Burning Skies

Today was a "worse than normal" pain day. He could also feel his body slipping away, in and out of its natural form. But that wasn't the worst of it. Only parts of him would dematerialize at times, leaving the rest of him to deal with the sudden lack of functional parts.

His joints especially had found this distressing. Sometimes muscles would grow suddenly unstable, weak, all the buckling points crumpling in ways both natural and not. Over time, it began to wear more and more on his body. He'd somewhere in the course of all these things found some days where it felt his joints didn't move as smoothly as they should, like some form of arthritis, but truly something worse.

He could stand. It only sort of hurt when he put pressure on the weaker of his ankles-- the right. All things considered, this wasn't the worst of days. But there was rain. And everything sucked more when it rained. It hadn't even rained yet. The clouds were forming overhead, the air pressure pressing in on him so even his breathing was labored.

Days like these he just wanted to curl up under the blankets, and if he could he so bold, wanted to just be held. Just being warm was enough. He'd throw tight ankle high socks on and pretend it was a proper brace when he laced his boots up. He's put on a brave face and resist every twinge of pain that would run up his legs, all the way up his spine and back down. He'd probably stayed in bed too long already to go unnoticed. But fuck if he didn't just feel like a pile of old crumbly bones.

   There had only been one order given from Obsidian to her. Shoot to kill. This was an operation to destroy Overwatch–not that she’d been privy to that information nor did she know who she was shooting at. The girl had no reason to care until she’d been shot. Obsidian had treated her as if she was bulletproof and her own limited pain reception fooled her even further. It had taken more than a few bullets to put her on the ground and she was terrified. Eyes wide with terror as if suddenly aware of where she was and what was happening. 

    She tried helplessly to stop the bleeding, unable to really find a place to put her shaking hands. It was a struggle to try and make the choice to reach for her gun when the commander rounding the corner and even more of a struggle to aim the shot, Kit struggling the entire way. She eventually gave up, letting the weapon fall and sinking back to the debris. “Old enough to hold a gun,” she murmured. “Old enough to die, right?” 

A low snort escaped him before he could stop it, so he rolled with it. “Like you’re style, kid.” But damn was that a ton of blood. It was probably a scientific miracle she wasn’t passed out yet. He knew what she was, knew from all the reconnaissance what they did to one’s like this. But he’d already decided, “but that’s not how things are gonna work around here.” 

Blackwatch had tactically overrun the Obsidian agents, leading them in like they had the upper hand, only to be proven fatally wrong. But he’d played hunches like this before, and they hadn’t failed him yet. He com’d a medic, grabbing one of her arms and slung it over his neck, lifting her with ease. Gunshots and carnage still echoes and blasted around them, but this was the norm. He strided, unconcerned, to where the medic had opted to rendezvous and unceremoniously dumped her in front of them.