damned_institute | Nightshift 43: Weapons Range

[forgive me my fail.]

Albedo spared only a glance for the room, noting the few points of reference, then returned his frown to his twin. "So," he prompted, trying to return to the subject at hand. Rubedo was... (Precious.) Favored, yes, but it didn't change the point. There were things that didn't add up, and if his twin hesitated in their explanation, it would add distrust.

Add distrust? Shouldn't it already be here? Albedo blinked once, and went to open his mouth to continue, when he belatedly noticed something out of the ordinary. The blade he had been holding was gone. Uncrossing his arms, he looked down at his hands. He hadn't dropped it. He was sure. So when.... The door had shut behind him, latched again with a click, and Albedo stared at it. When he walked through. His gaze swiveled back to Rubedo, and the firearm he still held. There was a beat, and then he spoke again, quiet and restrained. "It's a test."

Holding his tongue was a difficulty never imagined for the youngest, who--in a demonstration of rarity--had to clench his jaw to prevent from speaking out of turn. Obvious signs to avoid the subject were obvious. If Nigredo was feeling more sarcastic, he might have rolled his eyes at the attempt. As it was, as he did with most everything, he let the subject die. A sputtering death, but he would allow the slip. Rubedo was hiding something, yes, but the discussion could wait.

Especially since the new area contained a few anomalies. It looked no different than a simple bunker or a warehouse. Metal rivets and unpolished floors. Not to mention what Albedo said. A test?

Nigredo eyed both brothers and shook his head.

That was right; this was a test. There was a clicking sound in the background, followed by a series of beeping noises that sounded like a computer booting up. After a moment, there was a chiming noise, and a series of turrets came out from the floors and the ceiling. Two panels appeared, one at each side of the room.

An automated voice rang out: "Firing commencing in three. Two. One."

And as promised, a series of shots began to ring out, centering on the middle of the room.

This new room was interesting and different, but when he realized there wasn't much there, Junior expected his brothers to start asking for what he'd promised to tell them. But the question didn't come; instead, Albedo started saying what sounded like nonsense.

"Test? What are you talki--" The question was cut off by its answer, the beeping and subsequent automated voice telling him more than he cared to know about what the room held. Oh hell. This night just kept getting better.

"Take this and get back!" he shouted at his brothers, moving back several steps to avoid the shots aimed at the center of the room before dropping his sword behind him. Fifteen rounds meant he couldn't shoot wildly like he normally preferred, but it was infinitely better to have a gun over that sword.

In one swift motion, he grabbed the slide and cocked the gun, then aimed at a big red dot on one of the turrets on the floor. Junior fired, then rolled out of the way, stopping in a low crouch with his leg extended in front of him to keep his balance. He immediately cocked it again and fired two more times.

About to open his mouth to snap a reply, Albedo instead smirked at the latest development, a dangerous amusement in his violet eyes. "That," Albedo said over the beeping. "Is what I am talking about."

Though of course, the test itself was unknown. It was somewhat gratifying to be right, however, especially with the events of the night behind him. Albedo watched Rubedo shout out instructions and promptly ignored them, crossed his arms and watching his twin carefully. If Rubedo wanted his sword taken care of, he shouldn't have dropped it. Or Nigredo would retrieve it. He, on the other hand, would note all that was suspicious about these next minutes.

Rubedo's actions to begin with. Yes, they were trained in firearms, but to the degree that Rubedo was using it. Like a natural limb, something never far from his grasp. The URTV rarely used their issued guns. And if Rubedo stated he was here two weeks, regardless of the time aligning... That meant there were still holes. Uncaring about stray bullets, Albedo slid a hand unto his hip, then called over the gunfire, "Are you still going to say you 'watched carefully', Rubedo? Or are you going to tell us the truth?"

Albedo was a single-minded individual. This could be noted as one of his strengths. His sense of timing, however, left much to be desired.

Nigredo never enjoyed being right. Now especially was a sour point for the youngest variant, who could not believe he failed to make Rubedo leave the stupid gun behind. Such was their luck. Despite the blazing gunfire nearby and general irritation over the matter, Nigredo only sighed and went to retrieve his brother's sword.

He then fell back several steps toward the wall, terrycloth hanging unceremoniously over his right shoulder, the sword resting at his left. With a wary eye, Nigredo watched the eldest execute several moves he recognized as unfamiliar, technically impossible for the stage of firearm training they were supposedly in. Rubedo was a good marksman, true, but not to this extent. It didn't make the earlier suspicious any less concrete.

Unlike Albedo, however, Nigredo kept silent. He only allowed one sentence to pass through the link before sighing again in resignation. {Let him pass his test.}

[hitting Albedo with Aison's permission.]

The turrets themselves began to spin as they fired, aiming by turns at the center and the two panels. A single bullet ricocheted off the floor and struck the white-haired variant straight through the shoulder. The computer was programmed to be able to wound anyone that entered the room, but those wounds were carefully calculated; none would be fatal.

When the third shot hit, there was another beeping noise, and the automated voice rang out again. "Phase One Complete. Entering Phase Two." The turrets were drawn back into the walls and floor, and the two panels disappeared. There were more clicks, whirs, and other mechanical noises - the sounds of a course of fire being determined. Ten targets were raised - two maroon, three gold, and the others red. Something metal flashed at the edges of the red targets.

The voice spoke again. "At the tone, the second phase will begin. Your objective is to hit the three gold targets. You are allowed two misses. Beginning in three, two, one."

There was a loud tone, and with that, the targets began moving in a fast serpentine pattern.

Junior had been trying to watch the turrets as they spun, looking for another opportunity to shoot while trying to avoid getting hit by a stray bullet, but Albedo's comments were pretty damn distracting. It wasn't even about making them suspicious anymore; a severe enough distraction could result in someone getting hurt, and the redhead definitely didn't want that.

A bullet grazed past his ear then, leaving a small scratch, but it seemed like he'd managed to do something to those turrets. So while they were being pulled back into the walls, Junior turned to face his twin. "Shut u--," he started to snap, before he noticed the red stain starting to form around Albedo's shoulder. He had to restrain the urge to punch his twin for being an idiot and getting himself hurt like that. Was he even trying to avoid them? "You idiot! I told you to get back!"

And now there were other things up and moving, and the computer was announcing exactly what he had to do this time. Hit the gold targets...easier said than done. Junior just wanted to get his brothers out of there with the gun he held as his prize, but if this was a test, then he didn't know if he had a time limit or not, much less what the cost of failure might be. He only had two misses, after all.

So instead the redhead tried to convince himself that yes, Albedo would be fine. He could regenerate, after all, and he'd at least implied that it still worked here. I'll give him hell if it doesn't, he thought, before addressing the youngest brother as he turned to face the targets. "Hey, Nigredo, can you make sure he's okay for me? I've got something I need to take care of first." He cocked the gun again as he did so, then raised it as he followed the targets through the sight. Once he thought he had a good idea of the speed they were going at, Junior fired again.

Narrowed eyes were following his twin in his movements when Nigredo suddenly sent at him--surprisingly enough, Albedo followed the advice and stopped speaking. For what reason, he couldn't say. Perhaps he didn't want Rubedo to fail. Perhaps he saw the logic of Nigredo's words. Perhaps it was something else. Still frowning, Albedo turned to look at Nigredo, a question half-forming in his mind--

It was less like pain and more like pressure, enough to send him stumbling backwards a few steps. No, not like pain. This was familiar, stinging, as his left arm dropped down, the bullet lodged between the ball and socket of the joint. But this was not pain. The aftereffects of real pain, courtesy of this night alone, were still ringing. Wincing despite himself, Albedo brought a hand up to his shoulder as Rubedo yelled back at him, touching the hole where the ammunition had entered almost delicately. Almost obscene. He had to blink before he stopped staring at it, raising his head to glare at Rubedo defiantly.

Silence remained, however, and Albedo just rolled his eyes, walking to Nigredo and plopping against the wall to sit. Half-annoyed, he moved the cloth of the shirt away from his shoulder, attempting to work a finger in to find the bullet. Despite the obvious pain on his face, Albedo's eyes showed no discomfort, locked as they were on his shoulder. "What do you think?" he asked lowly, suddenly, for Nigredo's ears alone; surprisingly calm in the way he was speaking. "How do you think he learned all of that?"

There was surprise at the bullet, then bitterness as he saw the tinge of red around Albedo's shoulder. As he realized once again, he had predicted this in a way. Fortunately, Rubedo barked out his anger at the albino, giving Nigredo ample time to push his own deep beneath consciousness. "Sure," he called back, indifferent. "Just don't miss."

He regarded his other brother. As promised, the child looked at the other's wound, carefully calculating the extent of the damage. It appeared none too serious, something that could be fixed with time and equipment. Or just time, in the case of Albedo. Nigredo tactfully did not voice this sentiment.

Instead, he took to another, one he was more than willing to discuss out of Rubedo's hearing range. "From someone," he answered. "There is no mistake." The questions, however, were who and how. Who were they? How were they so talented that they could teach a brother to be proficient in pistols in two weeks?

One shot, and while it deflected off the edge of a maroon target in the process, it had still hit the first target in the end. "Target hit. Two to go."

The targets' pattern changed, then - at first it seemed to simply reverse itself, but then the pattern changed completely; the targets looped around each other, crossed in places, and went back to their serpentine pattern, before changing again. In other words, they were moving randomly.

It was tough to tell where the first shot had hit, at first. Junior thought he'd seen it bounce off of something, but then the automated voice told him how he was doing so far and Junior couldn't help but grin.

Which promptly fell again when the targets suddenly started moving differently. "What the hell!?" It wouldn't have been all that bad if he could actually tell where to shoot next. The best part of practice with moving targets was that, after a while, you could make out some sort of pattern and predict where to shoot. So much for that plan. Even so, Junior watched the targets move on their own for a few seconds before firing twice in succession.

He could tear at the bullet hole if he liked, and shred the skin there, or he could simplify matters. Before continuing with Nigredo, he looked up calmly, asking, "May I use that?" That, being the sword that Nigredo had so nicely retrieved. The look Albedo received was warranted, and Albedo made a face in return. With a flourish he gestured at his shoulder. "To retrieve that." This was seemingly a good enough explanation, because Albedo was given the blade.

It was awkward doing this with something this long, but he still managed the X-shaped cut needed to split the skin wider. Blood was now leaking nicely into the grey shirt, combining with the cloth to create a nice, dark tone. He held the sword back up for Nigredo, and then began pushing and peeling the edges of his flesh back. How annoying. Their brother was swearing, and after a minor look up to watch him shoot again, Albedo returned his attention to the conversation at hand and the metal lodged in his shoulder.

'Someone' made him bristle automatically. Someone who had been close enough to Rubedo to spend that much time and effort on him. Someone that talented to turn two weeks into much more. The dark-haired man with mismatched eyes who smirked at him so willingly? The mystery person who pierced Rubedo's ear? Another of the multitude? Albedo couldn't know. So it was with full distain that Albedo spoke next, eyes seemingly intent on what his hand was doing. "Do you really think that there's someone that is capable of that?" A pause, a breath as he reinserted a finger, then two. "Or do you think he's hiding something from us?" Again, Albedo wanted to say. "He's been acting strange."

This almost passed for a civil conversation between the monochrome Variants. Such was to be expected from the subject manner. Who else could Albedo speak with on the subject on his twin? There was no resentment in this, merely information gathering. Nigredo would say what he saw, and the conclusions from that, and currently, that was what Albedo needed. Needs changed quickly, but.... Pressing inward, Albedo hit bone with his fingertips, and felt for the metal lodged between.

Suspicion graced his features, but the explanation and the calm in the other's voice were enough for Nigredo to hand over the weapon. He looked on quietly as his brother made an incision in the affected shoulder, the blood flowing out and down. The temptation to wince was stifled completely, albeit a part of him wanted to look away. It did not matter how many wounds, autopsies, and deaths he had witnessed, or the amount of calm he held over his emotions. He would never be used to seeing this on his siblings.

With its purpose complete, the blade was taken back, resting again at Nigredo's side. In exchange, the child offered the terrycloth. Albedo needed it more at the moment. "Both," he said. The answer lacked in hesitation. "You know this place as much as I do. The people here are not regular humans." Some apparently weren't altogether, if the bulletin was to be believed.

"As for Rubedo..." He leaned into the wall, as though exhausted. Rubedo continued his little game of target practice. "He wouldn't be acting strangely unless something was up."

The first shot was on its mark, directly hitting one of the gold targets. However...

"You have one miss left." The voice spoke as the metal glinted off the red target that had been hit, and a single turret extended from its left side, firing a round of shots directly at Rubedo. It was a clear signal that a second miss would be far, far worse than just a single round. The signal was amplified by the fact that a green light lit on each of the dark-colored circuits.

The targets began to move again, just a bit faster than before.

At least one of them had hit, though Junior wasn't able to celebrate before bullets began heading his way. Reflex took over, and he did a back flip to try to get out of the way. One of the bullets grazed his ear, and probably clipped off some of his longer strands of hair, though when he landed he realized he'd been a bit too quick to flip out of the way. Another bullet hit the mark, landing straight in his shoulder. A quiet part of his brain wondered with surprising clarity if Albedo's injury was in the opposite one.

"Dammit!" he hissed, doubling over into a crouch as he grabbed at his shoulder. "Piece of shit..."

Not that a bullet would stop him. Gritting his teeth against the fire flaring up in his shoulder and trying to ignore the slightly less painful graze on his ear, Junior stayed crouched on the floor and raised the gun again, gripping it with both hands to keep it steady. He couldn't miss this time. "Eat this!" he shouted before firing again.

Fingertips found metal far easier than was thought. It didn't seem as lodged in as Albedo would have guessed. Blood now coated his fingers freely as he worked them back and forth, attempting a grip on the slick and smooth bullet. Pushing it down created an obvious wince in the boy, though he shook his head at Nigredo's offer. That would have been funny, at a different point in the night.

He nodded his agreement to Nigredo's point. Albedo knew this very well. "But," he continued the second point, adding another wince as the metal shifted again. "What exactly do you think is up? What would he hide here?" Everything. Nothing. The bullet dislodged itself with a wet popping sound, Albedo leaning forward both in discomfort and to loosen its way out. In a moment, fingers pulled the bullet loose of flesh, the gold metal tarnished with blood.

At the same moment, it seemed, Rubedo dropped from his acrobatics, clutching his shoulder. Fisting the metal unconsciously, Albedo's eyes went wide as he watched his twin--not noticing in his near panic how the familiar glow of the telomerase had not yet begun. He shifted to a crouch, fist pressed against his shoulder. "Rubedo!"

It was amazing, really. How quickly Albedo's emotions changed.

"I don't know," he openly admitted, pulling back the cloth. There were too many possibilities to narrow down to one. If the setting had been more familiar, there might have been no question. Here, however, things weren't as predictable. Beyond Nigredo's reach.

The lids of his eyes drooped as he realized this applied to both brothers.

A blur and a series of curses snapped the boy back to attention, widening his eyes and bating his breath. The eldest appeared hurt and extremely irritated. The way he clutched at his shoulder revealed an injury in line with his twin's, which frightened Nigredo in a different light. Unlike the albino, Rubedo had no accelerated healing to fall back on.

But Nigredo remained silent. The time for a reaction hadn't come yet.

The last bullet found its mark, and with that, a piece of music rang out - one that should have been familiar to all three variants. The voice spoke one last time: "Testing complete," and a platform appeared at the center of the room. A door also became visible in the far wall.

Finally. He'd passed the stupid test and now they could get out of here before anything else showed up or popped out of the walls; unfortunately, it looked like the gun wouldn't be going with him. Junior stared at his empty hands where the Beretta had just been, a half-pout on his face, before he finally got up, grabbing onto his shoulder again and pressing his palm firmly against the entry wound.

"I'll be fine," he assured them, grimacing. "It's just a flesh wound." He'd definitely taken worse hits than that over the years, whether from the Gnosis, other people, or even enemy mechs. "Now let's get see what we got for that crap and get out of here."

Silence remained strong in the moments after. Albedo stared at Rubedo openly, then realized he was still bleeding as warm blood soaking his hand. Wide-eyes turned downward in horror. Now? Now he would...?

The glow was almost too faint to be seen, but it was there. Albedo couldn't even see the healing. It was so slow. So slow. He swallowed, pushing his hand more against his shoulder. He got up from his crouch, and walked unsteadily over to Rubedo, putting his other hand on Rubedo's good shoulder. His voice was soft, eyes troubled. "...are you... all right?"

A jingle chimed into the room, its familiarity and accompanying ambiance hardly a source of relief. Though, Nigredo did manage an exhale before moving away from the wall toward his brothers. He noted the appearance of an exit as well as some kind of platform but saved any full attention for when they'd assured Rubedo's well-being.

Speaking of which, the redhead appeared relatively lively for someone shot in the shoulder. So far, this was a good sign. "Do you need us to look at it?" he asked.

He knew he should take Nigredo up on the offer, but there was no telling what might be in store if they lingered. Not to mention that at the moment there was only one washcloth to share between the three of them, and blood was already seeping out between his fingers and under where his palm was pressed. He had to keep his hand there for now, but if they got outside, they could figure something else out. Maybe rip up one of those weird tapestries, or cut it up. At least come morning, he could rely on the nurses to have treated it properly. Never thought I'd miss nanotechnology this much...

"In a bit," he finally told the youngest. "I can make it out that door," or so he thought, "just take it slow, okay? Then we can take care of it." His body already felt like it was going a bit slower, probably the effects of the rest of the night wearing on him. Now that the subject of his excitement had vanished and the adrenaline was done surging, he felt absolutely exhausted, and moving too quickly just sent more searing pain through his shoulder.

Regardless, he still gave his twin what was an attempt at a grin, though it was a pained one. "I'm fine, Albedo. One bullet's not getting rid of me. What about you?"

Blood and blood, and if he didn't want to kill himself at that moment, he might have gone a little crazy. Nigredo's blood, and his, and Rubedo's, and the three of them, in around the same place, and they were--!

For the second night in the night, Albedo dropped to his knees with a sickening crack. His expression showed little more than worry and fear--both with separate causes. His hand slid off of his twin's shoulder to rise to his mouth instead, an anxiety-filled habit. "You're bleeding. You should..." He should. Words failed him. Albedo moved his fist away from his shoulder, opening it to show the bullet inside. "You should get the bullet out." But Albedo also understood safety, at least in regards to two mortal brothers, and knew they needed a safe place before that could happen. So, slowly, he nodded, eyes down, and shifted carefully to his feet.

As for him? Albedo spared a glance for his own shoulder, the wound knitting itself up slower than ever had happened before. He bit his lip, uncertainty and a wash of other emotions flowing through him, draining him in an endless flow. But the glow held, and the regeneration was taking, so Albedo technically had nothing to complain about. Oh, yes. No. He couldn't complain. Another small nod for Rubedo. A small voice to accompany, "I'm fine."

"Understood," replied Nigredo. His gaze fell on Rubedo's hands, noting with interest that the Beretta had disappeared. Likely not of the redhead's choosing; perhaps it was a quirk of this area? That better emphasize the importance of avoiding weapons of unknown origins for future endeavors.

As had been the case with Albedo, Nigredo held out the terrycloth to the eldest. "Here," he offered. "You need this more than I do." He'd stopped bleeding anyway.

It was kind of weird how quickly Albedo's attitude toward him could change. Earlier he'd been upset, more recently he'd been suspicious. Now his worry was evident. Maybe the redhead still had a chance to make up for everything.

"I will," he tried once more to reassure his twin, before accepting Nigredo's offer of the washcloth. Junior inhaled sharply as he pressed it firmly against the wound, biting back another curse. Taking the bullet out would hurt like hell, but leaving it in could do way more harm.

That done, he turned toward the platform and door beyond and started walking, albeit slowly. Time to get his brothers moving, get their prize, and get out.

A lingering look was for both siblings, something unsaid in the gaze. Like much else this night, Albedo pushed it aside, unable or unwilling to deal with anything more. He followed in Rubedo's footsteps, and once he saw where his twin was going, walked around him instead. Rubedo was injured, Nigredo as well, plus the latter still had Rubedo's sword. Albedo would heal, was healing, even though every step now felt heavy, his head thick, limbs drained... And he could carry whatever this little test would give them.

Which apparently seemed of little use. Albedo reached and platform and picked the blade up, testing it automatically against his arm. Blunt. Dull. So what was...? He turned to show it to his siblings, not impressed.

The lack of awe at the prize extended to the third U.R.T.V., who paused in his stride to voice the implications. "A sword," he began, drawing out the syllables in quiet sarcasm. "One that doesn't cut." And quite frankly, looked too pretty to be a proper weapon, like an item used for decor as opposed to destruction. Given the length and breadth of effort to gain this prize, it all suddenly seemed pretty ridiculous.

"So Rubedo," continued Nigredo, "was that what you were expecting from the basement?" Granted, the entire experience had been eye-opening in a sense, but to what purpose? Getting the three injured? Trading functioning equipment for one completely useless? And he was sure at one point his brother said something about getting out of the institute. When did that start again?

Doubt flashed in his expression. "What are we supposed to do with a sword?"

A sword, and a useless one at that. A perfectly good and pretty damn awesome gun had disappeared...and left a sword. The redhead visibly deflated at that, and Nigredo's biting sarcasm only added injury to this insult of a weapon. "You got me," he all but snapped, "but it's sure not what I was looking for." Not that he'd had much of an idea what to expect to begin with, only a guess and some vague information from a bulletin informant.

Sound began to drift down to the eldest's ears again, and he tried to ignore it while thinking about what to do. Continuing to look around the basement with them all like this would be suicide, but making it back upstairs one he got the bullet out of his shoulder could be just as dangerous. It wasn't like just covering the three of them with a tapestry and holding down the fort until night ended was very bright either.

Then a familiar voice cut through all that, louder than what he'd been vaguely hearing before.

Sorry, but I don't like to follow orders.

"Wha--!?" Junior's body went cold when he recognized it. That was definitely Gaignun, and it startled him to hear Nigredo's adult voice again. Especially since the last time he'd heard him say anything like that... "Did you guys...hear that?" he started hesitantly.

So was that the end of the game? A menagerie of ordeals, matching wounds, and disappearing weapons? More injuries among them, too close to the--heart, and questions raised with no answers. Albedo propped the useless prize on his shoulder, shaking his head. "Perhaps we're supposed to play pretend," he added with no real heat. This night had been far too tolling. Too much had been taken with nothing gained. His shoulder still glowed fainted, alerting Albedo that he was swaying. His mouth thinned.

Something shifted in the air, in his brother's mien, and Albedo slowly shifted his eyes to Rubedo, unsuccessfully hiding the panic that was waiting there. Wrong. Something was wrong. No. Not-- "No," Albedo answered sharply, voice contradicting expression. "There was nothing." Wasn't he the one that was supposed to be hearing things?

Pretend, yes. The very simplicity was the infuriating element in this venture when he thought about it. He sighed for what was the umpteenth time of the night and turned to regard the exit.

Only then, the eldest of the trio said something highly unusual, something not like him at all.

"You mean the intercom announcement?" More than an announcement: it was the familiar initialization sequence of a program coming to an end. Nigredo hadn't thought much about it since their entrance, but now the aspect was a cause for concern. The child listened carefully, even holding a hand out to his ear in hopes of picking out the one off element. "Now that you mention it," he continued quietly, "I do hear people screa--"

"Nigredo, come here."

"--ming..."

That had been no scream. A wave of calculated indifference washed over the boy as he slowly recognized its nature, words thought to have been buried somewhere in the past. Ones that shouldn't, no, couldn't be surfacing now. Their owner was gone; he had shot the man at point-blank just to be sure.

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, away from his brothers. A hand (his or another's, Nigredo could not tell) extended out to an unknown target, then vanished in a mess of static. In its place came an echo, another voice he recognized. Only in contrast to the last, it was enveloped in emotion, something like fear tearing at its seams. And as it rang out, the child thought he knew the owner as well. He had, after all, been the one to scream it.

"No! I'm abandoning my mission!" A metallic click. "I won't follow your orders anymore!"

The crack of a gun shattered through his ears, but the sound went unrecognized. Instead, Nigredo recoiled from an unknown force, red and chunks of hair and flesh flying in different directions. There was a stretch of silence as consciousness faded and muscles gave way, before the child slid slowly to his knees and crashed face-first onto the floor.

Junior almost didn't hear his brothers' responses. The voice was continuing to repeat things he'd heard before, things that he wished he hadn't had had to hear at all, much less for a second time; but he couldn't just block it out, nor could he run from it.

"I know that I never should have existed in this world to begin with."

"It's not true...it's not true!" he repeated quietly, his good arm dropping to his side while his hand clenched into a fist. How could he have even thought that? And now his younger self stood in front of him, probably thinking that very same thing...

Junior looked up in time to notice that Nigredo was stepping back from them, looking absolutely terrified, which was rare enough for the youngest to give him cause to worry. Was he actually hearing something, too? Was he hearing the same thing? If he did, was he aware of the speaker's identity? "What's wrong?" he asked, but never received a response.

Junior screamed for the second time that night and stepped back several paces as part of his brother's head exploded for seemingly no reason whatsoever. He'd seen people be shot before, had even seen the end result of it happening to people he knew when their father had created that bloodbath on the Durandal. But this was his brother, someone he'd spent so much of his life with, who had been just fine a minute ago, and now...

Now he was watching him die again, while hearing what had happened before. It was surreal, had to be a dream or else a really fucking sick joke. People only got one shot at life; or so he wanted to believe. This place had proven otherwise, hadn't it? Some of Nigredo's blood had sprayed onto the eldest, along with bits of flesh, proof enough that it had happened. It had happened, and the bastard responsible was nowhere to be seen. "Nigredo!"

"I'm not saying goodbye. Let's play together again sometime. Until then, take care, Rubedo, Albedo..."

Nigredo's voice again, though he couldn't tell if this was the voice from above having changed or something that the youngest was sending along the link. If he even could anymore. Junior fell to his knees, a jolt of pain shooting through his arm as the bullet tore through more muscle, but he almost didn't feel it. It didn't matter anymore. He'd lost one of his brothers again already, even though he'd sworn that he wouldn't let it happen. All because he'd wanted to explore the basement. It was some sort of horrible curse that the redhead couldn't escape from, no matter how hard he tried.

"No, dammit!" Junior shouted, and though he was furious with himself, a sob tore through him instead and his body sagged. "Don't do this to me again! Don't..." He didn't finish that train of thought, another sob cutting him off, and he made no effort to try to finish it; instead, he just sat there and cried.

Edited 2009-09-20 03:54 (UTC)

"What's wrong?"--

The first actual clue that the ever-present feeling of dread was not simply another fabrication. There was something hesitant in Albedo's movements--perhaps sluggish, but perhaps unwilling. He shifted, turned from Rubedo to Nigredo with fear still in his gaze.

His eyes widened.

There was something like a pause, something like time stopping, images burned in the retinas, retaining the impression endlessly. Albedo could stop, detail this later--everything about it was fresh, and he had years to pour over the evidence. In his mind, Nigredo was suspended in the air, knees already touching the ground, body tilted forward to hang forever. In the corner of his vision, Rubedo was halfway to the same motion, his legs having given out, mouth opened in a wretched cry. "Don't do this to me again!" Don't....

If Albedo had an expression it was empty, missing anything that would signify someone as a living human. His head had tilted to the side, surveying the scene--like a bird, curious, he eyed the damage. The death. The body's face was still in a mock-up of perpetual horror, caught in frozen shock. Something in him still had the humor to note that perhaps if the afterlife existed, the body had gained enlightenment. A third eye, red and small, centered the forehead, a brilliant contradiction to the splatter of gore--blood and bone and brain, leaking out in a dull display of color and motion--festooned in the air behind. A spectacle of spectacles. The moment of death, frozen. A snapshot of life fleeing the body.

...Of Nigredo dying.

Time unfroze in a grotesque display, ruined flesh hitting concrete with a wet, crunching sound. Air taken in was a gasp--too high, too long--and Albedo stumbled forward a step, fist rising to his mouth in habit, stifling a noise, animal-like in nature. His over-taxed brain tried to process this turn of events and failed, something giving in while something else rose. His eyes unfocused, the breath held came out in a desperate giggle. Something too much like a sob. Something ruined in the undertones. Air was coming short now, gasping breaths quick and painful, black rounded the edges of his vision. The life fled the body. Oh, how true that line was.

There was life. And there was not.

Eyelids fluttered as consciousness was lost, before or after the rest of the Institute was yet undetermined. Darkness encompassed everything, a miasma of nothingness--deep and daunting, cradling one yet to fall.

Albedo might have wished for light but the first day had not yet come. The darkness remained. The sins unclean.

Nightshift 43: Weapons Range

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