#rhean

“That’s so cool!” Rhean gushed, picking up the records again. She’d looked through them countless of times already, but these covers weren’t nearly as damaged as the little slips of paper that were often put with the cd’s. Most of the time, she just imagined a name for the band since the cd didn’t tell her shit, but here she could actually check how the songs were called, the names of the ones making the music and even exactly where the artists came from. “So with cd’s they do the same? But smaller?”

“I think they use lasers for those.”

The only lasers Rhean had ever seen had been used on the end of a weapon, which didn’t seem nearly delicate enough to create such small dents. The laser had torn through flesh and matter without discrimination, and one incident later with some children stealing the thing,  and Rhean had purely been healing laser-induced wounds for a near month.

Rhean and Feitan didn’t continue their conversation immediately, listening in relative silence to the record ending. When the music stopped, the dark-haired man even looked up from his work.

“Can you put in a new one?”

She smiled and stood up from her small chair.

Was it wrong to feel so elated? This was the most fun she’d had in years, listening and talking about music with someone who actually knew stuff about it and didn’t look at her like she was dangerous, and it was while someone was literally getting tortured in the same room. Her happiness, as usual, was hurting someone directly.

The guilt started lessening as the man started giving Feitan information, shortly after Rhean had first healed him and he’d realized how long Feitan could draw this out. Apparently the man had just accepted a hit on Feitan in return for a whole lot of drugs. The man claimed to know nothing more.

The Phantom Troupe interrogator didn’t deem the confession nearly enough however, so they continued. The fact that he didn’t know the name of the contractor was suspicious, and there was no way the man, who was a nen-user (whatever that meant), had accepted a hit on the Phantom Troupe for so little.

“Just lift the needle and put in another, right?” With quick hands, she lifted the needle, not waiting for his confirmation. Rhean knew she’d remembered correctly. Placing the big disc back in its cover, Rhean gently placed it down with the others. “Do you have a preference?”

“Make sure to aim for the dent.” He replied, plunging a knife into the stomach of the man in the chair all the while. The man chortled out some blood, gasping and heaving yet no sound emerging from his throat. “And no.”

Delighted by the answer, Rhean picked out one that seemed good. A rooster with three heads was on the cover, but the name of the band was obscured by a tear through the material. She didn’t know why, but the entire thing had sparked her curiosity. What kind of music belonged with a three-headed rooster? Did they use chicken noises?

“Again. Why did you attack us?” He switched back to common, the man shifting slightly now he realized he was being addressed again. “If you don’t answer, I’ll gut you and we’ll start all over again.”

“I-I’ve said all I can.” The man stuttered, eyes shooting in between Feitan and Rhean. “It was just a paid hit, nothing more. That’s really all it was.”

Without any hesitation, Feitan grabbed the knife still in his gut and tore the wound open. The man screeched in pain, even making Rhean wince, though Feitan watched with barely contained glee. With the same smile, he looked up at the Rhean, pointing at the man bleeding out. He’d die within minutes.

“How many do you need to heal him this time?”

“The rats are pretty healthy, so only about three.”

Giving a short nod to indicate he’d heard her, Feitan left the room for a while, muttering something under his breath. Rhean, meanwhile, dropped the needle perfectly on the dent, and nearly gasped with joy when the scratching turned into fast-paced strums on an acoustic guitar.

As the first verse started, Rhean heard the ‘door’ re-open, Feitan holding four rats by their tails upon his return.

Handing them to the grey-haired healer, she took them from his hand with her left hand.

Energy flooded her body as the rats squeaked and shrivelled up. With humans and larger animals, there was always a pang of guilt and sadness for the loss of life, but rats had bitten through her dresses and stuff too many times for her to feel anything akin to sympathy for the creatures. A small part of her mind wondered how he caught them so fast, the creatures notably slippery, but after having seen Uvogin wreck the entire market, she could kind of guess.

“Okay. Fully again?” He nodded and she moved to the man, placing her right hand on his cheek.

“It’s fascinating to watch your ability.” He noted, returning to his place next to the chair. The wounds on the man’s face closed, his eyeball grew back and the blood seeping out of his stomach crawled back, leaving not even the slightest scar. The most noticeable difference was his voice though, the cracked heaving turning back into full-on yells of terror. “It glitters.”

“It does?”

“Mmh. I guess you can’t see it. Try focusing the energy in your hands in your eyes.” Trying her hardest, she tried to focus as hard as she could, looking for anything that looked strange. Nothing really shifted, but for a mere moment, she thought she caught a slight glimpse of a yellow glow.

“Is it supposed to be yellow?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Cool.” She let go of the man, who now looked wide-eyed around the room, the vacant look of before having left his expression. Rhean stepped away, back to the small chair next to the installation.

“Quite.” He laughed shortly at something Rhean couldn’t see, the amusement merely an aftertaste in his words as she sat down. “Who contracted you?”

“Pr-omise me you’ll kill me if I tell.” He begged, and Feitan perked up. “Please don’t heal me again. I-I can’t do this again”

“I’ll consider it. Who contracted you?”

“Yorn. His name is Yorn. I don’t know anything more than that.”

“I’ll decide when you don’t know anything more. Where would you receive the payment?”

“I was supposed to meet him at the Frozen Gut after killing you.” The Frozen Gut was a commonly-used place for business like that, the personnel of the 'teashop' as dangerous as the clientele. Nobody tried anything there if they wanted to keep their life. Feitan didn’t seem impressed. “That’s where I met him and that’s where I would get the rest of the money.”

“Aha. And what did this Yorn look like?”

“He wore the mask inside, but he was black, I’m sure of it.” The white garb everyone wore outside to filter the stench and gas, simply called masks for simplicity, were often also used for purposes of anonymity, though it was considered bad manners to wear them inside. “He was really tall as well.”

“A tall, black guy in Meteor City. You’re making this very easy for me.” Feitan sarcastically replied, getting more annoyed every second. The man in the chair noticed and started freaking out again. Rhean spaced out a little as a new song started, a high-pitched voice singing in a mesmerizing way.

“I don’t know anything more! I swear. Please… I swear I don’t know anything more.”

Feitan grabbed the bound left hand of the man, and broke it, leaving it in the bent position. The man gasped for breath, the noises escaping him somewhere in between pain and anger. “I told you, I decide when you’ve said enough. I don’t like repeating myself.” Suddenly he turned to Rhean. “Skip this one.”

Nodding, Rhean lifted the needle and lowered into the next dent, a bit disappointed in herself as she made a mistake, the music having skipped the intro of the new song.  This one was a bit slower, the lyrics more drawled out and the guitar slightly muted.

By the time she had to put in a new record, she’d healed the man another time already, though even Rhean doubted he had any more info. Feitan seemed to come to the same conclusion and struck the man’s neck after another unsuccessful question, killing him instantly.

Feitan laid down his tools and sat down on the other side of the room, fishing out a book of his pocket.  

Rhean kept silent, unsure if she was supposed to leave. Her job was technically done, her healing skills probably not very useful on a corpse. He didn’t tell her to leave?

“You can go now.”

Oh nevermind.

She pressed her thumbs against her index finger, exploring the different sensations the touch gave her. “Myself. I had been impaled by those iron rods that keep falling from the higher parts of the mounds. They still haven’t fixed that, the rods I mean. I get people with impaled legs and arms every single day back at the hospital. Awful wounds. Infect very easily.”

The more she moved, the more the pleasant buzzing in her limbs faded. The cloud covering her mind also dozed away a bit, immediately making the entire experience quite a bit worse. Sitting in a foreign base filled to the brim with highly dangerous criminals was nothing new to any Meteor City resident, but this was something else. Rhean felt determined not to let her newfound anxiety be shown.

“Healing requires sacrifice with your ability, does it not?” Rhean nodded and Chrollo kept his cold gaze on her. Every shred of the initial humour and kindness she had spotted in him had disappeared the moment he had no use for the sentiments anymore. He didn’t need her to like him anymore, merely to answer his questions and give him her ability. “What was the sacrifice?”

“Mmh. Good question.” Rhean mused, sitting up straighter now the initial high had simmered down. Absentmindedly she noted her braids needed to be redone, the excitement of the entire day having made several plucks of hair stick out. “I know there was dust, so there had to have been someone, but I can’t remember who.”

“Dust? Isn’t it usually a husk?”

“Well yeah, but sometimes it goes farther. I don’t know why.”

“I see.” And just like that his attention was elsewhere, the man standing up and turning his back toward the grey-haired healer without second consideration. “That’s a matter to get back to, but it’s no rush.”

Before he started walking away, Rhean lifted her hand slightly. “Uhm. Can I go back to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Oh. Do you want me to stay here?”

A bit of a condescension crossed his face, and he slowly turned to face Rhean, cold grey eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you know how rare healing abilities are? Certainly healing abilities of your calibre?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Let’s just say it is quite uncommon, as I’ve yet to encounter another. Many people have abilities that do damage or provide utility, but there are so few that are able to heal consistently, the very nature of enhancers and specialists often not compatible with the idea.” He started explaining. “And since I have not been able to take your ability, I would propose you join us.”

Machi looked up sharply but didn’t say anything. The pink-haired woman probably respected Chrollo’s judgment, but obviously didn’t agree fully with the idea. Rhean didn’t find offence in the notion. The last time she’d looked at herself through a mirror, the hollowed-out eyes and boney arms hadn’t gotten lost on her.

She looked like she would fall over any second, and most days, she felt the part too. Certainly not fit to join a bandit gang.

“I… I am currently under contract with the elders.” She responded, though her argument even sounded weak to her own ears. Chrollo didn’t respond, only continued his already poignant stare. “I mean, I get that whole scarcity thing, but I don’t think I’m exactly cut out for the bandit lifestyle.”

Finally, Machi spoke. “You wouldn’t be frontline, not even close.” She turned to address the leader of the Phantom Troupe, who listened attentively. “A healer back at base would be convenient, but something about all this doesn’t sit right with me.”

“A hunch?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes went over Rhean, narrowing ever so slightly. “A highly worthwhile ability suddenly popping up in the very place we needed to go just seems a bit too suspicious.”

“Pakunoda checked her. Didn’t see anything worth noting, but I see what you mean.” As if flipping a switch, he suddenly shot Rhean a kind and comforting smile, his eyes even wrinkling slightly. Rhean knew now to recognize it as a falsehood, yet even while knowing, she felt her nerves being calmed slightly. “Now. Come with me, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

“Oh. Okay.” By now she was just rolling with the punches, but it wasn’t like she actually had any choice in the matter. She stood up and followed him, her knees buckling for a second as they had fallen asleep in the time she’d been sitting, making walking rather uncomfortable.

As she passed Machi, the two made eye contact for a few moments. Machi was the first to look away, her attention shifting to the needles pinned in the cushion on her hands, plucking out certain ones in a way that seemed random to the grey-haired healer. Rhean continued her stare a moment longer, inspecting the woman fully for the first time, before turning away and following Chrollo further.

A vibrant pink taunted her mind.

Walking through the narrow corridors, each twist and turn making remembering the route nearly impossible, Rhean suddenly felt a bit self-conscious. She didn’t often let her mind wander to appearances, but something about the sheer vibrancy of Machi’s hair had caused a sudden hyper-awareness of Rhean’s own appearance.

It didn’t often bother her, but that was primarily due to the fact that there were not a lot of girls who looked better than she did. 

Everyone was getting by or on the brink of starvation, and she was one of the lucky ones to have kept her teeth throughout her youth. In this base, they all looked different. All these people looked like what Rhean had assumed people should look like.

Healthy and beautiful.

Her hands dug back into her braids, ruining the already frizzy things, and dreamt for a few seconds what it would be like to look like that. She should’ve already looked like them, if she took the amount of food she got into account, yet her body seemed unwilling to look anything but starving and dying. 

Her hair used to be such a lovely shade of brown, yet she’d only been thirteen when the colour had started draining.

Mindlessly running her hands through the bends of her braids, Rhean realized they were getting ever closer to the screaming, which had resumed minutes after the dark-haired man left the common room. It was nothing she hadn’t heard before, but sleeping through all this would prove quite difficult, though she doubted Chrollo would care.

But as she listened, something strange caught her attention. Through the screams, a soft melody played underneath it, quite oddly accompanying the sound. She didn’t recognize the melody, but one thing was very clear to her.

Someone was playing music.

If there was anything she loved in this life, it was music. She had always been invested when people sang to her, or when the rare band played on the squares, getting the odd potato thrown their way. Visits to the market as she had grown up had opened an entirely new world to her, showing her what cd’s were, and how one could listen to music even while walking.

She hadn’t nearly been able to afford that wondrous device, and also thought better of it, the streets of Meteor City not nearly safe enough to be walking through with impaired senses, but she had bought her very own music installation, which was still situated in her room. 

The thought of markets and music brought her mind back to the events of the same afternoon. The cd’s Uvo had promised her had probably been lost in the fray of it all, and she had in the back of her mind already mourned the loss of her own collection.

It didn’t seem like they would let her go anytime soon after all.

But here she was hearing music! It also didn’t sound like a single instrument. Someone was playing something on an installation! Rhean could nearly feel a burst of excitement overtake her, though she tried to hide it while still following the black-haired man.

He turned a corner and stopped, and motioned slightly toward a small cot in the corner of a very small room. To even call it a room was gracious, as it had no door and seemed more like an indentation of the wall, but Rhean had slept in smaller rooms and had made do with less, so she only nodded.

“I would like to re-state that I am interested in having you join the Phantom Troupe. As such, none in here will harm you, but make sure not to… aggravate certain members.” He suddenly stated, though Rhean’s gaze was still firmly on the end of the hall, where the music and screams originated from. “This bunker is situated in the far western part of Meteor City, so I assume I also don’t have to tell you not to run?”

The far west? Rhean’s attention snapped back to Chrollo, who smiled politely. “Why would someone build a bunker there?”

“Exactly because of your reaction, is my hypothesis.” He replied. “No one would look here.”

“Because no one lives here. Those hounds literally tear every living being to shreds.” Rhean rebutted. “How can a bunker be useful if you can’t even get there or get out?”

The far western part of meteor city was only part of the city due to some arbitrary border made decades ago. No one actually lived in that place, as there was wildlife that had grown just as harsh as the people on the other side of the city. Mangled, starved dogs with scraped off fur and enormous teeth roamed the wastelands, eating whatever was unfortunate enough to stray over the border.

The border was a wall of boards and scrap metal that was quite possibly the only sound infrastructure in the entire western part of the city. People who tried to scrap parts of the wall were lynched openly and considered to have forfeited any right to live they had.  At some point, the stragglers had been impaled on top of the wall, but since the smell only seemed to attract more of the hounds, they had been removed.

“We got here, didn’t we?” ‘And you won’t get away without us.’

“That you did.” Rhean replied, biting the inside of her cheeks.

“I do hope you consider joining, Rhean.” He suddenly stated. “It will take a bit of work, but you could have anything you’ve ever wanted and see more of the world than any other Meteor City citizen can have ever claimed to see. Isn’t there something you’ve always wanted to see or do?”

It seems he was misunderstanding her.

“You- you don’t have to sell this to me.” Rhean nervously replied, patting down her dress. It had gotten sandy and dusty, but there were no large stains on the cloth, reducing Rhean’s previous self-consciousness for a bit. “I don’t really want anything, and I am aware this is just a change of scenery. The hospital with the elders or the bunkers with the Phantom Troupe. Prisons are prisons. I don’t mind if mine changes. It’s all the same.”

“I see.” A strange look crossed his face. His hand, calloused in a way that only Meteor City’s residents were, gripped the stone wall casually. His black hair fell loosely across his face, a contrast to Rhean’s first meeting with him, where his hair had been combed back.  “I hope your mind will change on that subject. I am truly offering you… something else.”

“If you wish to believe that.”

He smiled, and for the first time, it seemed more genuine than the polite and kind smiles he’d shown her before. It seemed more cynical, and no longer did Rhean have the feeling she was watching a clay mask of a face enact human expressions. The boss of the Phantom Troupe was something else, and Rhean understood that. No one garnered the respect of all these people without being respectable.

“I will leave you alone for now. Catch some sleep. If there’s anything you need, there are people around this area.”

“Ah, about that.” Rhean sheepishly laughed for a second before placing her hands on her hips. “Do you think the person doing that-” She pointed toward the corridor leading to the music.” - would allow me to listen to their music? I know they’re in the middle of something, but I’ve never heard this cd before and really-“

“I thought you didn’t want anything?”

“Well. I don’t want anything that badly.” Rocking on her own feet, Rhean cursed herself for even asking. She just couldn’t keep her mouth shut for a second, could she? “I’m still human.”

With a light chuckle, Chrollo started walking away, and as Rhean quickly leaned around the corner to follow him visually, she repeated her initial inquiry.

“Well? Do you think they’d let me?”

“Why don’t you ask?”

That was the last thing he said before he disappeared into one of the corridors. Rhean’s gaze shot between her cot and the scream and music-filled corridor. She was too filled with energy to fall asleep, but the screams weren’t there for no reason, making her re-think walking up there. 

On the other hand, laying here listening to sounds reminding her of her work back at the hospital also ensured a night filled with nightmares, and nothing ventured was nothing gained, right?

This is what she told herself as Rhean silently crept closer to the noise. She had no idea why she was sneaking, but she felt too awkward to just barge in there, and if it turned out to be a bad idea, she could always turn around like this.

And so she tiptoed.

She had hoped it would be a longer journey, because within mere seconds she was standing in front of the door. She could hear the literal screams of terror clearly behind the broad plank of wood. It wasn’t really a door, more an improvised use of wood, but it served the purpose of giving privacy.

The screams suddenly stopped, and Rhean held her breath. Before she could decide to turn around back to her cot, and catch no sleep, the plank was pushed to the side, revealing the dark-haired interrogator whose name she had yet to hear. She recognized him as one of the members who had continued glaring at her throughout the entire meeting.

He had medium-length black hair and wore a simple black t-shirt. He wasn’t all too tall, yet he intimidated Rhean more than the giant Uvogin, who had been guarding her the very morning. This was partially due to his expression of pure annoyance, and partially due to the smell of blood that followed him through the room.

Behind him Rhean could see a man bound to a chair, covered head to toe in blood. While there was a case of secondhand guilt, Rhean’s real attention was immediately pulled to the back of the room, where she saw the music installation, one she had never seen before. From here it looked like a box with a glass lid. 

The interrogator glared, clearly unamused at being interrupted. “Oh. The healing girl. What do you want.”

“Uhm… Well…” Internally Rhean was screaming, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t get the door slammed right back in her face. Maybe she could ask where the toilet was? Maybe she could say she was lost? A sudden shift in melody of the song playing steeled her nerves. Today had been a shit-show and she wanted to. Hear. Some. Music. “Could I perhaps… listen to the music?”

She hadn’t ever seen an expression change from annoyed to sheer confusion and back to annoyance so fast. “You can listen to it out here.”

And he slammed the plank back in place.

Rhean, while not having been allowed to see the music installation from up close, silently cheered. She could hear the melodies quite clear from here, and she no longer had to worry whether he would hear her.

And so she slumped down one of the corridors, wincing a bit as the screams started again. It felt weird to be so desensitized to the sound of human suffering, but Rhean could conclude little else. She had seen and heard it all, and now felt little to nothing listening to it, though it was more like she felt nothing until she didn’t. She wouldn’t have panic attacks every so often and nightmares every other night if it made her feel nothing.

Seeing it wasn’t that bad, hearing it was also something she had been able to get used to. Hell, even the feeling of blood seeping through her hands was as commonplace as the feeling of bread between her teeth, if not more common. It was the utter solitude that cracked her most of the times. 

After every horror she faced, there was always another one hidden, but there was never someone she could come home to. Not to mention that it was all her own fault. This was her ability, and this was how she was using it.

She deserved this.

Listening to the music became less and less enjoyable as she started reflecting on her reactions, and she proposed leaving, until she noticed that the screams had once again stopped.

The plank was pushed aside again, and the black-haired interrogator turned around the corner, searching for her. As soon as he spotted her, a mischievous smile formed on his face.

“Say, Rhean, was it?” She nodded at the rhetorical question. “How would you feel about a little deal?”

“With what?”

He leaned against the doorframe. “It seems my guest is going to die before I get what I want.”

Aha.

Healing someone in order to let this guy torture him even more was cruel, even for Rhean’s standards. She felt an instinctual revulsion at the thought, the last piece of her mind that still believed she was a good person quieting down to see what she’d do. The man seemed to recognize the dilemma in her expression and his smile widened a bit.

“You can stay inside with me and listen to the music all you want.”

He was acting like she was a small child.

He acted like she would give in just by giving her something small she liked, as if just because she was stressed and wanted to just listen to some music and to have some companionship even if it was just sitting in the same room with a fucking torturer, she would relent her own moral compass.

“Do you have more than this cd?” She softly inquired.

“It’s vinyl. And yes.”

But despite the annoyance Uvo felt as the remains of the redhead crumbled away beneath his heel, there was an upside. Body-guarding Rhean had been a precaution, as the boss had been quite sure she and some other prominent nen-users of Meteor City would be targeted by the assailant.

He had been right in that front, as well in assuming that the attacker had some friends.

So he wouldn’t return to base with just bad news.

Halfway through running back to base with Rhean passed out in his arms, the mobile phone he’d been carrying went off. Stopping on some derelict rooftop, which barely managed to support both of their weight, he shifted her weight to his left arm and picked up the phone.

“Where are you, Uvo?” The soft-spoken voice of the boss rang through the device. “They made a move. I need you to bring Rhean back here.”

“No kidding. One of them attacked us in the market.” He replied, shifting his weight off of a creaking pipe. “Rhean killed them before I could ask anything, but it seems you were right. They were clearly allies of that guy.”

“Oh? That’s interesting.” Chrollo replied. “Several of my abilities disappeared just now, so I already figured my suspicions were correct. Are you already underway?”

The creaking pipe broke beneath him, but Uvogin managed to step off and stand on another before the entire thing collapsed. Meteor City houses weren’t known for their infrastructural soundness.

“I’ll be there in five.” He said. “Don’t think you’ll get her abilities just yet, though, she’s passed right out.”

“I can wait.” Came the closing statement before the call was ended. Putting the device back in his pocket, he shifted the weight of the woman and went on, ignoring the soft snores she kept producing.

Like he promised, he was there in five minutes. The base they currently occupied was a bit cramped, an underground bunker that was left by one of the elders. The elder had died before they had even arrived, so everyone took that as a first-come-first-serve basis since there had to be good supplies stored away in there. The fact that a few stragglers had made it to the bunker before them was hardly relevant.

Lifting the metal plate that covered the entrance, Uvo had to bend over completely just to get in. It was hardly a pain, but sometimes he wished the boss would pick a bit more roomy bases. Inside it was better though, the entrance being rather small in order to keep it better hidden.

Coming into the common room, which was only dubbed that due to it being the only relatively large room in the bunker, the faces of Pakunoda and Shalnark greeted him.

“Hey! Is that the healer girl?” Shalnark enthusiastically exclaimed as soon as he came in. He laid her down on one of the cots in the corner, and she immediately curled inward, instinctively grabbing the small blanket that was stuffed away in the corner. “Is she injured?’

“Nah, just asleep.” He responded, sitting down next to the two. He didn’t see any of the rest, but they could be scattered throughout the rather treacherous corridors and rooms of the bunker. The previous owner had gone rather overboard in expanding the thing, probably expecting a nuclear blast sometime soon. “Apparently using her abilities is rather exhausting.”

“I’m pretty curious to see it! Do you think Feitan would let her heal that guy he caught?” As if scripted, a sudden scream reverbed throughout the common room, coming from one of the many corridors. Halfway through the scream, the noise was cut off. Feitan didn’t like loud ones. “If we’re in time anyway.”

“He caught one of them?” Uvo asked, leaning back against a few crates. “I figured the boss would have sent out more ‘bodyguards’”

Pakunoda nodded. “You, Feitan and Machi were sent out to protect some high-level abilities. Feitan managed to take the attacker here alive, though his target didn’t survive.”

“And Machi?”

“She is supposed to come back any minute. I don’t know whether or not she managed.”

Shalnark opened his phone, checking his messages, before putting it away again. Another cut-off scream rang through the room. “Feitan has been working that guy for a while now. Must be a tough nut to crack!”

Pakunoda suddenly stood up and walked toward the still sleeping Rhean, who had now curled completely within herself. Careful not to get too close to her hands, Pakunoda rested her hand on the cheek of the sleeping woman.

“And?” Uvo said, though he doubted the grey-haired healer would have anything worthwhile in her memories.

“I can’t see too much with her being asleep, but I think she’s safe.” She said, returning to her previous seat. As soon as she sat down, she grabbed her gun, intending to clean it again. It wasn’t really necessary, having done the exact same mere hours ago, but the hours of waiting inside the cramped base got everyone bored.

Everyone looked up when Feitan walked in, cursing softly in his own language. He stood silent as soon as he reached the center of the room, but everyone noticed that he was a bit twitchy, a huge difference from his usual stone-cold attitude. 

“You got the info?” Shalnark asked though it was pretty clear the interrogator of the Phantom Troupe hadn’t succeeded yet.

“No.” Despite his clearly bad mood, his voice betrayed none of it, instead having a rather brutal edge to it. “But I will.”

“I can do it if you want.” Pakunoda said, though the angry glare she received at the offer made her smile and put her hands up. “Just offering.”

Silence returned to the common room, despite the sudden entrance of Feitan. If he had interrupted his work, it was pretty clear that the boss had told him to, or at least gave some indication for the need of a meeting. The troupe had been diluted in many small teams, so reorganizing all the information and planning a response was a rather logical next step.

The air was still tense, waiting silently for the return of Machi and the rest of the troupe.

Without much of an entrance, all present members turned to face the west-entrance, watching as Chrollo entered the common room. He wore a different black coat, a more high-collared one with straps to keep it together. Without much of a greeting, he sat down in his seat, glancing around for a second before facing Uvogin.

“How did things go?”

Uvo stood up. “Besides finding out that the guy has allies and that your hunch about the nen-users being targeted was right, not very well. My opponent was a high-level nen-user, yet extremely inexperienced with combat. Had the ability to phase right through objects and merge with them.”

“That’s an interesting ability. And you mentioned Rhean killed her?”

Pointing for a second to the sleeping woman, who was still softly snoring, he nodded. “I hit my opponent and crushed her entire arm, and she tried to hold Rhean as hostage when she realized it wasn’t exactly going her way.” Uvo chuckled at the memory. “Rhean started healing her, fixing up her entire arm, but as soon as she was done, she switched arms and drained the life instead. ‘Was nothing but a husk when she was done.”

Chrollo’s eyes flew toward Rhean. “Ah. That must be part of a condition for her ability then. I’ll deal with that later though, we will wait a bit more for the rest to arrive.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he picked up a book that had laid next to his seat, leaning back and starting to read.

It took a while, but as time progressed, the rest of the spiders started trickling in, making the room feel more and more cramped with each and every one. As soon as Machi entered, dragging in an old man, every seat and piece of wall had been claimed, leaving her to sit on the same cot as the one Rhean was sleeping on.

The old man merely stood in a corner next to her, not even attempting to speak. None of the attention was on him, instead intently waiting for the boss to start speaking.

Closing the book, Chrollo leant back a bit, finally looking at every single spider present before speaking again.

“As of three o’clock, five of my abilities that originated from Meteor City have disappeared. This means the man that attacked me two days ago knows exactly what my ability is, even the drawbacks, though it is uncertain how he figured this out. He has also taken hold of the very item we came her for, and we are no closer to discovering his identity.” The words were spoken without malice, just a clear form of purpose.

“We could set a trap?” Nobunaga fronted, glaring at Franklin who stood a bit too close. “With the healer and that artist guy it could work.”

“Wouldn’t work.” Feitan interjected. “They know we have taken hold of these two. They won’t fall for a trap like that.”

“Maybe not, but even if they know it’s a trap, they can’t just ignore the bait.”

The discussion went on like this, with every member weighing in a bit and considering their options. During this time, the noise of the conversation and the added movement of the shifting Machi, Rhean slowly came back to consciousness. Fluttering her eyes open, the first thing she felt was a sting in her neck, having slept in a very uncomfortable position.

Not even realizing her position, she pushed her hands beneath her shoulders and sat upright, her knees pushed into her chest. Her eyes were still glassy, but as Rhean felt the eyes of a few too many people on her, she tried to become a bit more awake. She recognized Uvogin and the leader of the Phantom Troupe, quickly realizing that the rest was probably also part of it.

The glare of the pink-haired woman at her footrest didn’t even allow for Rhean to consider talking, and so she merely leaned her head on her knees, still too tired to deal with all this. The last thing she remembered was placing her left hand on the woman, and feeling the influx of energy and life, though none of that had stuck.

It hadn’t been enough to keep her awake, her healing powers always taking way more effort and energy than draining provided.

After a few more minutes of discussions that meant nothing to Rhean, who still felt way too exhausted to even be bothered to listen, some of the people left the room. A few sent her curious glances or glares, but she tried not to pay any mind to it, waiting till nearly everyone had left the room.

The only ones remaining at the end where her, the leader of the Phantom Troupe, some old guy that seemed likely to croak at any moment and the pink-haired woman.

“Okay, then on to the two of you.” Chrollo’s eyes flew to the old guy, a fabricated smile adorning his lips. “Can you come here for a moment?”

The old guy only had to receive one glare from the pink-haired woman before stumbling towards the center. Rhean tried to pay attention, her eyes still falling shut every few moments, but she largely missed the conversation. All she saw was the old guy place his hand on a book and talk a bit.

“Can you activate your ability for a moment?” The dark-haired man asked, though it didn’t feel as a request. The old man hesitated, but eventually grabbed a piece of paper from his pockets. He unfolded the piece, and from the paper jumped a small ink-man, who moved to and from.

Chrollo didn’t seem impressed, even frowning a bit. “How have you used your ability so far?”

“I-I draw them on paper and they can do small chores, though they disappear if they get more than two feet away from me.” He stuttered, his voice weak and frail. “I mostly used them to get my medicine for me or steal small items, because they can’t carry more than a kilogram.”

Even Rhean had to admit that sounded like a shit ability. Machi frowned as well. “According to the elder, this guy could create anything with some ink, but I think he was lying to us.”

The boss hummed, and closed his book, his eyes moving toward Rhean, who looked upon the both of them, too sleepy to really feel fear. Her body wasn’t panicking, her mind was clouded with sleep, and all her limbs felt heavy. She just wanted to close her eyes for another few minutes, just a bit.

“Rhean? Can you come here?” With the mention of her name, she looked up slightly, but only to shake her head slightly. She couldn’t even lift her hands, nevermind walking towards him. Machi sent Chrollo a look, asking whether or not to force her hand, but Chrollo instead stood up, past the old man and toward Rhean.

He looked upon her for a few seconds, before his eyes suddenly widened a bit. Reaching his hand behind him, he grabbed the arm of the old man, dragging him toward the cot in the corner. “H-huh?!” The old man exclaimed as he was pulled along. Reaching the cot, he grabbed Rhean’s left arm, and placed her hands on the skin of the old man.

Without intending to, she activated her ability.

Chrollo watched with intrigue as the golden tendrils once again formed around her arms, digging themselves into the skin and aura of the old man. Her entire body lit up, resulting in a strangely beautiful show of nen.

Rhean eyes shot open, her entire left hand basically burning with the energy that suddenly seeped into her body. Her fingers tingled as the man turned to dust beneath her fingers.  Chrollo only amusedly watched, even cracking a small smile at the mix of relief and regret suddenly filling Rhean’s face.

“I thought so.” He said, crouching next to Rhean. Machi, who had watched the interaction with wide-eyes, gazed at the remains of the old man and scoffed. She had protected a worthless target, but at least he’d served some kind of purpose. Chrollo’s hand shortly stroked Rhean’s cheek. “Is this better?”

She flinched away from the contact.

Pulling her hand away from the remains, she pulled her arms taut around her knees, forcing herself more and more within herself. Her entire mind felt high with energy, and she had no idea what to focus on in the room. The dust floating around, the sharpness of the pink-haired woman’s gaze, or the calming smile Chrollo shot her way.

“Where am I.”  

“At our base.” He replied patiently. “I am going to ask you a few questions and you are going to answer me. Is that okay?” The phrasing made it again sound like a request, but Rhean had learned to recognize orders from requests.

“What are you doing.” She tried to sound like she was asking a question, but her brain was so overstimulated it allowed for little variation in tone.

“I will be taking your ability.” He said, not even slightly apologetic, still crouching right next to the husk. “I will return it to you whenever I don’t need it. You will still be able to work in the hospital, you will just sometimes lose it, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I can’t give it to you.”

“Hmm, why not?” He didn’t seem annoyed by Rhean’s refusal, merely interested in her motives.

“I’d die.”

Rhean didn’t elaborate and probably didn’t need to, a flash of understanding reaching Chrollo. In her work, she had saved countless of people and damned just as many, which left her with as many allies as foes. Currently, she had the protection of the city elders that depended on her work, but she was sure that if she didn’t have her abilities, they’d drop her face-first into whoever wanted revenge the most.

Or whoever could pay the most for it.

The fact that he said he’d return her abilities felt like a bad lie, something to get her off this line of thought, but Rhean hadn’t been able to think as clearly like this in a while now. The rush of energy still navigating her system was as intoxicating as horrifying, her heart clenching at the rather macabre sight in front of her.

Her answer only seemed to further Chrollo, though Machi scoffed.

There was something in his smile Rhean didn’t like. It was as if he was daring her, hoping she’d find out what he wanted. “If you’re unwilling to tell me yourself, I can use other methods as well, as I’m sure you’re aware. I understand you rely on your abilities, but you will hand them to me either way.”

He wasn’t kidding, and so Rhean closed her eyes. She knew it hadn’t been exactly a choice from the beginning of the conversation, but still. “What do you want to know then?” To her surprise, some emotion had returned to her voice, a slight tremor in the sound.

“Tell me about your ability.”

“Right hand heals, left hand drains.” She explained, a bit spiteful in tone as she started fumbling with her braid. “If I heal too much, my left hand automatically searches out other people to refuel. I can’t lift either hand until their task is completed.”

The book Chrollo had made the old guy touch was apparated out of nowhere again, and Rhean’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. She had realized other people probably also had abilities like hers, or at least the existence of something supernatural, but to see it was an entirely different thing.

Extending the book towards her, he motioned towards the cover. “Place your hand on the book.”

Without too much fussing, Rhean complied, careful not to come too close to his wrist, lest the temptation hit.

As her hand palm met the leather-feeling cover of the book, she had expected to feel something, yet nothing felt really different. For a moment she thought this completely normal, yet the slight furrow on Chrollo’s face implied something wasn’t completely correct.

“What’s wrong, boss?”

He opened the book, flipping through the pages. “Very curious. Her ability isn’t registering.”

“How is that possible?” Machi exclaimed, standing up from the cot. A blow of dust rose up from the fabric as she stood up, fogging up the chamber even more than it already was.

Chrollo closed his eyes, deeply thinking about it, mumbling to himself as he stood up from his crouching position. Lifting his hand to his face, his eyes suddenly shot open and he laughed shortly before facing her again.

“Rhean?”

A bit confused, Rhean looked up at the leader. “Yes?”

“Please Rhean! There’s been a landslide, we need your help.”

‘Landslide’ was the kind word used whenever several people were crushed beneath the garbage mountains that were scattered throughout the city. The large piles of garbage had a tendency to overflow, but usually, the landslide would be caused by someone trying to pick out something valuable out of the center of the pile, which would always be the one thing keeping the thing stable.

Once there had been some inhabitants that tried to hang up posters to remind people of the dangers, but it wasn’t like people weren’t aware of the dangers. People clawed at the center whenever there was no other option. Warning posters don’t help against desperation.

Pushing her head mere inches off the pillow, Rhean shouted back, asking with a groggy voice exactly how many people had been caught.

“Three. Two are in critical condition, and the other had their legs caught beneath the debris.” Groaning into her pillow, she started calculating, as she always had to do.

Three people were manageable, but the fact that the woman hadn’t mentioned their exact ailments worried Rhean. ‘Critical’ probably meant that their organs were ruptured, or some kind of head injury. All were complicated, and Rhean could just feel her fingers itching, already dreading having to repair something of that caliber twice.

Not to mention the costs.

People didn’t survive Rhean’s treatment without some kind of anesthesia, and that stuff was harder and harder to get by these days, not even to mention the sheer labor connected to the process. She’d be out of commission for days on end if she started the procedure, meaning there were probably a lot of other people going to die because she was unavailable.

Rhean preferred small injuries. 

Broken bones and small cuts, for example, were fine and simple, she just had to put her hand on the wound and the wound disappeared, with minimal exhaustion. Afterward, she would put her hand on some poor rat, and as life would trickle out the beast, the exhaustion would disappear.

With big wounds, like legs crushed under debris and brain injuries, strength would seep out of her with enough force to buckle her legs. She couldn’t stop once she began, and if the treatment was worse than she expected, her reserves would run out and her left hand would reach out for anything living nearby.

It was instinctual, but her mind screamed every time she did it.

The hospital staff anticipated this, and always kept some poor sucker nearby, people the hospital now secretly referred to as ‘human iv’s’. Once during an operation, Rhean had asked one how he’d gotten here, strapped to a chair next to her. He’d mumbled a bit but eventually explained as the treatment went on and on that he’d stolen from the wrong person. It was either be killed or do ‘community service’ with the witch doctor of Meteor City.

That was the first time she had heard her own nickname, and with it the knowledge that serving as her blood bag was apparently a punishment for unlucky and stupid people.

The patient of that day had contracted several other diseases besides the one he was being treated for, and as Rhean couldn’t lift her right hand before the patient had been cured, and so her left hand eventually caressed the thief’s hand.

The husk that remained etched a new layer of self-hatred in her, though she hadn’t been able to escape that feeling with any of them. Calling them human IV’s felt wrong and dehumanizing, but it wasn’t like the hospital gave her a lot of choices. Her employment here depended on her performance, and not performing meant no roof over her head.

There were better, cleaner hospitals in the city, but Rhean hadn’t considered moving. While subjective, Meteor City did have nicer parts, with nicer facilities. They’d hire her, they all would eventually, but leaving every patient here for her own selfishness felt wrong. She’d grown up here, she’d serve the people here.

Not to mention having to explain her power would be exhausting.

The woman knocked again, and Rhean started thinking about other things. Had this screeching woman ever introduced herself? Even if she had, it wasn’t like Rhean could often remember. Names and faces were complicated, certainly when you saw so many on the daily.

“There are children among them, Rhean, please.”

And with that, Rhean sighed and pushed herself off the mattress.

The knots in her hair waved before her face as she sat up, and a small mirror in the corner showed her she looked exactly as she felt. Her shaggy grey hair jumped in every direction, her skin pale and sickly and her entire body looking lanky and underfed.

It angered her to no end to look like this when she probably received the best care in the entire fucking district.

She was fed exorbitantly, with stews, pies, and vegetables piling themselves on her plate. She got her own room, complete with heating, a bed, and lights. Everyone in the hospital fell to their knees to make her comfortable, and still, she looked as close to death as the very people she performed treatment on.

Rhean had found the care exaggerated at first, giving away the food she got to others and sleeping with the other hospital staff in the halls.  But even with an excess of food she was weak, so one could imagine her state as she limited her portions. The communal sleeping had also been a bad idea, as patients continued to stand at her bedside, begging her day and night for relief.

Either in death or recovery.

With a slow pace, she stood up and dressed herself, wearing the same long orange dress she always wore. It wasn’t exactly the newest anymore, but it covered her entirely, and whenever she exhausted herself with her power, she at least didn’t have to look at the bruises that would then proceed to cover her entire body.

Ignoring the incessant knocking of the woman, who seemingly had no problem banging on doors for minutes on end, Rhean drank some water out of a bottle next to her bed and eventually opened the door.

The woman looked surprised to see her, being mid-knock and all, but regained her composure just as fast. She was a middle-aged, black-haired woman, and Rhean vaguely recalled her as being one of the two remaining doctors. Most had died or left ages ago, the rest of the hospital functioning on volunteers.

Rhean didn’t consider herself a doctor, having no actual expertise on the matter besides things she overheard during treatments. She just put her hands on their bodies and they healed, simple as that. She didn’t deserve the title, though many of her patients nevertheless called her Doctor Rhean.

“Where are they?” Rhean softly mumbled, pulling her sleeves over her hands.

“They’re already in the operating room ready for you.”

Not speaking further, the two women walked toward the operating room, a smelly room that probably didn’t deserve the title. There were always suspicions of gas leaks in that room, but seeing as there were no visible pipes anywhere, the smell came seemingly out of nowhere.

Along the way, they walked past a few halls filled with sick people. There seemed to be no end to the stream, and neither woman had ever woken up to empty halls. Moving past the kitchen, Rhean stood still, taking in the smells of cooking.

“Do you mind if I have breakfast first?” She asked, looking down at the ground. “There’s a smaller chance I’ll… reach out if I eat well beforehand.”

The doctor didn’t stop walking, only slowing down her pace. “We arranged for all that. There’s no time to eat, every second counts.” Her voice sounded pained and impatient.

Ah.

“Can I bring a piece of bread at least with me? I’ll eat it while we walk.” Rhean hurriedly replied. Eating made a huge difference to her strength, and she’d need it if the cases were as bad as she currently imagined them.

“If you hurry, I’m fine with it.”

Quickly scouring in the kitchen, Rhean grabbed a piece of bread, ignoring the angry noises the volunteers in the kitchen made. They wouldn’t stop her though, recognizing her from her previous visits to the kitchen.

As they continued to walk, the noise of Rhean scarfing the bread down was the only thing ruining the silence. 

This part of the hospital was usually left empty. The building was bigger than the room the hospital needed, so rooms in which loud noise was expected were put at the edges of the building, to save everyone sleep. The operating room was one of the most prominent ones of these rooms, for obvious reasons.

As the scent of gas became more and more noticeable, the plastic doors of the operating room came into sight. The doctor washed her hands with the small water bucket outside the room, but Rhean didn’t even bother. No infection would survive her treatment anyway.

Opening the sliding doors to the operating room, Rhean halted in her step when she saw the amount of human IV’s seated next to one another, each one looking more scared than the other. There were about five, all strapped into the chairs. There had never been a need of more than one, so to see five lined up, worried her greatly.

Shooting a questioning look toward the doctor, who looked away, Rhean had to ask what was going on.

“Why are there so many?”

There was no response, the doctor instead opening the other entrance in the room to roll in the patient, as was customary. Instead of the three children Rhean had expected, a single stretcher was rolled in, carrying a black-haired man, his entire chest covered in large and deep wounds. His arms hung limp over the edges, waving away as the doctor rolled him in.

As he was rolled into place, his hair shifted and Rhean caught sight of a very familiar mark on his forehead, a tattoo that was recognizable to every single resident in Meteor City. 

It took but an extra second before Rhean figured out exactly what was going on.

“Jesus Christ.” She whispered.

“Get to work, Rhean. I don’t think I need to explain why.”

Turning towards the black-haired woman, who still held the rails of the stretcher, Rhean sputtered out some curses,  fidgeting heavily with her dress. Looking around in disorientation, she made eye-contact with some of the human IV’s and decided to just say the first thing that came to mind.

“You lied to me.”

Now the woman also sputtered out a response. “Of course I did? Do you know what will happen if this guy dies and it’s our fault? I can’t let you and your fucking problems get the entire hospital killed, can I?!”

“I know. I know.” Burrowing her hands in her hair, Rhean took a few tentative breaths. “Sorry. I just-“

Now the woman stepped toward her, cupping Rhean’s face in her hands, and in a sudden flash of memories, Rhean could swear the doctor's name started with a B.

“Rhean, I need you to get it the fuck together, right now, okay? You can go and disassociate or whatever you do for the rest of the day, but you cannot mess this up. There are other members waiting outside. You know what that means.”

Nodding, Rhean pushed her hands away, feeling uncomfortable with the prolonged contact. Taking one final deep breath and a last glance at the human IV’s lined up and connected, she bent over the patient.

“What happened?” She cautiously asked, though with the kind of wounds laid before her, the question felt stupid. 

These wounds hadn’t been created in a landslide, that was for sure. These were slashes and cuts that could only be procured through combat, a large sword by the looks of it. He didn’t seem to be in too much pain though, his breaths were shallow, but his eyes were peacefully shut.

 Like this, he didn’t seem that bad, even rather soft and handsome, though the stories Rhean had heard during her days here were enough to force her to stay cautious. 

“They didn’t think that was important to mention.” Came the dry response. “You want to know a funny thing? I remember treating one of them back when they were kids. Funny how far gratitude gets you these days, the kids you save eventually trying to kill you.”

Rhean didn’t find the story funny.

While the grey-haired healer was mentally preparing, the doctor gave the spider the anesthesia he would need during the procedure. He got enough to keep him sedated during the entire thing, a luxury not many of her patients got. The pros of being notorious even in Meteor City, she guessed.

Taking a last look around the room, Rhean realized, the reason for all these human IV’s to be in the room was desperation. The hospital couldn’t take a chance with this. Not with his death, nor with hers. If it meant the death of five unlucky criminals, the hospital would accept it. 

If she could accept it was a whole other matter, though lately, no one seemed to ask for her opinion. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice to begin with.

Faintly, she could remember the pain of before. The heat that had run through her veins, making her cry out and weep in the arms of someone very important. She was quiet now, her limbs numb and her sight gone. If she really focused, she could probably see her surroundings, the piles of left-behind possessions and garbage, but it wasn’t like she wanted to focus. The void was better, all-consuming and restful.

Feeling had first left her fingertips, back when she still could see the woman cradling her body, but it had spread as fast as the pain had. It was comfortable to feel and think nothing, especially when one is aware of the sheer anguish of the alternative.

The void wobbled. ‘Please, please, please. I’ll give you everything. I’ll get us out of here and you can go to a proper school, you can go do arts or whatever makes you happy, just please don’t leave me here. I have nothing without you.”

She didn’t know what the woman could give her, but her body seemed to know, golden light filling the otherwise dark void. A soft warmth enveloped her body, and she was sure that the feeling could only be described by the word ‘love’. It was the only fitting title for a feeling that made her feel so complete, so warm, so loved.

When Rhean awoke, her hands were filled with ashes.

Her mother nowhere to be seen.

Waking up from this nightmare had become a common routine, Rhean didn’t even scream awake anymore. Lately, whenever the dream etched itself into her nights, she would awake as quiet as a mouse, tears already streaming down her face. It had been such a long time ago, yet the dreams ripped open the wounds as if there had never been any healing at all.

Wiping the tears away, the grey-haired woman realized she had the entire day off, thanks to an off-handed remark by the doctor whats-her-name during the operation of the Phantom Troupe leader.

She really had to get better at names.

Since sleeping away the day wouldn’t be an option anymore, she sat up, wiggling her toes and fingers to force herself a tad more awake.

Standing up, she realized she left her favorite orange dress in the sink, having forgotten to squeeze it out and dry it the night before. She had been pretty drunk, the entire night filled with gaps and hazy conversations, but it still annoyed her that now she had to wear something different. Rhean was a woman of habit and wearing anything other than her most trusted outfit felt uncomfortable.

Rhean looked around the room, finding a soft-green dress that looked most like her orange dress in shape and form. It would have to do.

Thinking of her free schedule, Rhean decided to do some nice things today for a change. First, she’d get some breakfast from the kitchen and then she would visit the nearby market. She hadn’t been there in a while, so there should be some new cd’s.

While broken cd’s where plenty in Meteor City, good music was definitely rarer. Several shops provided them consistently, but those were incredibly overpriced and nobody but the elders and their assistants had enough money for those. While her sound system was anything but perfect, she had spent quite a sum of money on it, and it was her greatest joy.

Something about coming back to her room, washing off the blood and kicking off her boots to the sound of some good music was delightful. 

She just liked to sing along, even if she could barely reach the notes.

Re-braiding her hair in front of the mirror, Rhean got ready for her trip. Pushing the face-mask in her pockets, along with some money and tidying up the mess she’d left behind the night before, she finally felt ready to leave,

Rhean opened the door, intending to go to the kitchen, only to be faced by an enormous man sitting right across her room on a stool that seemed three sizes too small.

Huh.

He had long brown hair with locks that still reminisced about the last time they’d seen a brush, with large side-burns situated along his face. With his arms crossed across his chest and his head leaning against the wall, he looked as imposing and immovable as a wall. He was wearing a white shirt and some shorts, though his clothes did little to disguise the fact that the man in front of her was more muscular than half of Meteor City combined.

He was also snoring.

Loudly.

How Rhean hadn’t heard the sound through the walls was incredible and made the woman turn around to assess the thickness of the door and walls, but even as she noticed that they were heavily insulated, it was still a miracle.

Closing the door behind her softly, she made note to walk softly away, not wanting to wake the giant sleeping across her door.

He didn’t wake up, as indicated by the continuing snores following her throughout the corridor, and Rhean quickly left the hallway toward the kitchen.

In the kitchen it was as noisy as usual, the two cooks of the hospital busying themselves with all sorts of tasks. Rhean had offered to give them a hand once, but the two men had glanced once at her dirty fingernails and blood-spattered dress and had politely declined her offer.

She didn’t blame them.

The same two men, Troye and Kass, were now busy cutting vegetables that looked largely unappetizing. The hospital had several deals with the local markets, but sometimes they just didn’t have anything better to offer than nearly rotten carrots and potatoes. It wasn’t that bad currently, but there had also been better times.

“Hey, whatchu guys making?” She asked, which only made Troye look up. Troye liked her, Kass didn’t. He shot her a kind smile, and motioned for a plate that had already been set out for her. It was a small loaf of white bread with a brownish vegetable stew.

She really liked Troye, who always prepared her plates. When it was just them, she would stay and eat in the kitchen instead of moving toward the cafeteria. 

The brown-haired man was a mute and Rhean didn’t know any sign languages, but they nevertheless talked non-stop, making very good use of the writing block he always carried around.

He was a soft-hearted man who’d stayed after his own treatment at the hospital, not having the money to repay the rather large fees, so he’d offered his culinary skills. Rhean hated that her services were sold for such prices, but both of them knew it wasn’t in her control, so he didn’t blame her for it.

Even after treating him for a horrible wound that had occurred in some sort of violent incident, he hadn’t been able to speak. His throat was fine, and he made noises of surprise every now and then, but talking didn’t seem to be possible anymore.

Rhean was able to heal a lot, but mental wounds weren’t a part of that.

Picking up the plate, she loudly thanked the pair, which was answered by a kind nod by Troye. Kass still hadn’t looked up, still staring at the carrot that he was chopping, which was probably for the best. The other man nudged him, but still no response. Troye turned back towards Rhean and shrugged.

Awkwardly standing there, Rhean took her plate and left, heading towards the communal cafeteria.

Rhean understood why Kass didn’t like her, even if she didn’t understand his own reasons.

She sat down at an empty table, waving at a few people from the staff she recognized. Taking a few bites of the bread and stew, she realized the cooks had definitely outdone themselves. With what they were given, to think that they’d be able to make something so nice was astounding.

Her complimentary musing was interrupted by a large slam, and looking up, she saw the giant from before looking around in the doorway, looking around searchingly before making eye contact with said stew-eating woman.

“There you are!” He exclaimed loudly, walking towards her table. Several members of the hospital staff jumped out of his way, granting him straight access to her.

“There I am?” Rhean weakly responded, holding up a spoon still filled with stew.

He sat down across from her, a wide grin on his face. From this distance, he seemed even bigger than before, and if he hadn’t been smiling so profusely, she might’ve been scared, though now she was just confused. First, he had been sleeping outside her room, and now he had been looking for her?

“I was looking for you.”

“Okay. You found me?” Rhean put down the spoon back into her plate. “Did you sleep well?”

She didn’t know why she added the question, but it was the first thing that popped in her mind when seeing him, and she’d said it before her brain caught up to her.

“Horribly, that chair had no back support, but that’s beside the point.” He went on, grabbing the piece of bread she still had left, even though Rhean tried to swat his hand away. “I was asked to look after you for the next few days, which I will, so don’t run away again.”

“I’ll get back on that first part, but I didn’t run away, you were just sleeping.” Rhean rebutted, though she still had no idea what was going on. “Why are you looking after me? Is it some new policy of the hospital, because I told them the last bodygua-“

“I’m not hired by the hospital.”

Rhean’s eyebrows shot up. “The mafia then?”

“No.”

“Are you an old patient? If so I appreciate the concern, but I don’t need-“

“Again, no.”

Rhean hummed, but no answers presented themselves to her. “Okay, then I’m out.”

The giant chuckled, taking the final bite of the bread Rhean had wanted to savor.

“Remember your patient yesterday?”

The grey-haired woman’s mouth went dry when she realized what he meant. “Shut up, no way. Don’t you guys have better things to do than bother me? First that guy in the fur coat and now you?”

He held up both his hands, wearing a large grin as Rhean’s tone turned more and more incredulous. “I’m just here to make sure nothing happens to you, nothing more.”

“Yeah right, and that guy from yesterday visited to hang out.”

The man didn’t respond but also didn’t lose his amused expression, which filled Rhean with disbelief. What cause did she give to have the Phantom Troupe send her a personal body-guard? What they intended to use her for, nor the danger they thought she was in was known to the now quite disgruntled woman.

Well, it wasn’t like she was getting rid of the man sitting across from her, feeling the disparity in power and sheer experience by a mere glance, so Rhean responded as best she could.

Extending her hand toward the man, Rhean mustered the most polite smile she could muster. “Well then, nice to meet you. I’m Rhean.”

Not taking the hand, the man crossed his arms. “Don’t get too familiar, now.”

The smile slipped off her face. “Just trying to be polite, but sure.”

“You can call me Uvogin.”

His response had barely registered as Rhean had already stood up and grabbed her plate. He was following her closely, standing barely six feet away from her. The very notion of this Phantom Troupe member intruding on her day off made Rhean increasingly annoyed, and she even ignored Troye’s questioning glance at the large man following her.

She set down the plate and moved back around, now blocked by the giant in the doorway.

“How long were you going to follow me again?”

Uvogin laughed.  “A few days at most, so don’t get too used to me.”

The black-haired man seemed completely healed, but Rhean still couldn’t lift her right hand, the hand glued on the skin of the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Every extra bit of strength drizzled out of her, filling the seemingly limitless well of life the man required. Never before had anything like this happened, and Rhean started to panic. Billy, noticing there was something wrong, took a step backward, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of Rhean’s powers.

And she was right, as Rhean’s left hand started twitching.

The man in the chair had screamed into his muffle, realizing what was going to happen, even before Rhean herself did. The noise he made when Rhean’s hand eventually wrapped around his wrist would be forever remembered by everyone in the room, desperation and pain mixing into a haunting sound.

A few moments later, and the grey-haired healers right hand lifted peacefully off the spider.

It remained completely silent in the operating room.

Taking a very shaky breath, Rhean turned right around, not looking at anyone but the door. Billy didn’t stop her, leaning against the stretcher with the patient for support herself. With long strides and barely concealed tears, Rhean fled back to her room.

And so here she was.

Heaving heavily and burrowing her head between her legs, ignoring the blood that still stained her hands, she rode out the panic attack.

The worst part about experiencing such things now was the sheer solitude of it all. When she was small she also suffered from panic attacks at times, but there would always be someone to help her. Her mother had fulfilled that role the longest, but even after she’d died there had always been others.

Ever since her power had manifested, there was no one.

With a small, bitter laugh she noted that it was kind of ironic. At this point in her life, she had never needed company more, and it was wonderfully absent. It was hard to be funny and light-hearted and make friends when working day and night shifts, seeing horror after horror. At the end of those kinds of days, al Rhean wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep, trying not to picture the human IV’s she used.

What kind of healer was she, anyway? Not even being able to save someone without condemning another? Deep down she knew the answer as to why, but she had never imagined her powers being used like this. High-profile cases like the phantom troupe leader were held alive, just like elders she had treated in the past, but the people that died for them to live? Where was their help?

It was stupid thinking about such things when she was the very perpetrator. She shouldn’t blame others for actions that were literally in her hands.

Didn’t make her feel less helpless though.

As soon as the panic subsided, Rhean stood up and walked towards her mirror, grabbing two hair ties and a brush in the process. Whenever she used to have a panic attack, her mother would braid her hair and calm her down, and the habit had stuck.

Braiding her hair into two messy braids was resting, and at the end of the activity, she felt much better. Sitting on the floor of her room, with her hands still bloodstained and her eyes red from the crying, Rhean realized a very important thing.

She really needed a drink.

A sweet one.

There was a small bar on the other side of the hospital, which would do fine. Even if she ran into some people she knew, Rhean had no doubt they would keep interactions at a minimum. Most people who worked with her did.

As these bitter thoughts continued to spew round her mind, Rhean stood up and got redressed. While usually wearing the orange dress, it was clearly used during an operation, the fabric stained in several places with blood.  Placing the dress in the small sink in the corner of the room, she washed her hands first and then filled the sink with cold water and soap. Within a few hours, the stains would be removed and she could hang it out.  If the heat remained at its current temperature, it would be dry by tomorrow.

Opening her closet for a new outfit, she quickly decided on a longsleeved shirt and a pair of black pants she’d been gifted by a dying patient. Redistributing the stuff of dead people was common practice, but it wasn’t often Rhean accepted the ‘gifts’. This pair of pants had been too lovely to pass up though, the fabric clearly higher quality than most Meteor City fashion.

Ready to get wasted, she grabbed a vial of morphine she had swiped a few months ago. She’d felt awful doing it, knowing that it was needed quite desperately in the hospital, but she also knew it would only be given to elders and high-class Meteor City criminals and not to the people that needed it most. Bartering it for booze was probably a better use of it.

The bartender at the establishment would give her enough to drink away the rest of the night, that was for sure.

Clipping on her mask, Rhean left her room.

The air on the street wasn’t as bad as in some other regions of the city, but prolonged contact with the odors wasn’t exactly healthy, and the hospital staff wouldn’t let her out without the mask.  For a moment Rhean wondered if they’d let her out this late, seeing as it was approaching the late hours of the night, but as none were awake at the entrance, she sneaked by without a lot of trouble.

Passing the street was always a bit of a gamble. The area was pretty notorious for its high criminality rates, and in the darkness, the locals might not recognize her as the doctor. Her worry turned out to be unfounded, as even the criminals of Meteor City apparently needed sleep sometimes. The streets were completely deserted.

Entering the skeevy bar called the Rosy, there weren’t as many people as usual, which matched the rather desolate feel of the streets. The bartender sent her a nod, and she took place at the bar, holding out the vial of morphine.

Jeron was an old man with a stiff back and a bald head surrounded by white puffs of hair. He was the founder of the Rosy, having seen the opportunity in selling booze next to a hospital. He’d been right in his assessments, as the small bar was usually filled to the brim with patients drinking away their sorrows and hospital staff enjoying their few hours of respite.

“Is it really smart to offer me that?” He asked, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag. “The hospital doesn’t take kindly to thieves, you know.”

Wiggling the vial, Rhean rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I’d be in a lot of trouble, actually.”

Jeron barked out a ridiculous-sounding laugh and even she couldn’t keep a small smile off her face at his exuberant laugh. He was exactly the kind of person people went to for cheering up, and he was all too aware of the fact.

“You might be right about that.” He plucked the vial out of her hands and set the glass he’d been cleaning in front of Rhean. “What can the Rosy offer you, doctor?”

“Gimme something sweet. And soft.” Rhean said, waving her hand in front of her. “I’m going to be drinking here for a while, I think, so just refill me every now and then.”

The few colleagues she had gone drinking with had laughed at her drinking orders, but she was way past feeling ashamed for stupid things like that. If at the end of the day she wanted to drink the most childish alcoholic drink in existence to get drunk, who was going to stop her? Nothing mattered when the entire population of Meteor City tried to keep you alive.

“Something sweet and soft says the lady? I think I have just the thing.” He turned around and reached for a cupboard, taking out an unlabelled bottle with a brownish liquid inside. Jeron turned back around and placed the bottle in front of her, alongside an entire carton of milk. “I personally find it too sweet, am more of a vodka guy myself, but mixing these two creates high-percentage chocolate milk.”

Eagerly reaching out for the glass, filling it 50/50 with both drinks, Rhean quickly took a sip.

Holy shit.

“Oh my god.” She exhaled as the taste of alcohol and chocolate milk filled her mouth. She was sure she looked ridiculous, but this was exactly the feeling she wanted to have. “This is exactly the comfort drink I needed.”

Jeron laughed again, this time at the woman’s blissed-out expression. “I’ll leave the bottle standing then. Don’t drink too much at once though, don’t want you puking on my bar.”

Rhean didn’t respond, taking another sip instead.

Seeing as there were no other people in the bar, and Rhean desperately craved any kind of small talk, the two then entered a light conversation. Things like the new garbage pile next to the market, some funny stories Jeron had picked up the past few days and the creation of some new gang that tried to usurp the mafia all came by.

Not wanting to linger too long on that last one, ‘gangs’ being too close a subject to the Phantom Troupe to be comfortable, Rhean told some stories of the hospital instead.

She didn’t really have a lot of funny stories, but she just made up some.

Another person entered the bar, and Jeron had to leave a few seconds, leaving Rhean to stare into her childish comfort drink. Even if it was basically strong chocolate milk, it did definitely work, her sight moving slower than usual and her mind feeling comfortably numb.

Jeron returned to the bar and refilled her drink as she took the last sip.

“So what made you need comfort so badly? Bad patient?”

She made a non-committal noise and intended to answer, but a new presence sat next to her at the bar, taking both her attention and that of Jeron.

“I hope not, but I can certainly imagine why I would be.” The dark-haired leader of the Phantom troupe said, a kind smile on his face.

Rhean’s eyes widened as she recognized him, as did Jeron, who quickly took a step back and made some soft grumbles of checking some things in the back, leaving Rhean with the spider. Rhean didn’t speak, instead taking a very slow deliberative sip of her drink.

“I wanted to thank you after I woke up, but you left so quickly.” He continued, reaching behind the bar and pouring his own drink, something that seemed a bit more sophisticated than Rhean’s drink. “Your colleague tipped me off that you would probably be here.”

If she were less drunk, she would probably be rightfully afraid, but as the man whose name she still didn’t know took a sip of his glass, she found no reason to be frightened, instead feeling aggravated at the interruption of her small-talk with Jeron, who was now nowhere to be seen.

“Snitch.” She grumbled, laying her head down on the bar.

He chuckled. “In any case, I apologize for interrupting, but there were some questions I needed to ask you if you don’t mind.”

“I thought this was about thanking me.” Rhean slurred, fidgeting with her braids. “And I came here to get wasted, not to answer anyone’s questions, so not even Mr. Phantom Troupe’s.”

The kind smile on his face got a little bit colder as the woman spoke, but apart from that, he didn’t respond in any manner. “That’s a shame.”

It got silent for a while, and besides occasional sips of each respective drink, nothing happened. Jeron didn’t seem to intend to come back, and the man next to her wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. The rest of the bar was empty, and besides some faint noise from the street, it was completely silent. Feeling more and more bored by the second, Rhean tried to spark at least a little conversation.

“So how did you get that fucked up?”

Rhean didn’t like cursing, but today felt like it gave her the right to.

“What do you think?”

Grumbling she sat her head down on her elbows. He also didn’t intend to answer any of her questions either, if the deadpan response was anything to go by. “Clearly an accident during cooking. Running with knives is dangerous, you know.”

“I’ll take more care next time.” He said though the humor didn’t reach his expression. “How did you end up at the hospital?”

“Most people start with asking my name, then some mild chit-chat, and then you get the tragic backstory.” Refilling her drink, Rhean felt her entire vision shake, but her mind was still sharp enough to recognize his attempt at changing the subject. Suddenly she felt bad by her snarky tone and added with a soft voice. “Sorry. I’m being mean. I’m not usually like this.”

A few moments passed and a soft chuckle was all Rhean heard in response.

“No offense taken.” He stated, his voice soft and comforting. Deep down Rhean knew this was a trick to get her to relax, but it worked regardless. She felt pathetic, just wanting to talk to anyone, even if it was a high-profile criminal like this one. “You must have had a tough evening.”

“I did.” She sounded like a child, feeling pathetic like one too. Rhean was a grown woman who was complicit in medical-assisted murder every now and again, had seen every wound there existed on this god-forsaken world and could be covered in blood head to toe without feeling bothered, but something about today made her feel very small.

“And I already know your name, Rhean.” The fact that he knew her name set of red flags in her mind. Most members of mafia or gangs didn’t scare her anymore, but being too prominently on anybody’s radar here in Meteor City wasn’t good news. “Though that does remind me of something.”

“Hmm?”

With a slow and deliberate motion, he removed a rather large knife from behind his coat, instantly putting Rhean on edge. Instead of attacking her, however, he put the knife to his own wrist.

And pressed.

Making a surprised noise, Rhean shot up, her right hand immediately shooting towards the gushing wound on his wrists. “What are you doing?!”

With barely any response, Chrollo watched the woman fuss over the wound, even going as far as to pick up his knife and lay it a few feet away. He got what he wanted though, as the second her right hand touched the wound, he felt her nen activate. Activating Gyo, he watched the nen-ability play out, gold and blue tendrils of nen wrapping around her arms, that immediately attached to his arm as she started healing.

The flesh merged back together, not even leaving the slightest trace of the cut.

It only took a second, before she let go, and looking at the sudden bags under her eyes, it had severely exhausted her. Rhean had experienced the exact same thing the previous time she treated the black-haired spider, though definitely to a lesser degree. Even after the cut was closed, there was still a delay before she was able to lift her hand.

“Are you an idiot?”

He flashed her a small smile. “I wouldn’t describe myself as such.”

“Hmm. Agree to disagree then.” She sat back down, her limbs feeling as heavy as lead. Placing her head back on the counter, she felt woozy, partially due to the booze and partially due to her exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t have made the cut if you weren’t here, and you healed it didn’t you?”

She nodded. She wanted to ask him about why his body kept draining her of her strength even after there were no more wounds, but even in her drunken stupor, she realized he would take the question as an opportunity to force his own further questions through. Trying to figure out his angle, all the while laying with her head on the bar turned out to be a bad idea, as her eyes started fluttering shut.

“You’re welcome.”

And she fell asleep.

Said leader of the Phantom Troupe looked at the sleeping woman, who softly snored on the wooden bar. How she had survived the brutal youth of living in Meteor City was a mystery.

He finished his drink and picked up his knife.

Chrollo left the bar, leaving the sleeping healer. The bartender would look after her, so he didn't feel like he was taking a risk. Talking with her had been quite illuminating, though she definitely was more soft-hearted than he’d initially anticipated. The rumors he’d heard had suggested someone a bit more ruthless in nature, draining human after human for her own selfish immortality, though there also had been many describing her as an angel in the flesh. As usual, both kinds of rumors were inadequate.

Stepping out of the bar, he made eye contact with Pakunoda and Phinks, who had been waiting outside the bar.

“And?” Phinks asked, putting out the cigarette he’d been smoking against the stone of the building.

“She fell asleep before I could get the answers, but her abilities are definitely worth the trouble, so we’ll be staying here until I manage.”

Pakunoda nodded, but Phinks shifted slightly. “Can’t we just force her to answer? Why wait?”

“I don’t think she’s mentally stable enough for anything like that, and this district is heavily dependant on her abilities in order to function, so taking a more patient approach might be more fruitful.”

As the three started moving towards their hide-out, Chrollo added on the last comment, glancing at his scar-free wrist. Rhean had healed him completely, not even leaving the slightest ache, but the fact remained that the person who had managed to force him into that position, still roamed the city.

They crossed a street, neon lamps indicating the entrance of the local market.

In Meteor City there were thousands of markets, with about three big ones handling produce, and the rest being mixtures of contraband and trinkets. The one Rhean and the following Uvo entered was one dedicated to electrical equipment. Rhean wasn’t really adept with anything electrical, but they also had several music stands here, so it was her go-to-market.

“I haven’t been here in ages.” Uvogin suddenly stated, moving through the crowds that had collected at the entrance. “A friend of mine used to spend all his free time here, tinkering on everything that wasn’t nailed to the ground.”

“They haven’t changed much these past years.” Rhean quipped, her eyes scanning the stands. “I’m just here for some music stuff, so if you want to see anything else, just tell me.”

Uvogin chuckled, a deep noise that even in a crowd managed to be felt. “I’m following you, remember? This ain’t a playdate.”

“I know!” Rhean responded, indignified at the response. She was just trying to be nice, and every time people shot her down. “But I really don’t have anything else to do, so I just wanted to be nice. Sitting outside my room doesn’t seem that interesting.”

His hand suddenly rested on her head for a second and Rhean jumped up at the sudden gesture. “You’re a sweet kid. But really, don’t worry about me.”

“I’m 23.” Rhean pouted. She knew she looked a bit young and acted excitable at times, but she wasn’t a kid.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Sputtering out a barely legible response, Rhean walked in front, walking straight to her favourite stand. The stand was shabby, three boxes on crates filled to the brim with badly labelled discs. Every good one she had ever bought she’d found here though, so she started surfing through the boxes.

Most were labelled with ‘best of…’ or something like that, but she wasn’t searching for that. If she wanted the most popular rock and pop music, she could search every trash bin in the vicinity and get enough of that stuff. 

She wanted something different.

Immediately she fished out a few that looked interesting, already looking forward to listening to each and every one of them.

Uvo stood still, looking around while keeping an eye on the grey-haired woman.

The bodyguarding gig had been an order by the boss, though it had been up to the members present to decide who would go. Waiting another second inside that crampy, boring hut would’ve made him lose his mind, knowing more exciting stuff was happening elsewhere, so he’d immediately took the role.

The healer was, as explained by the boss, a bit of a weird one. 

As soon as he had spoken a few words, she’d latched on the conversation with a tinge of desperation, making Uvogin understand her situation pretty quickly. In theory, her powers were quite terrifying, no doubt causing her to become alienated from her surroundings. Even if said surroundings would use her regardless. 

Uvogin thought it was bad management. If the hospital really was so dependant on her powers, they should do anything in their influence to make her dependant on them, which didn’t seem the case right now. 

Uvo’s eyes moved over the market, looking over each and every person that passed by.

There.

A redheaded woman a few stands away had been looking at the same item for a longer time than was customary, and while that wouldn’t be suspicious in itself, the fact that her eyes flew toward Uvo and Rhean every few minutes was. As soon as she noticed he was looking directly at her, she turned around and left, leaking out the slightest bit of bloodlust at the action.

Whoever this was, they weren’t very good.

The boss had expected some aggression, hence the bodyguarding order, and had given explicit consent to kill everyone that got in the way, words that were like music to Uvo’s ears. He had no idea who this was, but they were clearly tailing the two.

“Hey girl, I have a destination in mind. Do you mind coming with me for a bit?”

With a bit of a dazed expression, the healer looked up, holding a ludicrous amount of discs. “But…”

“I’ll buy all of them if you come.” Money wasn’t an issue for Rhean, but it was nevertheless a good deal, so Rhean nodded. She immediately moved toward him, handing over the discs. “Go that direction, I’ll be there shortly.”

Ushering her in the direction the woman went, she walked away without protest. Uvo grabbed another few discs and send a threatening look toward the vendor, who immediately held up their hands as a sign of submission. 

Not like he had any money on him after all.

As he caught up with the grey-haired healer, he handed her back the pile, which she accepted with barely contained excitement. Uvogin felt a tad of excitement as well, though that was more aimed toward the prospect of a fight.

“You paid fast.” Rhean smiled, small dimples appearing on her face. 

He just scoffed and continued to move in the direction of the redhead.

Wanting the other party to make a move, Uvogin didn’t even use Zetsu, instead hoping his leaking bloodlust would drag out whoever was tailing them. Rhean, who had been primarily busy with dodging other customers and keeping a hold of her stash suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable, feeling the bloodlust he was leaking.

She wasn’t alone, the people surrounding them freezing in their steps or avoiding them entirely.

In Rhean’s perspective, everything had been fine, until a sudden atmosphere coming off Uvogin nearly made her body tense up completely. Was he angry? Had she done anything to upset him?

“Hey? Are you okay?” She said, her tone a bit softer than usual. “Where did you want to go?”

Uvogin side-eyed her for a second. The atmosphere disappeared instantly at the sight of her distressed expression and Rhean exhaled a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“Guess that’s a bit too much for you.” He contemplated under his breath, before his eyes shot away, focusing on an inconspicuous looking stand a few feet away. Uvogin felt a surge of bloodlust coming off the boards, which could mean a few things.

Those where either conjured items, meaning the user was close.

Or that was the user.

With big strides, he reached the thing and before Rhean could even repeat her question, his fist slammed in the stand made of wooden crates, obliterating the wood with a crunch and a…. feminine scream?

What happened next was quite nearly too fast for Rhean’s eyes. 

Within three seconds, a redheaded woman had emerged from the stand, cradling a completely obliterated arm and immediately attacked Uvogin. 

As soon as she realized they were fighting, Rhean and most onlookers took a few steps back, wary of getting caught in the crossfire.

A few steps weren’t enough.

With a nasty exchange of blows, the woman seemingly fusing with all kinds of objects and trying to hit Uvogin with those and Uvogin returning the favour with punches that demolished entire parts of the market at once.

Rhean could only gawk at the impossibility of the scene before her, though she quickly realised she wasn’t really one to talk.

After about twenty seconds, the woman seemed to fear defeat and was clearly trying to get away, sprinting in the crowds to lose Uvo, which is useless if your opponent doesn’t care how much people are between you and him. Rhean watched with wide eyes as her literal temporary bodyguard fought his way through the masses of people, leaving heaps of destruction and death behind him.

The redheaded woman suddenly shifted direction.

Straight for Rhean.

The woman suddenly held Rhean by her throat, turning towards the approaching Uvogin, who looked a tad more serious.

“Don’t come any closer. I’ll kill her as soon as you take a step closer.” The redhead hissed. 

Said redhead was wearing the typical Meteor City white clothing intended to keep out the toxic fumes of the poorest and worst-off regions, though it was covered head to toe with the blood seeping from her left hand, crushed as it was. With her right, she held up Rhean, who struggled against the sudden use of violence.

Rhean’s eyes stood wide, barely registering what was happening, though the knowledge that Uvogin wasn’t moving filled her with great relief.

Uvo wanted to say something and the redhead already opened her mouth to interrupt him.

Rhean didn’t like hurting people.

She really didn’t.

But in cases like these, she couldn’t help the instinctive response of her body, which immediately sought out ways to get out of this situation.

And so she laid her right hand on the woman and started to heal her arm. 

Both Uvogin and the woman made noises of surprise as Rhean’s ability started working, the flesh mending and the bones twisting back to their original shape. The incredulous look the woman shot her lasted only a second, her attention immediately back to the biggest threat, which was the giant that had crushed said arm.

Rhean didn’t respond to the looks, focusing on her strength seeping into the wounds.

“Uhm, Rhean, you know you’re not supposed to heal someone that’s threatening to kill you?” Uvogin stated, his voice laced with barely concealed annoyance.

Rhean’s legs started to lose feeling, her knees wobbling with growing exhaustion as the arm of the redhead healed, making it more difficult to breathe as she couldn’t use anything but the iron grip on her neck as support, the nails digging into her skin,

The woman had some more injuries, and Rhean felt her reserves empty rather quickly, her left hand slightly twitching.

“It seems she knows what’s good for her.” The woman stated smugly, stretching the fingers that had just been mangled and torn. “What a handy ability though, I might just take this one with me.”

As soon as black pooled at the edges of Rhean’s eyesight, her left hand shot out at the woman.

And landed right on her shoulder.

“Wait-“ The woman uttered before screaming out in agony. She attempted to throw off Rhean but was unable to, Rhean’s left hand sticking on the skin despite the thrashing of the woman.

Her attacker’s scream only lasted a moment, the life sucked out of her at such a high tempo. Crumpling to her knees, the redhead could barely make out another sound before her entire body shrivelled up.