zedekiah-vasile​:

Zed’s right. No further thought to this instinct. He’s always right. 

Still, Rahi battles it all out, holding onto a pillar and more firmly still to his breath. If anything, how small he feels his lungs shrink to should stand as enough of a warning.

He’s listening, barely so, when Zed draws nearer; beyond the smoke, Rahi’s dark eyes pull upward and to the blue, overwhelmingly honest even in the shadows. 

I don’t care about them. Neither do I. They’re not important to me. Or myself. They’ll be fine. Even if they won’t—

With all that ugliness laid bare, still all that Rahi can ask is:

“Am I?”

Despite all its torture, it’s not his own shortness of breath that sparks desperation. It’s Zed, his chest dragging, gaze desperate as he’d ever seen it. Consciousness flickers in, and then out. But he can fight it; all of those exercises he’d learned once, conjured back through necessity — but reality quickly drags it away.

“Even if I wasn’t!” He’s yelling now, through all his strength. “What makes you think— There’s people I fucking care about! It’s not just you. I don’t even know if they’re—” Cough. It replaces the word alive. “They’re—” Rahi feels blood crawl up his throat before his tongue can taste it. “Fuck.”

Stubborn still, it’s the conjunction that gets him, all dishonesty and cowardice — striking, the way words meet air. With me, is what Zed has just so boldly said, his own body building up a cage. 

Carbon, to carbon, to carbon. 

(Surely, no one would get this but them.)

Merging up to the wall, Rahi’s growing only weaker, eyes flickering as they look for a light. Dark tunnel, and hope; effortlessly, Zed embodies it all. 

“…You can’t do that,” Rahi shakes his head, all with what little force he has left. “You can’t keep things from me, you can’t.” 

There’s an invisible clock ticking, counting down their privilege. Every time their lungs exhale all air, it collects less in turn. Rahi senses this, his chest struggling through every particle of air. Wrong as he might be, Zed is also right: they’ve got to get out of here.

“…Okay,” Rahi finally agrees. There’s much more to be said, but he could say it later — as soon as his lungs could take it, or his body sustain more than a simple nod. “Okay, let’s go.”  

-

With every breathe Zed takes, it feels sharper – 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 didn’t 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, he’s 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, he’s not sure what Kumar’s going to say – wouldn’t blame the man for reacting in kind; a venom that is all earned, a too obvious way he discards other life because it’s not himself – and even above that, it’s not family, it’s not Rahi behind that walls he’s shielding the engineer from. And still, through the screaming of explosions, or gunfire and cries for assistance:

Am I?

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve eve—” coughs, louder now; more struggled, “ever said,”

He’s not sure he’s ever called Rahi anything but the smartest man alive – a pedestal that he’d raise beyond the fucking stars if that were his element; if he could.

If Rahi didn’t deserve a better person to do that for him. But he hopes – 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 Zed’s 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 they’re still not moving.

The yelling stills him again – a sound that pains him to hear, and that knife Rahi’s 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 can’t 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 engineer’s saying, loud and clear – doesn’t share that there’s a lack of consideration for anything else besides the other right now; but it’s visibly palpable. He forces the words out, hand slamming on the wall next to them – more for himself, to ground himself to the present and not get lost in the lull of giving up consciousness: “And you don’t get to join them,” Why don’t you get that?

Searching through that cloud, drowns them from within. Needs Rahi to move already – to get out of the state of frozen, of whatever he’s 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 – Zed’s 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 they’re having this conversation, here and now of all the places.

Zedekiah’s not sure if Rahi’s waiting for him to plead or if there’s some Lev-esque philosophy deeply rooted here – a poetry to how they’re to fall prey to a theatres combustion, as instigated by the Vasile himself. But you said, Rahi doesn’t get that end, no. “Kumar –!” an impertinence that comes out as another kind of garble of choked sounds as he tries to clear his airways once more.

Okay.

Fucking finally, Rahi.

“Alright, go,” Zed’s nodding, notions with an exhausted head towards the exit, reaches to the back of his trousers with lethargic limbs for a gun – he swears he can hear those gunshots getting louder –

–  closer, and in turn, an increase in the already teetering danger that has the chemist convinced he’s already slipped out of lucidity once or twice when he takes his first step. Slam. An echo of that door Zed’s had his back to rips open – the flames taking it out with a violent force  – Zed can only assume. Good that Rahi’s finally agreed to move – to leave –

Bang.

Once more – different. Penetrating; a shock where Zed’s 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. It’s almost theatrical, the way Zed’s legs give out entirely, that gun he’s holding slips from fingers and a new kind of thump where it’s late to recognise that something hotter than fire stings his back, upper right side; 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 that’s unlike the rest hisses from the barrel of a pistol – assertion in their aim as it lowers to remain aimed at Zed as though to issue a finisher; the Vasile’s been recognised – 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 that’s lodged in his backside that wanes every ounce of strength left, brings forth a quiet wheezing to try steady – control the intakes of soot; as though it’s only going to worsen, he’d 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 – bullet in the back, or front. Kumar doesn’t deserve that; an innocent in the fray, affiliations fucking aside. Zed’s trying to reach for the weapon he’s dropped, only winces when it feels like he wants to collapse entirely onto the carpeted floors, inhale the sticky carbon until it’s all he can taste – 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; he’s losing, but he won’t lose him.

the  longer  he  roamed  chicago  streets,  the  more  he  craved  home,  this  wasn’t  home.  tonight’s  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  didn’t  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  wouldn’t  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  he’d  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.  he’s  not  even  sure  where  exactly  he’s  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  understands—-  can  only  assume  he  must  if  he’s  standing  here  with  the  man  that’s  had  hand  in  all  of  this,  or  so  he  presumes.  maybe  he’s  just  looking  for  an  excuse  to  spill  some  unwanted  blood.  he  doesn’t  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  doesn’t.  the  black  tar  that  is  his  lungs  is  softening  him,  figures,  he’ll  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.  “  you  should  go  rahi.  ’

“ Hey,” he called towards them waving them closer.  “ You got the time?”

‘  you  know  he’s  gonna  try  and  escape  right?  ’  she  asks,  turning  to  maisie  as  lucian  leaves  them  all  behind.  she’s  only  half  kidding,  a  genuinely  smile  meeting  the  woman  before  she  goes  to  stand.  ‘  don’t  worry,  he  won’t  get  far.  ’  she  comments  cheekily  before  scurrying  off  after  him.