#nofile

In the dim glow of a decaying mansion, shadows danced along the crumbling walls as a chilling wind howled through broken windows. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and a sense of impending doom. Roaring thunder echoed outside like a beast prowling the horizon, promising more than just a tempest. It was a harbinger of chaos, a signal for what was about to unfold.

Rogue, known for her defiance and unyielding spirit, stood at the threshold of what was once a grand parlor. Memories of opulence clung to the fragments of faded wallpaper and the shattered remains of antique furniture, now mere specters of a bygone era. She gripped the doorframe tightly, her knuckles turning white beneath the strain. Though the storm raged outside, it was an internal storm brewing within her—part fear, part excitement, and all confrontation.

She didn’t come here seeking trouble—after all, she was a member of the X-Men, trained to face threats that loomed over humanity like storm clouds—yet, trouble had a way of finding her. Carnage was her ever-present companion, and as much as she fought it, the thrill of the conflict surged through her veins. This night would be no different. The whispers of the mansion seemed to echo her trepidations, warning her of the dark presence that lurked ahead.

He was waiting, as always, in the depths of the darkness. The Juggernaut, a titan of wrath and fury, whose name alone struck dread into the hearts of even the mightiest heroes. Bull-headed and relentless, he was a force of nature, a hurricane personified, and Rogue had tangled with him more times than she could count. Each encounter left her reeling, every victory hard-fought, and losses etched into the very core of her being.

At that moment, the flickering candlelight revealed the grotesque visage of an adversary lurking deep within the shadows. The Juggernaut grew larger with every heartbeat, his hulking form accentuated by the flickering light, casting monstrous shapes on the wall. An unsettling grin cracked across his face, but it did not reach his eyes—those were cold and devoid of any hint of humanity.

“Welcome, Rogue,” he boomed, his voice echoing with malice. “Thought you could keep running from me?”

“My legs aren’t weary yet,” she shot back, trying to keep her tone steady despite the unease bubbling in her gut.

The mansion quaked as he took a step forward, the force of his weight causing the floorboards to creak ominously. “You should’ve stayed away. This isn’t a place for little girls playing the hero.”

Clouds rumbled outside and the lights grew dimmer. Rogue felt her heart race in synchrony with the chaos outside. Thunder crashed, momentarily drowning out the chilling words of the Juggernaut. The mansion seemed to resonate with his anger, its very foundation trembling as if it too was afraid of the relentless creature stirring within.

Every fiber of her being screamed to flee, to retreat into the safety of the night, but the X-Men had conditioned her to fight. Run away? That wasn’t an option now. She squared her shoulders, taking a step forward, defiance radiating from every pore.

“Not here for games, Juggernaut,” she declared, emboldened. “You have a habit of making things personal.”

Laughter—a rumbling, thunderous sound—echoed in the darkness. “Personal? Oh, darling, this is so much more than personal. This is about obliteration. And you, my dear, are standing in my way.”

With a sudden surge, he lunged, moving so swiftly it belied his massive form. Rogue evaded the initial strike, springing into action like a coiled spring releasing its tension. Instincts kicked in, and she barely ducked in time, the air from his clawed fist creating a gust strong enough to knock her off balance.

The adrenaline coursed through her, igniting a fire inside. It was fight or flight, as it always had been—but Rogue was no coward. She re-engaged, using her agility to her advantage. Dashing toward him, she looked for any opening, her mind racing with strategies to absorb his strength and turn it against him. A flicker of her own powers surged within her, the energy bubbling like a storm contained.

Rogue reached out, her gloved hand aiming for his muscular arm. If she could harness even a fraction of his brute force, perhaps she could turn the tide, at least for a moment. But Juggernaut was no ordinary foe, and the moment she grasped his arm, his strength erupted as if released from a barricade.

Hammond Robotics had long been a THORN in Bloodhound’s side since their partnership with the Syndicate to occupy Hound’s own home planet with their planetary harvester. While the Games being moved to Talos had certainly been an advantage for the veteran, their prolonged occupation on the volcanic planet after the Games had moved AGAIN had not sat well with the tracker.

Since their hiatus from being an active participant, they’d set off on their own independent excursions to try and work out a way to push the tech company OFF of their homeland. While the tracking of TECHNOLOGY was not necessarily one of their tracking strengths, they were a tracker nonetheless and where there was a trail to be picked up, they found it. 

They landed themselves on on a Hammond supply ship en route to their said home planet and there had been every intention to take it over and make sure the supplies never saw their intended destination. If Talos, despite their energy-rich soil, could be proved to not be WORTH the trouble then perhaps Hammond could be driven away. 

Bloodhound crouched low near some supply crates; it was an easy enough task. A pilot and a co-pilot were the only occupants. Only NOTED occupants. “You hold too much confidence in the ability of the myrkrinu to shield you, félagi.” spoken quietly enough to be heard by the hidden occupant in the cargo hold but not loud enough to be heard near the cockpit over the sound of flight. “It would seem the fate of the gods has conjoined our paths once more. But for what purpose remains to be seen...” they regarded the darkness plainly, fingers covered by well-worn leather gloves tracing over the handle of their heirloom axe that still rested in its holster.

       it  had  been  a  few  weeks  now  since  her  first  and  seemingly  last  encounter  with  the  stranger  that  had  saved  her  life,  and  while  she  would  never  admit  to  it,  she  had  been  counting  every  passing  day.  despite  her  wild  experiences  she  would  come  across  as  a  queen,  this  brush  with  danger  clung  to  her  every  thought  and  wouldn’t  leave  despite  her  best  efforts  to  forget  it.  cuts  and  bruises  still  littered  her  arms  and  legs  from  that  night,  and  from  then  on,  every  night  that  followed  as  she  sat  in  her  bath—forced  to  stare  at  the  blues  and  crimsons  on  her  skin,  her  mind  would  linger  back  and  recount  each  moment,  scene  by  scene.

       it  wouldn’t  have  been  half  as  maddening  if  symphony  was  provided  some  sort  of  closure,  as  he  seemingly  vanished  upon  their  arrival  at  the  senate  building,  leaving  her  at  the  steps  of  the  grand  entrance  like  an  infant  at  the  steps  of  an  orphanage. 

       he  gave  her  no  chances  to  compensate  him  for  his  efforts  despite  whatever  they  agreed  upon  beforehand.  he  didn’t  accept  the  credits  she  had  at  the  ready,  nor  did  he  hear  the  invitation  inside  she  was  tempted  to  offer  him.  and  most  aggravating  of  all,  he  gave  her  no  chance  to  ask  for  his  NAME.  no  form  of  identification,  no  real  evidence  of  his  existence.  just  her  foggy  memory  of  him,  this  nameless  and  FACELESS  being  that  left  her  life  as  quickly  as  he  had  entered  it.  he  was  like  a  fever  dream,  a  wild  story  her  handmaidens  didn’t  seem  to  believe.  just  the  delusions  of  a  woman  that  had  been  put  through  something  quite  traumatic. 

       which  slowly  began  her  nightly  routine  of  staring  out  her  open  window,  with  the  excuse  of  letting  her  damp  hair  dry  with  the  nightly  breeze  and  the  simple  need  of  wanting  to  be  left  alone.  it  was  a  request  that  would  normally  cause  concern  among  her  colleagues  and  peers,  but  due  to  her  special  circumstances,  a  request  that  was  ultimately  respected.  and  so  she  sat  there,  unsure  really  of  what  she  waiting  for  or  wanting  to  see  until  it  finally  happened.  a  full  month  after  her  strange  rescue. 

       with  the  audacity  to  don  her  handmaidens  clothing  yet  again,  she  escaped  from  her  quarters  to  where  she  had  spotted  a  familiar  figure  lurking  just  close  enough  to  the  building’s  perimeter  that  it  wouldn’t  appear  COMPLETELY  strange  to  see  her  making  her  long  commute  their  just  to  see  his  rather  strange  face.

       ‘  i  was  asked  to  investigate  an  intruder  lurking  behind  the  senate  garbage  bins.  the  description  read  tall  and  faceless,  ’  came  in  her  small  voice,  a  clear  tease  lased  in  her  voice  as  she  hesitantly  made  her  way  closer  to  him.  her  smile  slowly  died  with  the  slow  realization  that  perhaps  he  didn’t  want  to  be  bothered,  least  of  all  by  her.  but  why  would  he  be  here  of  all  places?  was  he  sent  here  on  another  job  like  he  was  sent  to  the  building  he  had  found  her  in?

       ‘  have,  uh...  you  come  to  steal  from  me?  ’  she  forced  out  a  chuckle,  crossing  her  arms  over  her  chest,  rocking  on  her  heels  nervously.

❝ Do you enjoy hurting people, Puppy? ❞ spoken abruptly, plainly. It’s not meant to be cruel, not meant to provoke. It’s innocent, it’s a genuine search for an honest answer.  ❝ I don’t-—most of the time. I suppose I do sometimes depending on who it is. More often than not...it’s simply a means to an end. ❞ he reaches for his coffee, watches the swirl of the creamer in silence for a few prolonged beats. His head cocks and he looks reflective, speaks without looking for the man.  ❝ Do you mind what I do? Who I am? ❞

Whatever the hell it is the Imperials had been messing around with on this planet, they’re done now. The Mandalorian had had Puppy beam their data back to the Impulse for them to look over when they weren’t in the middle of an operation, and given this tactic had worked nicely for all the other bases they’d stormed, he didn’t think twice about any consequences to it.

But now that they’re legging it back to the Impulse, a speederful of poorly-made beskar blasters (and a more depressing crate of Mandalorian armour besides) with them, the Mandalorian starts to feel... something.

It’s a weird sensation, lighting up the back of his neck beneath his cloak and licking gently at the underside of his jaw. The Mandalorian ignores it for the hour-long trek it takes to get back to the ship, suspecting it to be an effect of the planet’s tropical climate, but by the time they’re in the Impulse’s hull and looking through their spoils, the feeling has dried his throat and shaken his fingers.

Am I sick? he thinks dimly as he disassembles the weapons with Puppy at his side. Remembering the scientists at the base and the gas masks on their faces, he wonders if what they’d been working on had been some sort of toxin-- all he’d seen on the screen before the data was transmitted was some sort of M-count mutative serum, and he thinks now that perhaps he ought to look deeper into it.

But as he reaches out for the last blaster in their pile, the Mandalorian’s hand brushes against Puppy’s. It’s the slightest pressure-- barely even there, really-- but something about it punches him in the gut. The strange sensation of flame in his skin ramps up, both his shoulders lift, and he--

--grabs?--

Puppy’s hand.

The Mandalorian freezes, staring at the way all that metal fits in his hold. He exhales, and his breath is warm-- warm enough that the cooling system in his helm has to flip settings to accommodate it.

Am I sick?

          The tracking fob in her hand tells her that her quarry is in the vicinity, but there’s no living thing around, and she has no idea why anyone would put a bounty out on a droid. Turning the fob off and shoving it in her pocket, Brighid’s eyes scan her surroundings. There’s a few protocol droids that don’t seem suspicious simply doing their daily duties. Finally, eyes land on a strange figure that seems all too human to be a droid but there’s a mechanical aspect about it that unsettles her.