His teeth were gnawing on the back of his lip fervently to keep from groaning.
Jericho had already slipped up twice, as much a victim to petty nuisances like pain and anger as any ten-year old punk at Bastion. Granted, most ten-year olds at Bastion hadn't fallen victim to being stalked and viciously gut stabbed from behind (that course, they saved for fourteen-year olds) but Jericho had been trained to expect this sort of thing. And it still hurt.
He would need further conditioning.
He had gotten the assassin that did it, at least.
Faunus, long ears late teens/early twenties, waitress disguise, utilized a hopping-centric fighting style. Rabbit?
Potentially traveling with Duck Faunus partner?Not that it mattered much. He had failed. There were still at least two days left in this assignment, and here he was - dying alone, slumped against a bed, using a food-stained coat and a possessed left hand to try and staunch the blood flow from his wounds. His Scroll's screen was cracked, maybe useless. There wouldn't be point in calling for backup this far away from Atlas anyway. To say goodbye, though...
Rich. Speer. Bright. Captain.
Babs...The boy groaned softly.
Couldn't hurt now.His gloved hand began to move away from his wounds, a fresh trickle of blood leaking out at the loss of pressure. His fingers stretched out for his Scroll--
KICK AT THE DOOR.--and then flew back to the chest harness over his t-shirt, reaching for one of the two enormous pistols holstered over his pectorals.
Ah, well. She would have talked my ear off anyway.Jericho Piper smiled faintly.
Whatever happened, he was a Gold Stripe of Atlas. He had given his life up a long time ago. He didn't mind.
Unless he failed to cost his assailants more than one life.
Dying having
only gotten even was so...
So...
His gloved hand clenched.
k̶͆̂́i͋̒̉̊ͨ́͝l̇͌̾҉ļ͒ͥ͗̔ͬ̍̄̊̾ ͒ͩ͏̷y̨ͬ͂̀̐ͮ̑̽̅͘o̧͊̆̇͟ů̑̍̾͠ ͩͨͤ̒͡a̍͆ͯ̏̍l̛̇ͤ͂͏l̨ͥ̉ͯ͊̍͏.͛ͫ͝"Je t'a--"Within the next fourteen seconds, Jericho Piper's world - and the rest of his life - had flipped upside down, spun 1080 degrees, shot him in the gut, smacked him in the face, and then kissed him emphatically. With tongue.
First emerged a slight, lean boy from the ruin of the door. He had keen eyes, and swept the entire room as if looking for one particular person - and that person clearly hadn't been Jericho, judging by the look of surprise and concern(?) that fell over his face the second he saw the young special agent slumped against the bed. Jericho's ungloved hand clutched his pistol. It was all he could do not to scream in pain, between the lurch in his gut at the movement and the burning in his arm at the half-finished incantation.
Judgͭ̇͛̿̅̐̚m̐̄̂ͩͣeͪ̂̎ͬͨṅ̎͒̑tͩ̂ ̌ͦfͬ̏ͩ̚elt̑̓͂ͫ ͧlͪ̿̓̂̈̓i̾̾k̓̽ͣͣͦ̓͊e ̾ͮ̒͗it ̾̾̆w̑̂ͤ͒̾̑a͛̐͗̂̅̏͂s̏̽̄͋ͨ̈́ͬ ͪ͆̈̃ͨon͐ ͦͤfͥiͣ̀̄ͩ͋re͒͒͑ͨͬ̽.͒̎̄ T̜̟͉̠͍̬̺͐̏ͅĥ͉̗̞̃̃̄e̥̦̠͍̱͙̐ͯͮ̽̔ͫ͛̒r̤͉̓͆ͬẽ̫̻͕͐͑ͣ͆̾̔ ̻̬̞͍̤̫̜́w͉̪̼̹̠̿̽̄ͯ̔̉ͪa̦͚͚͔ͣ́ͫͨͪ̌͌s̟̞̰̦̥̬͋͂ ̘͔̠̃ͫ̋̈ͧ͑ͬg̠̥̣̰͚̬̅̿ͥ̔̅r͉̜̺̘̞̭̓̏o̱̝͔͍̪̱̲͆ͥ̈͐ͬ̾w̥̗̃͑͋ͩ̄l̠̲̠̥̍̿͊ͫ̄̑̋̇i̞͖̘̘͖̳̰͊̀̎̏n͕̈͊ͧ̅ͯg͚͖̪̤͔̯͔ͪ̌̔ͥͣ̀̋ ̼ͤ̍ͯ̒ͪͨͭ̅͑i͖̞͖̪̖̗̩̭͉͌̃͊ͤ̎n͖͕ͤ̍͊ ̰͎̮̹ͭ̇̏ͥ̇̊h͎͚̞̭͎̪͋͛ͪ͌i̥̰̭̽̄s̲̟̤̣̲̲̞ͨͦͮ ͈̹̝͚̞̞̯͌̒ͧ̋̚h͇̬̩̐̽̌́͊e̟̦̝͓̤̗͕̔̋̆̒̀̒̚ȧ̞̼̲̼̋͑͌d͙̰̲̗̍͗͛ͩ̌͒̎ͬ.̦̮̹͖ͪ̍ͯ̋ͤ͌
̬̭͍̝͚͍̩̮̓̆͒̔
͖̼̫̼̞͕͕̆̎̋ͬ̋͊̊̇T̝̣̤̱̱̥̽̆̑̋ͨ͗̈́h̩͙͚͈͇̿̈́̓ͥ̆͂e͈͙̠͈̗͋̾ͥ̀ͨ̃̅ͫ͋ ̱͚̞͎͙̞ͭͨ͌d̻̙̰̜̦̩̟͍ͩ͒ͦ̍̆͊ͫḙ̳̫̞̰͖̘͉̒̋̒͗̂v̮̝̥ͩͣ̑̾̍ͅi̮̤͉̺̞͐̉̏̈̈́ͫl̟̭͉̆'̠̗̰̣͍͕ͣ̿ͮ̈́̇͊̑̂͌ͅs̼̻̹̻͓̦͂ͧͯ ̩̦́̐͋̍ͭb͈͈͖̬̪̽́̉̆ḻ̣̖͕̰̜̬͐̎̾͗͊͂̾̇̓ȍ̻̬̪͓͛o̤̙̰̟̘̥͖̾̊̽̚d͖̼͚͉̪̮̞̱̄ͨ̾ͤ̽͑̐s̩͕̲͇̼͚̜̒̂̋̀̊̒̅̎ͅh̝̤ͦ̒̐̀͗̓ͮ̽͊ô̜͚̲̦̯̰͎͌ͭt̠̚ ͇̼͙̺̔ḙ̠̯̯̰̼ͩ͛ͦ̎̎̋͂͆̐y͖̟̜̤̪̝̬͎̾̿̈́ͬ̋͛ͧ̒̚e̠̺ͤ̉̿s̯̭͍͖͙̥͍̭̆̈́ͤ͒̐ ̜̤̯̱̗̫̾m̻̺͑̀e̼̲̠͇͂̔̾͌̄̚t̞̺̫́ͪ̐̏̊̂ͅ ͖̩̌̂̍̐ͪt̪̼̮̥̗̰̹̏̾̓ͭͣ̑ͤͧh̗̖͔̣̟̮̭̳͆̇̓ͦ̍o̮̪͎̭͕̰̲͕̅̅͒̈́ͧs͕̩͕̫̎ͪ̀̂ē̮͓̭̬̙͍̘̫ͫ ͚̙͆̉̍̆͐ͦ̒ͤȏ̲̺̞̫͋͐͊ͭ̐f̥̩͉͍̰͔̽̍ͤ̾ͅ ̪̮̜̱̝̰͓̞ͤͫ̋̾͐̾̔ͅt̖̼̙͔͔̺͍̳̥͌̏̄̋ͬ̍̊͆h͓͕̬͈̯̍͛̆̈ͤ̒̂͒ͩͅé̺͔̰̹͔̝̤̺̲͗̍̎ ̘̗̜͙̪ͫ̆ͬͣ̋̇ͅh̰̺̰̝̤̱͗ͩē̙̳̦̲͍̥͈̱d̬̱̞͕̤͛ͩ͐̆ͤg̭̲ͤ̀ͥ̉ͩ͒͑ͮe̫̦̽̆h̠̬̠͈̩̀̆̓ͣͧͭͬ͛ȍ̩̿͑g͎̫͎̮̠͚ͮ̓ͅ ̪̪̯̳̠̠̱͈̱͆̽̏ͨ̊͑͛̊ͦF̫͉͋ͮͤ̃̄̂ͬa̗̠̺̙̭̞̮̘̝ͩͫ̋͋͋ͣ͊ú̬̹̲͓̙̿͐̒n͉̣̮͑̔u̜͓̱̤̮͖͙ͣ̓̄̀ͪ̂͑̚ͅs̟̼͈̬̰̲̞͗ͦ̿̋ͬ͑̀.̙̥͙͈̳͈͌͑̓̇Something in the air sparked, and Jer blinked.
He still wanted to scream. And the boy with the goofy hair wouldn't just
move."Gotta go faster," he growled contemptuously at the apparently-hapless killer.
Then his haplessness made sense: Bianca Nuit was right on his heels.
Jer let out another quiet, helpless groan. That's what this was, then. They were trying to keep him from dying in peace.
"What's going on here?""Get away--""Who the fuck's this?"His eyes found her.Tall. Attractive. Dead eyes. Sweeping the room like the boy had, but with casual disinterest...no...disdain?
She seems as disgusted with these people as I do.Had he found a kindred spirit?
"No one."Jericho inched his way up, only to be rewarded for his return to proper posture with a lance of pain in his side and Bianca patting the bed. Clearly, she wanted him to get up there so she could butcher him. Bianca Nuit did not look like someone who had ever so much as removed an organ in Operation without a siren. Jer wasn't about to trust her with his own torso.
As if communicating his thoughts, one incandescent streak of scarlet hair reared back from Bianca distrustfully.
"Leave," the spy said bluntly.
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