastard whose neck Dekval had snapped - and drove the pocketknife into the soft tissue of the man’s jugular vein. He put all his weight behind the blow, so not only did the blade pierce flesh and muscle, it dug deep, and drove the man’s body to the side. Dekval spun, slamming his elbow into the other man’s solar plexus to drive the breath out of him. As the man crumpled over Dekval’s arm, he drove his fist up and back into the man’s face, knocking his head backwards.

Dekval yanked the pocketknife from the corpse’s throat, then turned on the second man. He grabbed the man’s hair and yanked his head back, then stabbed the knife down into the bastard’s eye, deep and straight into his brain. Dekval let the body drop and stood over the two corpses, head cocked to the side to listen. The commotion hadn’t brought anyone else running, which told him he was now the only one in this part of the warehouse.

Eight little bastards looking for a fix,

Two met a grisly end, and then there were six.

Dekval cracked a smile, retrieved the pocketknife and wiped it clean on the corpse’s shirt, tucked it into his back pocket, then prowled out of the door, heading into a dim hallway. His rational mind told him that he should just forget the rest and get out of there. His rational mind could take a hike. He was going hunting.

He found the sixth man in a side office, staring at a set of monitors that showed the outside of the warehouse. He heard Sophi snort with derision, but he himself made no noise. He let himself into the office as silent as a shadow, and allowed himself to become visible again. As he approached the monitors, he knew the man could see his reflection in the way the man’s shoulders tensed and his right hand dropped toward his lap.

Dekval didn’t give him a chance to use whatever weapon he was trying to grab. The flat of his hand hit the back of the man’s head and drove his face into the desk. He gripped tight, pulled the man’s head back, and slammed it forward again. He grabbed for the weapon as the man’s hand flailed out with it, and caught the man’s wrist before he could drive the cleaver into his side. Dekval twisted the man’s wrist and shoved on the man’s arm with all the strength he could muster. The blade of the cleaver bit into the desk, wedging into the plastic-coated wood, and Dekval released the man’s wrist, as if to grab for the cleaver himself. When the man’s hand tightened around the handle of the cleaver, preparing to fight for control of the weapon, Dekval instead grabbed for the pocketknife and, lightning quick, slammed the blade into the man’s ear canal. He held on tight as the man twitched and spasmed, only releasing the body when the man was still.

Pushing himself away from the corpse, Dekval focused on the monitors. He found the cameras pointed along different hallways, and finally figured out how to move the cameras so he could get a good look at every angle. He spotted his true prey, along with several others, and marked their locations. Then he searched for other weapons besides the cleaver and yanked out the wires connecting the monitors to their power source. So armed, Dekval left the office and continued hunting.

He found Five and Four and rushed them so quickly neither had a chance to scream before Five found a cleaver in his skull and Four was clawing at his neck, trying to loosen the cables Dekval was twisting tight around his throat.

Man Three happened to stumble upon them just as Dekval was lowering Four’s corpse to the floor and uttered a piercing shriek before fleeing, grabbing for the walkie-talkie that was attached to his hip. Dekval smirked and gave chase, rendering himself invisible once again. Man Three managed to yank the walkie-talkie free and began screaming into it. Dekval felt only a slight disappointment at that. Three managed to keep ahead of Dekval until he tried to get through a pair of doors that were clearly marked “Pull”, and before he realized his mistake, Dekval was on him. The Raven looped the cables around the bastard’s neck and pulled, twisting the cables tight to cut off circulation and air. Three thrashed against him, scrabbling at the cables around his neck and trying to fight someone he couldn’t see at the same time.

The walkie-talkie crackled. A voice came over the airwaves.

Dekval plucked the device from Three’s fingers and pressed the ‘talk’ button. “You listening, old man?”

Static crackle.

“Yeah, I bet you are. You can run. You can hide. Maybe you’ll get away. But you’re all dead men.” Dekval said. “I know your faces. I know your voices. And soon, people even scarier than me will know, too. There’s no where safe for you to go.”

He tossed the walkie-talkie to the floor and grabbed one of Three’s flailing arms. He pulled the cable tighter, his knuckles turning white, and the man’s thrashing became even more desperate. But Dekval didn’t let go. Instead, he twisted the arm in his hold, moving the joints in the opposite way than they were meant to move. He didn’t have quite the physical strength he needed in order to snap the bone of the arm he held, but it gave him the leverage he needed.

Three’s thrashing finally stopped.

Dekval opened his fingers and let the body drop.

There was likely no point in hunting down the remaining three; they were likely all gone and vanished at this point. His genetic donor definitely would have left, and had probably split the moment Corpse Three had begun screaming into the walkie-talkie. It didn’t matter, really. He would be found, one way or another. He’d get what was coming to him, sooner or later.

Dekval stepped over the corpse and continued down the hall, seeking the exit. Since there was likely no point in hunting, all he wanted to do now was go home. Get a bath. Get something decent to eat. Not necessarily in that particular order.

He squinted when he emerged into the light, and found Sophi sitting there, the tip of her tail twitching, her tongue cleaning blood from her jaws. Dekval smirked.

Three little bastards looking to escape.

One got away while the others got ate.

Sophitia yawned. “That is such a terrible rhyme.”

“Whatever.” Dekval said, grinning wider. “Take me home before someone decides my ass needs kicked any more than it already will be.”

----

Since he’d asked Sophitia to alert everyone as to his status, Dekval had taken a few hours to get himself cleaned up and fed before he headed to Nevermore to deal with the aftermath of his unwanted adventure. He really hoped that he wouldn’t have to do more than extra training or suffer ridicule for what had happened, but instead, he’d gotten none of that. He’d gotten much the opposite, really. He supposed the worst part about his whole ordeal was having to write a report about it, not that he really knew what the protocol for this sort of situation was. But he had to file something, or so he assumed, if only to make sure things were properly cleaned up.

Besides, he needed to acquire a new com, and he needed to send off a few texts in order to make sure certain parties weren’t worrying about him too much.

He glided into his Commander’s office, not quite surprised to find it empty, and placed a hard copy of his report on her desk, right in the center, where she would see it. He hesitated, then turned and strode out of the office, down the hall, and out of Nevermore. What he wanted to do right now was just go home and sleep.

When he reached his place, Dekval let himself in and locked the door behind him, then wandered toward his couch and plopped down, stretching out along its length and closing his eyes. A slow smile spread across his face and he laced his fingers together as he folded his hands across his chest.

One little rat looking for an out,

Thinking he’s free, never in doubt.

One hunting cat looking for some fun,

Found the little rat, and then there were none.