#amon borderlands

“Thought you ran away,” Amon said as Rafa stepped next to him.

“Me? Never!” Rafa said, helping Amon drive back the crowd of enemies he’d managed to attack. “Mierda, you have yourself a fan club here?”

“I am a…big target,” Amon said. “But not an easy one, as they will learn.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rafa said, shifting to Amon’s back and firing away. 

They moved easily together, having all learned how to fight together rather quickly thanks to the circumstances. Vex and Harlowe were wreaking havoc on smaller groups of enemies, some who broke off to try their luck with the big crowd surrounding Amon and Rafa. 

It seemed, for a moment at least, they would make quick work of the horde they’d attracted. Rafa activated his Peacebreaker Cannons, tearing through the enemies trying to rush them. Those that managed to use their comrades as meat shields and slip by found themselves quickly dispatched by Amon.

But then his cannons needed to cool down. Rafa figured it was no problem; it’d given him time to reload all his guns as he cycled through them to shoot his way through enemies. He and Amon were doing well and keeping each other covered nicely. They’d taken out a good chunk of the horde. If they kept their focus, they’d have this taken care of in no time. 

When it happened, it felt like it happened to someone else.

He jumped up to get better aim at an enemy trying to hide after taking a bullet to the gut. He’d only just put his finger on the trigger when he felt something tear through him, the gun falling from his hands, his body jerked back with the force of whatever had struck him.

He hit the wall behind him hard, breathless. He tried to stand, tried to get his breath back; found he could do neither.

“RAFA!”

Amon roaring out his name sounded distant. But he couldn’t possibly have been knocked that far from him, right? Rafa tried to stand again. He coughed at the movement, and blood splattered against the inside of his helmet. 

“Oh,” he whispered. Not good, then.

He looked down at the spear piercing through his stomach. He reached behind him, feeling for the head of the spear, only to find it lodged into the wall, cracks spider-webbing out from it. He tested it, the material tough and unbending. He was pinned.

“Oh,” he repeated. Very not good. “Amon.” He coughed again, the movement making the pain in his stomach sharp enough to make his vision darken a little. “Amon, a little help, amigo?”

Amon had taken up a protective position in front of Rafa, keeping enemies and attacks from hitting his prone friend. Rafa raised his shaking hands and felt along the spear again, searching for a way to snap it off and free himself from the wall. 

He reached behind him again, got a firm grasp, and tugged. The movement snapped his vision into darkness.

When his vision came back, it was slightly blurry. Someone was near him, and he tried to raise his arms, prepared to use his Arc-Knives to defend himself.

“Just me,” Harlowe said. “Stop moving. You’re making it worse.”

She reached up and took his helmet off. Blood stained his mouth, his eyes drooping. She put a hand behind his head and forced a smile as her free hand felt along the spear for any sign of a weak point.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Can’t use a repkit til we get the spear out, but once that’s taken care of, you’ll be back in the fight in no time.” 

“I feel fine,” he slurred. “Never better. Let me at ‘em.”

“Amon and Vex are holding them back. Work with me so we don’t miss all the fun,” she said. “I’ve killed enough people to know a non-fatal wound when I see when.”

This was certainly not a non-fatal wound. She kept the smile on her face and the confidence in her voice regardless. 

“Okay, Rafa, new plan. Try to cut right here with your Arc-Knives,” she said, running her finger along a spot near the end of the spear. “I’ll guide your hands. I’ve seen you steadier on Shammy’s moonshine.”

“Hold my liquor better than I hold a spear,” he said, but managed to summon his Arc-Knives. 

Harlowe took his arm and positioned it over where she wanted him to cut. It took some maneuvering to make sure he wouldn’t cut her in the process, but she got herself into a safe position. The two brought the Arc-Knife down on the spear, the end resisting for a long moment but finally snapping off under the force.

Rafa sucked in a pained breath, head dropping forward. Harlowe caught his shoulders to keep his body still.

“Rafa,” she said, pushing his head back. “Rafa, wake up. Wake up!”

“Harlowe, that doesn’t sound good!” Amon said from where he was fending off a badass.

“Because it’s not,” she snapped. “Shit. Sorry, Rafa.”

She grabbed his body and pulled him forward until the spear was out of him, the tip of it still lodged in the wall. Rafa slumped, unconscious, into her arms. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, and more was leaking from the corner of his mouth now. 

She set him against the wall and fumbled for the repkit. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see something stuck to the lodged spear. She turned her head away, refusing to inspect and see if it was part of his clothing or part of his intestines. She administered the repkit, heard Vex yell out a warning, and spun with her gun in hand to take out the two Order members who’d broken through Amon and Vex’s valiant guard.

There was nothing to do for Rafa now. Either the repkit worked, or it didn’t. Harlowe rejoined the fight, because if any enemy broke through now, Rafa’s fate was sealed. 

“How is he?” Vex asked.

“Not good,” Harlowe said, falling into position beside her. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

Amon growled in frustration, but he had enough self-control not to completely lose his cool in a fight. Vex swore loudly and tightened her hold on her gun.

Vex looked over her shoulder at Rafa briefly. He looked like a corpse already, and only the faintest shifting of his tattered shirt told her he was still breathing. At least, for now.

“Let’s buy him time for the repkit to work,” she said.