#brokeeven

what chess piece are you ?

BLACK ROOK

you are the black rook. as a piece that can move inwards and outwards, you're a master of self-reflection. being the black piece, you hide an inner beast within you. perhaps you're one to rush headfirst into trouble, was it for a friend's sake ? or your own ? are you the overprotective type ? did you know your grip was that tight around someone's neck ? for all your protectiveness and deliberate planning, you can't wash the blood off your hands that easily.

what'd been born hellish had shifted therapeutic. where blood-sticky hands level the barrel of her pistol and a deceptively steady finger gives the trigger a squeeze. a second. even through the silencer, the shots echo dull pops that carry into the smolder of a city mid-collapse. flames lick the stars, the horn of a distant car grips her momentarily and drowns out the wailing dead. somewhere, at the meat of the matter, rain can see the irony. could almost laugh at the way she'd been naive to the notion that what'd been birthed in the hive would remain in it.

three more downed. a fourth greeted by the butt of her gun, then the stomp of her boot. whatever had been in that antiviral was still in its slow-motion crawl. easing what'd been a hammer-steady beat into the dull thrum she moves with, now. the bites though.. another kick of wind and they each scream with renewed vigor. force pearly teeth into a bared grit while rounding the corner of a building what's outer wall had been scattered in bricked debris across the asphalt. something to be kicked if she was interested in an encore of that last dinner bell.

she wasn't.

split focus, stance crouched, the scan of the roadblock comes back with a headcount of six and.. a seventh, there, on the outskirt, skitters quick, out of view.

" hey asshole.. might wanna say something if you don't want to get your ass shot, " loud enough to draw eyes.. loud enough to chase down whoever had ducked into that alley. hidden by the dark, rain doesn't mirror the motion, instead she stays put, carved by a streetlight that's outlived all others along the sidewalk of this block. stretches her shadow out like a crude hand that searches far ahead of her for something out of place. what doesn't move in the shamble of the others.

@biohvzvrd said , my  muse  catches  your  muse’s  wrist  before  they  can  leave,  their  grip  tightening  just  slightly.

there's no such thing as business as usual these days. one detail casts a wide net, just so that the next can land her and her squad in the heat of an island there'd never be time to appreciate. stepped on more of those little paper umbrella's than she should have, spite on her soles and the echo that they'd been dismissed in the air. good. the sooner they got back, the sooner she could wash the sea water off skin. the sooner rain could pretend that this wasn't a bad idea and—

behave ; they'd told her to behave.

fingers around her wrist, the grip is tight and the touch, cool. not from the man she'd been sent to deliver the contents of a steel cargo cache to, but the woman, tall and imperial, expectant at his side. worth her salt and that of many, many others, excella gionne isn't an unknown. she's not regarded with a hard stare or a shake to cut her loose, rather a tired sigh and eyes that corner to fixate on this newest shackle. trace delicate fingers.. long, lacquered nails. she's glittering in gold and the dark of rain's gaze only rises once she's formed a fist time enough to know this was happening. her team was out the door. she was three steps behind and counting.

at this angle, the burn spreads everywhere. a dull throb explodes with the bass of her frantic pulse and, for a second, rain's vision goes out. blurry, then white, then black, it's static she blinks through, slowly, as dutiful hands work at the newest of many, many wounds she's collected. a patchwork of them, they'd tell a story if she let them, so she doesn't. tries and fails to shrug away the doctor who hovers closer and toes a line between careful and demanding.

" i'm fine. " its clipped. it's her weak attempt at gaining distance where a raised arm unsuccessfully bats at the next strip of gauze readily wasted. even here, the bite has clotted. the flow is choked to a small but steady trickle run down into a collar already soaked through. a whole host of antivirals work to mitigate the damages and that old, acidic tang on the back of her tongue means nausea isn't far off. blood wasn't enough, she'd decorate this sterile lab with a mostly empty purge.

she isn't sure what's on her boots, but it smears an ugly stripe as legs pull inward. shrink the space she occupies as if that alone would get this over, faster. the scolding tone. the make believe care. @viskozen functions as she does because its her job. same as the headlong charge into the waiting mouths of a horde had been rain's. what her initial argument had consisted of before ordered to sit.

this wasn't fucking new.

" just staple it up, " time wasn't on the side of sutures and glue never, really, managed to hold. too many had opened up at the wrong moment to second guess the choice to be done with it. " i have boots on the ground in the morning. " a mission half finished was a mission failed and hers wasn't a reputation earned through half-assed fumbles. that, more than some misguided aggression, plays a role in her hand, raised quick, catching annie at the wrist. tight but not bruising, it strains a beat then lets go, " it's clean enough. "

and if it wasn't ? who gave a shit.

she has her attention, now, at least. full and undivided, hers is a hard stare. it's the dark circles that live their lives shadowing the bags under her eyes. it's the tight-lipped start of a frown, lips pale and her pallor similar. even if she wasn't owed the ire, it sat there, simmering, nevertheless.

the ark isn't different from the hive. the walls are tall and barren of decor. tight halls branch an eerie circulatory system between mostly hollow chambers. zeno's footsteps crisscross with the trail they'd walked last time and one more lab with one more sprawl of small, inconspicuous monitors, opens beyond an automated doorway. he drifts towards the room's center and she assumes an expected position there by the exit.

stomaching it isn't the problem. she'd known racoon city as a concept, entered in for a job, exited on a stretcher with a body bag at the ready. now, it's just one more place she doesn't want to be. hands that gripped her ankles had been stamped away.. deaf to these new groans, she'd followed @riphalos 's lead with precise steps and the occasional pop pop that ended with some forgotten bastard thudding back to the ground. it was a favor. and a reminder. she had his contacts to thank for her not being one more rotten, braindead feeder, maggot-like and squirming in the carcass of a long, long dead city.

if it wasn't loyalty that lead her, it was something close to it.