With every breathe Zed takes, it feels sharper â needles scratch at the inside of his lungs, scrape the tissue away; tear alveola and every little cell lights on fire as though that carbon is forming its own ignition from within; dead lighting the dead. If Zed didnât know better, spontaneous combustion might feel something like this, suffocating and a sickening hopelessness to stop the smoke from making its lethal way to his chest. Yet still, heâs upright, hacking his ragged breathes through the fumes, eyes stinging from the unpleasant invasion as he searches for Rahi through the smoke that begins to trickle its way between them.
For a moment, heâs not sure what Kumarâs going to say â wouldnât blame the man for reacting in kind; a venom that is all earned, a too obvious way he discards other life because itâs not himself â and even above that, itâs not family, itâs not Rahi behind that walls heâs shielding the engineer from. And still, through the screaming of explosions, or gunfire and cries for assistance:
âThatâs the stupidest thing youâve eveââ coughs, louder now; more struggled, âever said,â
Heâs not sure heâs ever called Rahi anything but the smartest man alive â a pedestal that heâd raise beyond the fucking stars if that were his element; if he could.
If Rahi didnât deserve a better person to do that for him. But he hopes â thinks Kumar understands his meaning; what the truth behind the hoarse insult means. And then, a heat that begins to near enough singe the edge of the hairs on the back of Zedâs arms where those flames lick close enough to touch their feet, force Zed to stumble them over some steps, a kind of forced gesture by any standard. Because theyâre still not moving.
The yelling stills him again â a sound that pains him to hear, and that knife Rahiâs got a hold on deep within his ribcage wrenches a harsh one eighty degrees and it makes his lungs seem like a mere inconvenience in comparison. Zed canât understand the sensation, how the man has such an invisible, impossible power that seems to choke him up without carbon influence.
Zed knows what the engineerâs saying, loud and clear â doesnât share that thereâs a lack of consideration for anything else besides the other right now; but itâs visibly palpable. He forces the words out, hand slamming on the wall next to them â more for himself, to ground himself to the present and not get lost in the lull of giving up consciousness: âAnd you donât get to join them,â Why donât you get that?
Searching through that cloud, drowns them from within. Needs Rahi to move already â to get out of the state of frozen, of whatever heâs trying to work through in regards to the room Zed would leave behind, over and over and over again if it meant he could drag Kumar up the corridor and out the back of the theatre with his life. Perhaps both the most selfish thing, and the least?
But two men with brains that have as much power as the fire teasing their demises â Zedâs is certainly slowing with the oxygen deprivation, the blur of vision as everything begins to grow heavier, the weight of his limbs included. The next wave of head shaking is to get his head some clarity; almost laughable that theyâre having this conversation, here and now of all the places.
Zedekiahâs not sure if Rahiâs waiting for him to plead or if thereâs some Lev-esque philosophy deeply rooted here â a poetry to how theyâre to fall prey to a theatres combustion, as instigated by the Vasile himself. But you said, Rahi doesnât get that end, no. âKumar â!â an impertinence that comes out as another kind of garble of choked sounds as he tries to clear his airways once more.
âAlright, go,â Zedâs nodding, notions with an exhausted head towards the exit, reaches to the back of his trousers with lethargic limbs for a gun â he swears he can hear those gunshots getting louder â
â  closer, and in turn, an increase in the already teetering danger that has the chemist convinced heâs already slipped out of lucidity once or twice when he takes his first step. Slam. An echo of that door Zedâs had his back to rips open â the flames taking it out with a violent force â Zed can only assume. Good that Rahiâs finally agreed to move â to leave â
Once more â different. Penetrating; a shock where Zedâs footsteps are not on his own accord, right foot jolted where something harsh winds him entirely, sucks the last of his speech; broken words that never escape lips. Itâs almost theatrical, the way Zedâs legs give out entirely, that gun heâs holding slips from fingers and a new kind of thump where itâs late to recognise that something hotter than fire stings his back, upper right side;Â he can feel it take him to the ground, knees hit first.
Then down goes his hands, palms flat, strain on his back where his lowered position gives sight of the newcomer behind him, singed and sooted head to tow, a gun raised upwards; smoke thatâs unlike the rest hisses from the barrel of a pistol â assertion in their aim as it lowers to remain aimed at Zed as though to issue a finisher; the Vasileâs been recognised â in amongst the flames, antagonists in every meaning of the word and an enemy lies in the doorway, a demon walking through the flames to end him in another way.
If Zed could speak and come to terms with more than shock flooding his system and the bullet thatâs lodged in his backside that wanes every ounce of strength left, brings forth a quiet wheezing to try steady â control the intakes of soot; as though itâs only going to worsen, heâd yell. Instead, agonised eyes trail upwards, manage to determine a figuration of Rahi between clouds, run, Rahi, goddamn fucking, run.
The last thing Zed ever wants to imagine is the person standing ahead of him falling in the same manner he has â bullet in the back, or front. Kumar doesnât deserve that; an innocent in the fray, affiliations fucking aside. Zedâs trying to reach for the weapon heâs dropped, only winces when it feels like he wants to collapse entirely onto the carpeted floors, inhale the sticky carbon until itâs all he can taste â but no, he needs to at least, from all this, get Rahi to safety, take out whichever fucking other gang shooter is just about evident in his peripheries.
But muscles fatigued, slowed where blood loss is the next thing to war with; heâs losing, but he wonât lose him.
Zedâs eyes are begging Rahi to run, let the other remain distracted with the Vasile and give Kumar a chance to escape.
the  theatre  is  clouded  with  thick  black  smoke  and  itâs  almost  like  he  can  feel  it  weighing  down  his  chest  as  the  theatre  is  consumed  with  crowds  of  people  all  willing  to  step  over  each  other  for  a  way  out.  stepping  on  someone  else  to  help  yourself  suddenly  doesnât  seem  all  too  bad  when  youâre  faced  with  a  life  or  death  situation.  killian  never  needed  those  situations  to  take  what  he  needed  or  what  he  wanted.
the  longer  he  roamed  chicago  streets,  the  more  he  craved  home,  this  wasnât  home.  tonightâs  effort  to  emerge  into  the  city  was  nothing  more  then  a  puppeteer  pulling  the  strings,  he  never  much  cared  for  puppeteers,  unless  of  course,  it  was  him  pulling  the  strings.
the  bomb  had  gone  off,  the  gunfire  followed,  it  didnât  take  a  native  to  calculate  which  family  had  been  conveniently  scarce  tonight.  killian  had  no  issue  taking  out  any  enemy  that  would  cross  him  tonight,  rather  a  fire  take  him  then  his  enemies.  he  wouldnât  want  to  give  them  that  satisfaction.  still,  he  had  a  craving  for  a  certain  line  of  blood  to  be  spilt  tonight.  he  was  sure  if  heâd  found  one,  the  way  out  would  follow,  their  life  would  just  be  the  topper.
of  course,  he  had  to  survive  the  fire  first.  the  smoke  clogged  his  lungs,  droplets  of  blood  wetting  his  tongue  as  he  choked  on  the  only  thing  he  could  breathe  in.  heâs  not  even  sure  where  exactly  heâs  found  himself,  the  smoke  has  burned  through  his  vision,  his  eyes  burned  just  as  much  as  his  lungs  had.
the  dwindling  amounts  of  people  going  in  the  direction  killian  had  been  should  have  given  him  warning  enough  to  turn  around,  go  the  course  everyone  else  has  chosen  and  get  out.  instead,  he  finds  himself  faced  with  a  rather  rare  opportunity  in  the  face  of  possible  death.  a  vasile.  knows  rahi  too,  likes  him  even,  a  rare  thing  for  the  man.  still,  this  is  how  it  goes,  something  killian  is  hoping  ahi  understandsâ-  can  only  assume  he  must  if  heâs  standing  here  with  the  man  thatâs  had  hand  in  all  of  this,  or  so  he  presumes.  maybe  heâs  just  looking  for  an  excuse  to  spill  some  unwanted  blood.  he  doesnât  see  it  coming,  maybe  that  makes  it  worse,  but  the  trigger  is  pulled  before  the  thought  completes  and  zed  is  falling  to  his  knees.  he  could  leave  him  there,  let  the  smoke  finish  what  the  first  bullet  doesnât.  the  black  tar  that  is  his  lungs  is  softening  him,  figures,  heâll  be  nice,  end  his  misery  quickly.  his  weapon  never  lowered,  his  eyes  narrowing  through  the  smoke  that  clouds  them.  the  next  one  is  aimed  for  his  head,  a  mercy,  really.  â  you  should  go  rahi.  â
Refuted into silence, Rahi quite literally bites his tongue â pushing back that overwhelming roll of emotion that crawls up his throat. He knows what Zed means, he always does, sees his actions completed before he can even think of them. So does this mean Rahi should have predicted this, despite the silence? Should he have prepared? How didnât he prepareâ
âAnd this is the stupidest thing youâve ever done.âÂ
Rahi knows enough about numbers to know theyâre not on their side. The entire roomâs boiling hot now, small droplets of sweat framing his hairline, matching the heaviness of his chest.Â
At the instructions, Rahi does move â if only to reach down to Zedâs hand, holding it tight. All the rest of his trust misplaced, this is something he can rely on; through smoke and flames, that heâd guide them there.Â
Fingers entwined, he looks up at Zed, expectant â Go where? â when Rahi thinks he sees a shadow â but everythingâs a shadow now, what with all the smoke and darkness, every running being, a blur.Â
The loud bang of a gunshot doesnât register, nothing registers, until itâs far too late. Zedâs no longer supporting him, but a weight that drags down, heavier and heavier still against Rahiâs own body. He fumbles to try and catch Zed as he lowers â to no avail.Â
No, no, no, no, no, no. Transcending just his mind, Rahiâs mouth replicates the sound, over and over, excruciatingly so â a repeated hum of desperation.
Even as Zed crumbles down, he refuses to let go of his hand, as though if his grip was strong enough, itâd keep him here. Itâs not too long until Rahiâs kneeling too, searching for a wound, for a breath â anything he can deal with beyond just the pain.Â
Heâs a fixer. He can fix things. Heâll fix this.Â
Itâs all hopeless, until Rahi looks up only to spot the culprit â and the thin dark barrel of a gun.Â
It just then occurs to him, heâd never been on the receiving end of one before. And in a way, he isnât. He blinks, and notices itâs not pointed at him, but the back of Zedâs head.Â
âYou should go, Rahi.âÂ
His name doesnât sound like his name. Canât connect to it, or so much as recognize it, for that matter. His lungs are heavy with tar, his shirt-sleeves growing red and redder with blood.Â
For too long a beat, heâs paralyzed â shock taking hold in all its varying ways, overwhelming every nerve. One moment lasts forever, the slow-motion in slow-motion on a torturous loop, until it breaks. So when he lets go of Zedâs hand itâs only to reach for the gun, dropped to the floor and shining like an offering.Â
Itâs less than a split second between one decision and the next, no time spent in humane choices. Zed hadnât cocked it yet, but Rahi remembers how to. Flight, or fight, or keep your goddamn heart on the same plane as you. He targets it up at the shooter, recognition slowly coming forward even in darkness.Â
Rahi should go. He really shouldâÂ
