damned_institute | Night 50: East Wing, Hall A

[from here]

Mello hadn't been back to this hallway since that bogus therapy session he'd been too out of it to use to his advantage, a missed opportunity that still rankled. If he hadn't been sedated, he was sure he would've had his wits about him enough to find out something about that file the Institute had on him, or whether or not being let out was completely random.

But a lot of things would've been different if he hadn't been hampered by the drugs. Mello stubbornly clung to the belief that it would have made a difference that night. He refused to accept that the Institute could do whatever it wanted to them, no matter how much the place tried to rub their faces in that very knowledge. Some people might have been able to find consolation in thinking the game they were losing was rigged against them, but not him. That presupposed a system where winning wasn't possible at all, and he couldn't stand that idea, not as long as he could push himself harder, find more to try.

He refocused on the task at hand, which should have been getting easier due to practice these last couple of days, but wasn't; and took a sniff of the hallway's air. "Heh. I'm thinking that one." He pointed to the first door on his right. "You want to bust it, or should I?"

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The strike connected with a satisfying, solid smack, and the man curled in on himself in obvious pain. Not losing any time, Sasuke kept his grip tight and snapped his hand in rapid succession towards the same pressure point that had been targeted on himself a moment prior, hard enough to stun with pain.

With any luck, that would give him enough time to find the right nerve to pinch and put this idiot out of commission altogether, and then he could turn on Muraki -- strange that the man hadn't attempted to attack at the same time, but perhaps he was less of a fighter than a doctor after all.

He had never been much for brawling. He was capable, of course, but guns and dugs and tactics had always been more to his taste. It was irritating, making concessions. Fight or leave? The decision was simple, in the end. The meat shield wouldn't keep the boy occupied long enough to prevent him from catching up to Muraki and the doctor was too unfamiliar with this place for it to be used to his advantage.

He serged forward again just as Uke-kun began to move, aiming a hard blow at the back of his head.

The blow came before Sasuke could think to turn his attention from one opponent to the other. He had enough time to remember that for all the advantage Muraki took of his position (and wasn't that standard for medics or something?), the man was a doctor because he was a doctor.

Then even the sharp jolt of pain faded into blackness and he crumpled forward, hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud.

One down, at least for the moment. He crouched down beside Uke-kun and set the chainsaw down, checking his pulse and the injury he'd just inflicted with quick, skilled motions. (His fingers might have lingered just a little.) He was certainly unconscious, but it was doubtful that he might die from it. More importantly, he should stay down long enough.

"Are you alright?" He asked, obviously aiming the question at his meat shield. He picked up the young man's discarded sword as he stood again. "I'd like to thank you. What's your name?"

"Fine," Raphael ground out, struggling to force himself up and to his feet. The blow had hurt a lot more than he'd thought without his plastron to lessen it, and it was just as well that tall an' pale had managed to take care of things on his own. He wouldn't have even been able to shout a warning after that strike, so it was just as well that he wasn't inclined to warn the boy psycho about anything.

Once he was back on his feet, he dusted himself off a bit out of show, not to mention to cover the aches and pains he was still feeling. Bruises in the morning, but worth it in his book. Nothing like helping someone else out to feel like you'd managed something in a night here.

"Name's Raphael," he answered. "An' you?"

Injured obviously, but not badly enough that he couldn't force himself to stand. Raphael, was it? It didn't really suit him. He was neither angel nor artist. The boy was short-tempered and muscular, and if the light was better he might be able to map out the scars from a life of battle. He had certainly been trained for it. How many times had he come back from the edge of death? How many people had he saved or damned? That life of battle would end in futility.

"Muraki," He replied, smiling politely as he stepped closer, as if to return the weapon. It was so close now his fingers twitched at the memory of richwarm blood. The heart would be too quick a death; the throat or the eyes too gorey, the stomach be a slow putrid burn and the lungs would fill with blood as he choked. Yes, the lungs... An open spot in the boy's defence and enough time for him to take what he needed. "Thank you for everything."

Shifting his grip on the sword he thrust it forward without warning, hoping to pin the boy to the wall behind him.

Raphael shrugged, still doing his best to ignore the complaints from his bruised body after that tussle. He'd never been one to show he was hurt if he could help it. Too much of a sign of weakness, specially when he didn't know the guy he'd been protecting.

"No problem," he began, reaching for the sword.

He realised it left him wide open to attack a moment later, as the sword darted forwards in a surprisingly quick movement. His eyes widened and Raph instinctively tried to move away, cursing himself because hadn't Splinter always told them that a ninja never let his guard down? but the sword pierced his gut before he could stop it, driving him back until something stopped him. The wall, or maybe the door. It didn't matter, with the sword a lance of pain pinning him there to stare in mute shock at the pale man who'd killed him. It didn't matter if he wasn't dead yet, Raph wasn't stupid. A wound like this and no one else around? He was a dead man.

It was stupid, but the only thing he could think of right now was: "What... the hell...?"

He wasn't going to get to go home and see his family again. No Mikey or Donny or April and Casey or Splinter or even stupid Leo. He was going to die, and as a stinking human as well.

Like getting killed in such a stupid way wasn't already bad enough.

Night 50: East Wing, Hall A

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