SPACE STATIONS > The Cancer

Vagabond [Moonie] [M] [TW]

(1/3) > >>

Cheesigator:
Trigger warning for rape, abuse, violence, gore, and all that fun stuff. Don't read if you're not 18+ pleeeeeeeease k thx.




The sound of metal banging like thunder echoed throughout the alley, along with the sharp cry that rang with it as a small body hit the ground.

Today was a day low on energy, a day where they hadn't had anything to eat, a day where the pain was really bad. And being thrown against a dumpster didn't help. It was like they could feel the vibrations throughout every single bone, muscle, ligament, all the way up to their skin which burned and sang with agony as they slumped to the ground, shellshocked, defenseless.

A hand with dirt crusted under the fingernails, stained with oil and grease snatched at the ragged cloth of their shirt and lifted Miles up off the ground, blood trickling down the corner of their mouth as the sound of their heartbeat in their ears nearly drowned out the words being spoken to them.

"Aww look at this cutie, doesn't even wanna fight back! Since you're being so good we'll go easy on ya.~"

Miles's breath caught in their throat as they let out a wheeze of breath through their nose as another pair of hands suddenly grabbed at their hips and yanked the pair of loose-fitting, pilfered-from-a-trashcan-somewhere pants down their form; all they could do was whimper, paralyzed with fear as hands shifted and they were pressed up against the back wall of some slummy establishment, pinned there with hands to their back and shoulders as they heard the sound of unzipping and finally their brain started working again enough to remember how to beg.

"P-Please no, I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry, please not again--" Their voice was strained, high in pitch and utterly hysterical as they let out another short cry as dirty fingers went into their mouth, pried their jaws apart and stuffed a wad of cloth in to muffle them and all they could do was squeeze their eyes tightly shut and hope it would all be over soon.

Maybe if they were lucky a stranger might come along and stop them--but they knew better than to hope for the impossible. A more realistic thing to hope for would perhaps be the idea that they would wreck Miles so badly they might bleed out here in this little alleyway and that would be the end of that. Yet despite how much they did want that, everything in the very core of their being that had been placed there since birth reminded them again and again how wrong it was to give up like that, to just give in and disgrace their family for ever even considering such an option.

So with nothing left to give, the pain too great and their limbs to weak to fight back all they could do was hope in their heart of hearts as the ringing in their ears drowned out the sound of their shirt being literally torn off their tiny frame to reveal the bandages wrapped tightly around their midsection several times over, was that someone, something, anything might smile with good fortune upon them and help them out of this mess.

Zero Undead:
Why was he even here? Gregori wasn’t even sure anymore. He could roam anywhere in the solar system he pleased and yet for some reason, the angel found himself sitting at a bar on The Cancer. Not even a nice part of The Cancer (if you could really say there were nice parts, the whole station was grungy and a bit of a dive if you asked him). Where he was hardly mattered most the time, and it wasn’t that he thought he was too good or clean for the galaxy’s biggest, most famous, den of debauchery. Everyone knew The Cancer was the place to go for all the less than legal things your dark heart could possibly desire, be it drugs or whores or weapons.

Being an angel didn’t make him above all that. He didn’t come here for those things, but he didn’t think he was somehow better than those that did. Gregori had dropped the angel mantle a very, very long time ago.

Instead of worrying why he’d felt compelled to be there, Gregori had simply taken it for what it was and sat smoking quietly at the end of the bar. They had shitty, uncomfortable stools, and it was a little wobbly, but the whisky in front of him was good and strong. That was really the only factor that mattered when it came to the quality of a bar, and all he was doing was waiting.

There was only one reason for him to feel such a buildup of unexplainable tension and going to certain places for no discernable reason. Gregori was exactly where he was meant to be at that moment. Why he was meant to be there was unclear and irrelevant until it wasn’t.

Knocking back his drink and putting out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray were both done without much thought, as was dropping a few crumpled bills onto the bar before walking out. Acting through pure compulsion might have been terrifying to someone else, but for him it was fairly routine. Some outside divine force guided him on a semi-regular basis, and Gregori had even learned to anticipate when it would happen; just as it was happening right now.

There was no thought, no thinking it over or questioning why, there was only a single-minded purpose as he walked without so much as a falter or hesitation.

When he rounded the corner into the alley his feet stopped and blue eyes zeroed in immediately on the gang of men. There was no doubt who exactly Gregori was supposed to help this time. The poor thing pushed against the dirty wall, pants around their ankles and shirt ripped off their body…

Gregori felt a tremor of energy rush through him, white-hot and full of righteous fury. Over five thousand years he had learned to judge less harshly for a lot of things, but not this. Rape would never be excusable under any circumstance. Even now he could picture the terror on Sharlee’s face the day they met, when some bottom feeder thugs had thought to touch her.

It had been so satisfying to deal out justice on that day.

Only a moment had passed since the angel had stepped into the alley, and now he was moving again, taking deliberate steps towards the infuriating scene. They hadn’t noticed him at first, but they did now, it would have been hard to miss that presence.

“Fuck off, man. This doesn’t concern you!” Two of them kept the small, innocent creature pressed against the wall, and the other two had turned to sneer at him, brandishing their pretty shoddy knives. It was a rather pathetic display, over all. Stupid thugs that thought they were badasses for picking on people smaller and weaker than themselves.

Killing them would be a service to all of mankind, really.

Not that Gregori felt the need for any additional reason or excuse to kill them other than the muffled cries of the poor thing pinned against the wall. No, these ones had it coming, and there would be no warning or option to run while they could. If the angel let them go they would just find someone else to abuse and brutalize. That could not be tolerated.

Of course that didn’t mean that they deserved a quick death either. Outright torturing them seemed appropriate, but it was far too messy and time consuming. Their charge was full of pain and fear, much stronger than the urge to hurt these miscreants was the need to take care of the one they had been guided to protect. So they would get quicker, neater deaths than they deserved, but first they needed a taste of fear for themselves.

Their bravado was already faltering, they looked less confident as he continued to approach them. So the knife waving was mostly for show. They relied on intimidation and didn’t know what to do with someone who didn’t get scared of them. How pathetic.

Gregori let his power surge, embracing it as wings of pure flame erupted from his back. The fire did not touch him or his clothes, of course. Even the whimpering creature he had come to protect could have touched it without burning, because the dancing flames were meant for four very ugly souls that had earned his divine retribution and for them alone.

“What the hell are you?” It was a savory moment, when realization first started to dawn upon those that were about to get a taste of Fury.

Speaking of the divine weapon, Gregori reached into his coat and pulled Fury from its holstered place at his side. The metal gleamed in the light of his fire; one could almost see the rage and malice pulsing at the heart of the gun – if you could call it a gun. Fury could take so many forms, and had over the years, but now it looked like a very high caliber hand cannon; the type of handgun that absolutely devastated anything in its path.

He barely heard the curses that erupted from the vile mouths of his prey as they turned tail, abandoning the poor soul they’d been prepared to rape moments before and running as Gregori leveled Fury at them, taking careful aim as his wings grew larger, fanning and spreading until he was engulfed in divine fire, concentrating his power until he was ready to discharge it.

They got about halfway down the alley when all that fire disappeared, drawing back into the angel and creating a blinding flash from the muzzle of the gun as he unloaded two bursts of four rapid shots. A hot wave of air billowed down the causeway, flaming projectiles slicing down the very middle of the space and striking each fleeing man in the back. Each of them was spun around with a spray of blood just in time for the second wave of energy bullets to strike them in the chest.

Knowing they were dead before their bodies hit the pavement had nothing to do with being an angel; no human could have survived such a decisive blow from Fury, let alone two of them.

Gregori let his arm fall to his side, Fury hanging loosely in his grasp as he composed himself. Four men were dead because of his rage, but he felt neither guilt nor remorse for what some would have called cold-blooded murder. To the angel it was as much an act of justice as it was anger.

Although now was no longer the time for such emotion.

Turning away from his handiwork, he tucked Fury back into his shoulder holster and let his gaze settle onto the real reason he was even there. The compulsion hadn’t gone away, so simply saving them from those men was obviously not all he was meant to do here. Taking a closer look and seeing all the scars, the way their ribs and hips stood out, the dirty, tattered clothes, and their missing eye made it pretty obvious to Gregori that they were in need of a lot more saving than just driving off some low-life scum – this was a poor soul in desperate need of protection and care.

First things first, they needed to be taken somewhere safe; somewhere Gregori could protect them and see to their obviously failing strength. Shrugging out of his long coat, he carefully approached them and offered the piece of clothing.

“Here, let’s get you covered up. You’ll get cold, and I’m sure you don’t want people seeing you so exposed.” Gregori’s voice was deep and soft, holding a gentle quality that may have seemed at odds with the violence he’d displayed moments before. “I’m not going to hurt you, my name is Gregori Lockmoor. What’s yours?”

[I didn't get carried away. I have no idea what you're talking about.]

Cheesigator:
They felt dirty fingers sinking in between the waistband of their underwear and their tan skin, the movement itself jarring and making pain radiate throughout their body from the point of contact. They whimpered again and almost missed it, the sound of the other two men talking.

Had they been alert, had their wits about them, had the energy, they would have sensed it, felt that strong presence coming a mile away. Yet as it was, Miles hadn't noticed him at all until the two men holding them paused and the other two spoke. But with the way they were being held, they couldn't turn their head enough to see what was going on.

But they could see the color and type of light change on the walls and objects in the alley around them as the undoubtedly bright orange of fire erupted and made all the men jump. Miles's one working eye blinked, looking at that bright orange light as it reflected off of a shard of mirror on the ground, blinding and holy and beautiful in a way they could almost recognize.

It didn't stop the fear from racing through their body, from paralyzing them even as the men let go and ran and they crumpled to the ground with weak legs unable to hold themself up any longer. But for a brief, brief moment, it reminded them of home. The fire of their family.

And then the light was gone, and a white hot blast echoed through the alley and made them scream, curling up into a ball with their hands over their head after they yanked the wadded up dirty cloth out of their mouth, as if that would protect them from whatever was about to happen.

And yet, there was silence. Their ears were ringing so bad they didn't hear the sounds of the four bodies hitting the pavement farther away, or the sound of a gun being tucked back into its holster.

But they did hear the footsteps, and despite knowing better, they turned to look at the person proper, seeing a giant man with strong features who could crush them as easily as he probably could an alluminum can. They whimpered and tried to scoot back away from him, but their backside hit the cold wall, tears still burning their eyes and running down their cheeks.

It was the softness in his voice that made them stop, their panicked brain not registering at first the words spoken to them so much as how they were said. Miles was still learning what they called "Common" here. So they took a moment of staring at him with eye wide with sheer terror before they looked down to the coat he was offering them, and then their brain started repeating what he'd said and processing it.

He wasn't... Going to hurt them..?

"G-Gregori," They repeated, their voice soft, trembling as awfully as they were, sounding out his name as they said it. "I--n-no name, they just, just called me Miles..."

They didn't know what else to say, but they accepted the offered clothing, their arms weighed heavily with it as they hadn't been expecting it to be so solid. It was huge, and their hands wouldn't stop shaking; they were terrified to look away from Gregori, as if at any moment he would change his mind and blast them into oblivion too.

"T-Thank you." They whimpered, reaching down with ginger movements to pull those pilfered pants back up, thin fingers fumbling with the clasp before they tugged the coat around themself.

And yet they knew nothing in this galaxy came without a price. Gifts were not given here, not kind ones anyways, and as their brain caught up to speed with what they were doing, they swallowed the lump in their throat as they tried to get a very shaky leg underneath them to stand, but couldn't hold their own weight and crumpled to the ground again, another violent shiver taking over them as more pain washed over their body and made them want to stop trying for a few moments at all.

"W-What do I o-owe you..?" They were afraid to ask the question, afraid they knew the answer, for they had nothing else to give other than their wings and what those men had been after not moments prior.

Zero Undead:
They were understandably terrified. It didn’t take an empath to read the overwhelming fear that gripped the small, broken soul trembling on the ground in front of him. Gregori felt himself full of pity for the poor thing. He didn’t know what they had been through, not yet, but the angel didn’t need to know the details to see the suffering of someone innocent. People didn’t come much more innocent than someone like this.

He was reminded of his sweet, sweet Sharlee with her kind eyes and gentle spirit.

At least they weren’t paralyzed completely with fear. Gregori smiled gently, encouragingly, as they repeated his name and introduced themselves. Miles struggled to put on the coat that engulfed them, but they had taken the coat, at least, which was more than he had expected. The sweet thing even thanked them. Their accent was strange, and he thought their common was imperfect.

Gregori could already tell they were not human, but what they were didn’t matter. As long as they needed him and his gut told him to offer assistance then it was his duty to do so. Trusting in fate had never steered him wrong before.

A frown crossed his face when Miles tried, and failed, to regain their feet. They were even weaker than he thought. That was no good, no good at all. Gregori knelt down next to them, getting onto their level so they wouldn’t have to look up at him so much. That could be intimidating. So could frowning, so he made himself smile again.

“Owe me?” What a typical question. Well, it was to be expected. It wasn’t as if little Miles knew about his divine purpose or anything. “You don’t owe me anything, Miles, but we really shouldn’t stay here. Please don’t get too scared, I’m going to carry you. You’re too weak to walk on your own right now.”

Hopefully there would not be screaming. The last thing either of them needed was more attention drawn to them or this alleyway. No doubt there would be red coats within an hour over that discharge. It had been loud enough to probably raise at least a few eyebrows. Oh well, hindsight something something. The action had seemed appropriate at the time.

Gregori was very careful and very gentle as he pulled Miles into his arms and stood slowly, cradling them like a child against his chest. They were so small and light. Take that and their apparent weakness and it was more than a little alarming.

What if he had found them a few days from now?

Shaking that thought from his mind, Gregori took Miles from the alley – the direction that wouldn’t make them get a closer look at the dead bodies. The men had been about to do horrible things to them, but that didn’t mean Miles would want to see the corpses.

Making their way through The Cancer was relatively quick, no one stopped to question them, and they only received a few odd glances. Miles was well-wrapped in his coat, so nobody could see his poor, shirtless state. Gregori already was running a list through his mind of things that would need to be seen to. His malnourished ward was filthy and improperly clothed; Miles needed clothes, food, and a hot shower as quickly as they could be provided. Most importantly of all, they needed somewhere safe to rest and recover under his care.

How fortunate for them that Gregori had already anticipated staying the night. The hotel wasn’t exactly a high-class place, but it was clean and relatively safe for somewhere on the space station. He carried his surprisingly complacent burden across the threshold and headed immediately for the bed, placing Miles down gently on the semi-firm mattress.

“There, that is much better.” Gregori grabbed a tablet off the nightstand; it was secured to the wall, obviously hotel property. He pulled up a menu for room service and offered it to Miles. “Order whatever you like to eat, it will be charged to the room.”

Cheesigator:
Miles really hadn't the slightest idea just what exactly Gregori was doing, what he was thinking. They knew nothing of him, only that he had burned like holy fire and sent those men scattering, and then dead.

He bent down and got on their level, the frown quickly disappearing as if he were putting on some kind of front and told them they owed him nothing. Nothing? Nothing at all? They were highly skeptical--likely perhaps that whatever it was he didn't want to speak about in public, or would just take from them the moment they let their guard down.

And the vast majority of them was fine with that. For they had nothing left that he could take.

They gave him a hesitant nod and then they were scooped up into his arms as if they weighed little more than a bag of feathers. They swallowed another lump down their throat, pursing their lips as they curled up and tried to ignore the stares from passerby. Being stared at was something they really, truly hated. It was something new to them, a sensation that was as painful as it was invasive and intimidating.

They weren't sure where they were being taken; they couldn't read any of the street signs, or the names of the shops or buildings. Even as he brought them into the lobby, they had no idea where they were, for they had never been in a hotel before. They were only a year out from their escape, after all.

When they came to his room they recognized the bed setting and immediately their heart began hammering in their chest. Was this what he expected as payment? This strange and painful thing that the creatures of this realm seemed to love so much despite their partner not; it confounded them. But if that was what he wanted, it wasn't exactly like they could fight back.

And yet Miles was placed onto the mattress, wincing at the feeling of the clothing and pressure on their body shifting, every muscle still sensitive, burning with pain. It never stopped.

They were handed a tablet and told to order anything--they had never ordered anyone in their life! They stared at him, silver eye wide with surprise before they looked at the thing in their hands and realized it was all foreign.

"... I no... I do not know h-how to read t-this. I'm sorry."

Of all the words in their vocabulary, 'I'm sorry' was a phrase they pronounced perfectly, like they had said it thousands of times over again.

They handed the tablet back to him, shaking their head. "I-I do not unders-stand."

Who did he want them to order? Him? He said eat, what did that have to do with ordering? They hadn't even recognized the likenesses of food on the tablet screen, for they had never seen or eaten anything like what was on display before. All they had ever had were the strange blocks or "bars" as some called them, of food that they gave in the cells, or on this very station. And trash. They had eaten a lot of trash.

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