Prose and Cons
With @Mobley Eats
The peace was enjoyable, a rarity that he did his best to revel in. Hagur always scared him… No, petrified him. Not merely because of the faces upon faces surrounding him at all sides, a horrific story hidden them. Nor was it because of the vile guards with their vile sneers and horrendous hatred towards him and his… kind.
No, none of that terrified him the way he did. What could one do when their worst fear was themselves? Not a dark side or latent half of his personality. Not his past or a single moment that marked the end of his humanity. Just… him. He was frightened by himself.
But, at the very least, this little book could distract him from that. If only momentarily. Quiet and solitude; one of those two words usually never bode well with him, but considering his mother had all but vanished and his best friend was in a coma, Bombay had no choice but to deal with it. It helped somewhat to bury himself in a world of make believe. Believe himself to be the charming little protagonist living out his adventure in ink. Morality in check. A symbol of something just and
right. Today, Bombay was that person. He couldn’t bare to think otherwise.
The scrawny teen gave pause to lower his book into his lap and timidly adjust his wide-rimmed circle glasses. That bomb had left some sort of lingering effect in his vision. Nothing too bad, but there was a difference now. He could tell. The mass murderer curled into his little corner of the Hagur Library, grip white-knuckle tight on the book and wide eyes glassy with an innate deadness. He missed his mom and friend. Should he visit them? Go to mom’s cell? Dudley’s bed? No… No, no, that was too scary. He hated the infirmary. He wouldn’t make it two steps inside.
This train of thought made the inside of his skull itch. No good.
Bombay curled into a tighter ball and continued reading.
River hadn’t been here long enough to locate every safe space. Or any, really. But there came a point where he felt he couldn’t hide behind Bahram forever, even though he’d really like too. Besides, he needed a place to… digest, for a little while. Collect himself. At least, try too.
The library… was quiet. Dauntingly quiet, but River would give anything to allow a different world to swallow him whole right about now. And this seemed like the closest he could get.
He picked the first book with a pretty cover, but it was some sort of murder mystery with a rather violent depiction as its opener and…. River closed it quickly. He stood to find another book, maybe something fantasy… sci fi… anything but real. He didn’t want real. He wanted fake, la la land, a picture perfect place. Honestly? A picture book would do.
Until he saw Bombay. River paused, unsure of what to say. So much had transpired between him and Hana and… Dudley. In fact, he hadn’t seen enough of Hana lately… and Bombay, alone, it didn’t mean good things.
“Hi,” He said meekly, wiggling his fingers in greeting.
Bombay almost didn’t register the greeting, far too submerged in the story to believe that any voice aside from the gruff one of a guard’s would ever come his way. It took a handful of seconds for the realization to hit and when it did, he blinked at the pages. Several times. The motion so quick that it couldn’t have been anything else but involuntary. Cautiously, he glanced up, only to immediately press further into his corner and curl into himself like a turtle.
Book tucked safely within the confines of his lap, Bombay scrambled to measure his breathing and formulate words at once. Dual thinking. Dual thinking was so hard. But it was just one word. That was all he had to utter; it was so achingly simple. Awkwardly, he glanced around the library in search of another face. Surely, there was a mistake. Why was this person talking to him? No… No, no, he knew who he was. Hana spoke about him. All the time.
“I…” His voice was a step below squeaky, fragile to an almost pitiful degree. Bombay pointed to himself unsurely. “...Me?”
River was just as stumped by the boy’s answer, pausing for a moment to digest. “...Yes?” He forgot that not everyone was as friendly as the group of people he had been lucky enough to align himself with. “..You. U-uhuh.”
“...Oh.” Bombay gulped, his mind racing a million miles an hour. He didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next, though the answer should’ve been obvious. Say hey back and let it die off from there. Simple. Easy.
That sounded like the hardest task in the world.
He fidgeted in his spot for a moment, gaze glued to River like a cornered prey, before allowing himself to stand up. Slowly. Hesitantly. He was now clutching the book to his chest. “Um… Uhuh.” His features pinched. No, that was what River said. He mimicked the wrong thing. Earlier than that. Earlier. “H… Hi?” Okay, he was back on track. This was going just fine. Not like his legs were gradually turning into jelly or his heartbeat was steadily increasing in tempo. Bombay could handle this without Hana. He swore he could.
River blinked, slowly beginning to understand how separate Bombay’s presence was when he wasn’t with Hana. “You don’t h-have to stand,” He murmured, waving his hand dismissively, “I just… wanted to ask a-about Hana? And… Dudley?” Guilt laced his tongue and made it heavy. If Bombay was alone like this, it didn’t mean good things. “I… haven’t seen her.”
Whatever iota of normalcy Bombay fought so hard to grasp slipped through his fingers. His demeanor shifted from one of tepid civility to something shaky. Far more shaky. His eyes latched to his feet and with rigid movement, he stepped back until his back gently met the wall. “She… She’s not… I-I don’t…” A wheeze rattled his lungs. “They’re not h-here, so… I don’t--can’t see them or… or…”
He pressed his knuckles into an eye, trying to smother the heat building behind them and inhaled once. Sharply. Then forced himself to exhale slowly. “S-... sorry,” he whispered.
River was stunned by the amount of anxiety radiating off of Bombay. He could sense that all he was doing was making it worse, especially when he himself was so prone to tears. It was strange. Like looking in a very, very uncomfortable mirror.
“N-no, uh, I-.. I-I’m sorry. It’s o-okay. I’ll just… L-look, I’ll go now, alright? S-sorry to bother you.” River said, taking a stumbling step backwards, nearly tripping over his own two feet. He shoved the book he’d been carrying onto the nearest shelf and headed for the
exit.
“No! I-I just…” Bombay’s protests fell flat, his parted lips clamming shut once more with defeat as he watched River leave. There was relief; of course there was. He no longer had to uphold conversation with a stranger and yet, at the same time, the loneliness nagged at his nerves like a flesh eating virus. He shuffled over to the nearest table and sat down, the book within his hands forgotten.
”All available staff hands, call to attention. All available staff hands, call to attention. This is a Code Blue. I repeat, this is a Code Blue. All units launch into search parties immediately. Crate #ZH450. Crate #ZH450. I repeat. All available staff hands…”
A voice blared through the intercoms overhead, crackling with static, urgency, and bitterness. It was followed immediately by a series of clangs rumbling throughout the ceiling and walls, as if something was moving within them. Lowering.
“Code Blue? Are you shitting me?” A guard located near the library exit cursed under his breath, the agitation behind his voice climbing as he saw the metal gates slide down the door frame. Another guard was seated near him, seeming a tad more relaxed than his employer but sporting just as much annoyance in his visage.
“So much for a lunch break,” he grumbled. “The actual hell’s going on…? How long they’re gonna have us stuck in here?”
“Mr. Bourbon, asking all the right questions, folks…” The guard ignored the middle finger Bourbon shot his way, his attention drawn to River’s approaching form. He immediately shot a hand up, form tense and unyielding, “Hey! Sit down, dog! You don’t hear that, huh? We’re on lockdown, so you’re not going
anywhere.”
“Whoa, whoa. Clyde, hold on,” Bourbon interrupted while scrutinizing River. Slowly, he stood, hands resting on his waist belt, fingers on a Blazer. He slowly walked up to the prisoner, a smile of disbelief pulled at his grizzly features. “I know your whiny little face… You dished out the first kill last round. The redneck shithead, wasn’t it? Yeah? You did him in.” His smile waned a bit. “...I had my money set on Buck.”
River could hear Bombay’s short cry of protest, but he didn’t stop. He kept moving forward. He didn’t know how to comfort Bombay, and he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable; no, but maybe he could go find Hana, and alert her to his state? He didn’t want to see him so distraught, especially not over him, but…
Then the blaring began. The terrifying message, the clangs, the gates slamming shut in such a menacing way it made River jump. A whimper escaped his throat the moment the guards stood and began to shout, and he immediately moved backwards, glancing frantically behind him to find some place to run. He could feel the two pairs of eyes staring into his soul, one a little worse than the other, and River held his breath.
Chills raced down his spine at the mention of the round. It haunted his every waking moment, just like every other face he had… seen grow cold. His fragile frame trembled, despite the fact that the guard spoke every truth. River’s hands rose in surrender.
“I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorry,” He choked out. Pale as a ghost.
“Lip service, kid,” Bourbon chuckled while shaking his head. He massaged the back of his neck and rolled it around, relinquishing a few pops. “If you’re not female and got a pretty face, I’m not interested in any of that coming from you. You wanna apologize?” He moved in even closer, ignoring the significant drop in River’s complexion. He rubbed his fingers together expectantly. “You better look into paying me back.”
“Both of us,” Clyde piped up from behind, his expression beyond smug and entertained.
Bourbon rolled his eyes. “Right. Whatever. Point is, if I were you, kid? I’d look into figuring out how to compensate for all the bullshit you caused, yeah? And figure it out soon.”
River’s stomach twisted endlessly into knots. Every part of his body trembled under the intimidating stances of the two guards. Pay them back?
Compensate? He could barely keep his head above water between the Dog Fights and Wick and Fritz. Now… with the guards out to get him? He’d be dead by nightfall if he didn’t get out of his library.
“I-I d...d-don’t have any m-m-money.” River whispered.
“No shit, genius,” Bourbon scoffed, another laugh escaping him. Roughly, he clapped River on the back and leaned down to mutter, “We know that, dumbass, but there’re other ways.” Slowly, he raised a finger to poke River in the stomach, a single and harsh jab. “You know how good our medical center is… Top notch supplies. Top notch surgeons.” His head tilted in tandem with a grin. “I bet a young, healthy wimp like you could afford to give up a few organs, right? You know what people on Earth
pay for that? I know a guy who’d be damn happy to make business.”
His body lurched forward at the harsh slap on the back, sweat beading on his forehead and bile rising in his throat. River was terrified, and how lucky he was so get ambushed like this during the one time he had decided willingly to be away from his only form of protection. Who was here to save him? No one. Bombay wouldn’t even lift a finger. The jab into his stomach elicited another, louder whimper, eyes furrowing shut as his breathing quickened. Vivid images arose in his mind, of his body, hollowed out, filled with holes like swiss cheese. On Dante’s table, eyes cold like the rest.
“N-n-no,
please,” He begged, voice cracking. “A-anything else, p-please. Y-y-you c-c-could b-bet o-on m-me f-for the n-next r-round!” As his tone rose with urgency, he tried to inch himself away from the guards, arms wrapped protectively around himself to prevent further invasion.
Bourbon released River without much hassle, smile widening further as the boy practically crumbled from his words alone. “How did a chicken shit like you kill someone anyway,” he wondered before shooting Clyde a look. The other man was busying himself at the coffee machine, filling up a small cup for himself while unleashing cackles under his breath.
“Kid’s better off giving lip service, after all. Why not give him the option, man? You swing both ways and you damn well know it.”
“I’ll shoot you in the dick. Shut up,” Bourbon grumbled. His gaze snapped back over to River. “Afraid I can’t do that, kid.” He placed his hands on his hips, heaving a tired sigh. “With the groups you’re up against? You’ve got no fucking chance. Best to cut your losses now and give up that kidney, yeah?”
Clyde sipped his coffee, letting a shiver of content run down his spine, before placing it down and retracting his Blazer. Just the tiniest glimmer entered his eyes as he approached the pair. “Why’re you wasting your time
negotiating with a dog, man? We could just take ‘em by force--”
“Lower that shit, idiot,” Bourbon sighed while pushing the gun down with his hand and glaring at Clyde. “That’s a fucking Tribute. You can’t kill one without Romana’s permission, remember?” Grumbling, Clyde sat back down, tossing the Blazer a little ways over like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Whatever,” he muttered, “Just don’t let me die of boredom in here.”
River’s breath caught in his throat as Clyde pointed the blazer at him. It stunned River how easily it was for the man to raise the weapon. Like it meant nothing. Like his life, every life on this ship meant nothing, and the only thing that protected him was the fact that he’d been slated for death in another, much more gruesome form. His breath was stuck in his throat, only until the Blazer was placed nonchalantly on the table.
His opportunity.
“I-I need my k-k-kidneys t-to f-fight in the n-next r-r-round,” River whispered, inching ever so slowly towards the table, but he wasn’t.. the sneakiest.
“Does it look like I’m dying to see you fight in the next round?” Bourbon didn’t pay River’s motion much mind, though his eyes were trained on the young man. “Hell, if you did lose a kidney, it’d help me out in the long run. Take you out of the pool and my earnings are guaranteed.”
However, it was Clyde that took note of the odd shuffling and he was quick to jump to his feet, brow set in a hard pinch. He closed the distance in an instant and glared down at River. “Keep where you are while we’re talking to you, dog. You don’t have any common sense, huh?”
River shrunk quickly under Clyde’s presence closing in. “S-sorry, s-s-sir,” River whispered, head lowered, trying to slow his breathing as it threatened to escape him.
Think, River, think. If he got his hands on the Blazer… that was all he needed. If he didn’t… he’d either lose a kidney in this very room or lose his entire life in the games. And, as horrible as that sounded, he preferred the latter. At least there was a fighting shot there. “I-I j-just.. I think y-your c-coffee m-m-machine is o-overflowing.”
“What?” Bourbon looked at River as if he’d grown a second head. “...Are you fucking play with us, huh? You really think we’re stupid?” At the last word, one hand shot out to meet River in the chest with a shove. “Is that it? Say it to my face, killer! Go ahead! I dare you!”
“What a fucking idiot,” Clyde cackled from behind while shaking his head, wiping tears from his eyes as he enjoyed the show. “We’ve been working here for
years, small fry. You gotta do better than an overflowing coffee machi--”
A loud crash.
Wasted coffee pooled all over the floor and around the fallen coffee machine, bits of glass and metal splattered everywhere. The mess spread out, further and further…
It skimmed the edges of Bombay’s boots. The mass murderer shook from head to toe, wide eyes glistening behind his glasses as he switched his gaze between the guards. “Uh… U-uh, I’m sorry,” he stuttered.
“The actual
fuck!” Clyde seized Bombay by the collar of his jumper, the rage flowing through him so great that the veins in his neck bulged.
He stumbled back at the shove, eyes wide with fear. He was done for now. Yep. Over. Kidneys, goodbye. Oh, god, he was going to die up here. He was finally going to die. Alone, without any of his friends, his only true friends and they’d take him apart piece by piece until there wasn’t even a body to…
Crash!
River’s eyes bugged out of his head. Again. Further. The sight of the coffee pot shattering against the ground registered, and then Bombay standing behind it. Bombay. Bombay had… had rescued him! His heart jumped, and then.. Plunged all over as Clyde’s great hand seized Bombay. Now he had to rescue him.
River dove for the Blazer. He would stay in control this time. The Blazer was in
his hands, no one else’s. Not Dante’s. Not Fritz’s.
River pointed it at Clyde’s head. “P-put. Him. D-down.” Though his hands shook, there was something firm about the direction the Blazer was pointing. “..Y-you know I h-hit b-b-between the eyes.”
A whimper shook Bombay to the core as he slammed his eyes shut, prepared to take the beating of lifetime… Only for River’s voice to reach his ears. The grip around his collar momentarily tightened, the fabric constricting his throat painfully, before it dropped altogether. Bombay immediately scurried back while cradling his abused neck and heaving a few coughs, looking between his fellow prisoner and the guard.
Slowly, ever so cautiously, Clyde turned to face River with both hands raised. “...You’ve made the wrong fucking move, dog,” he seethed.
Then came the whirring buzz of another Blazer.
“Well, I don’t know about between the eyes…” Bourbon leveled his own Blazer onto River, eyes harder than steel. “But I think a head shot’s good enough to put your sorry ass down. Drop it!” he barked. Bombay could’ve sworn his heart was about to come galloping out of his own chest. Oxygen was depleting, faster and faster by the second, and sweat poured down his body like a babbling brooke. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t see straight. But he had to do something…
He couldn’t.
They were trapped in a high risk standoff.
River never took his finger off the trigger. Not for a moment. Not even when Bourbon pointed his Blazer in his direction. This had to
end. He couldn’t be pushed around anymore… and he refused to die on the operating table. There had to be something he could do. River glanced at Bombay, the fear pouring off of him. Something. Anything....
Internally, he apologized.
In one moment, River was pointing the Blazer at Clyde. The next, straight at Bombay. “Y-you shoot me… I shoot him. And then… R-Romana. Shoots. You.” River growled through clenched teeth. “T-two dead tributes… b-bad for business.”
Bombay gasped and froze the moment River’s aim landed on him. Pure confusion and betrayal struck him like a bolt of lightning, the sentiment so strong and sudden that he feared his own legs would give out. It was a miracle in itself that he managed to maintain control of his bladder. “Wha… W-what’re you…?”
“Shit!” Clyde growled while looking at Bourbon, sweat of his own sprouting along his face and soaking the collar of his uniform. The audacity of these mutts was unbelievable but River was right--two Tributes dying outside of the Dog Fights would prove to be catastrophic. If the Warden caught whiff of this… they’d be floating space ash before either of them could blink.
Bourbon’s trigger finger flinched, the nerves within him buzzing with turmoil. He stared River down--hard. “...You… You fucking…” He grit his teeth. “Fine! We lower our weapons at the same time. Either take it or I shoot you anyway.”
“The fuck!” Clyde hissed at his partner, face boiling red with annoyance. However, any further protest from him died as Bourbon shot him a fiery glare, a silent command to shut his yap before he did it for him.
River’s gaze scrutinized Bourbon, trying to tell if the man was lying. But he couldn’t see any other way that this would end well for the two… and River didn’t want to kill anyone. Not ever again…
“We put our weapons down… a-and we pretend this… d-didn’t happen.” River said slowly. “My… f-fellow tribute and I…. will go to the back of the l-library. Y-you’ll stay u-up front. And w-we won’t t-talk. We w-won’t say anything a-about this.”
A short pause… Then, Bourbon nodded. “Deal.” Without ripping his gaze from River, he lowered his own Blazer but refused to let it hit the floor until the prisoner’s weapon did as well. All the while, Bombay continued to tremble like a life, while Clyde remained rooted in place, skewering River with his harsh glare.
River lowered his Blazer as well. He tried to stare Bourbon down with the same intensity, tried to the best of his ability, as his only line of defense slowly met the ground.
Having River’s weapon meet the floor was like a trigger, setting off multiple things all at once. Suddenly, a sharp and booming siren filled the library as bulbous lights emerged from the ceiling, dousing the chamber in a looping red light.
Security Breach… Security Breach… Security Breach…
At the same moment, Clyde shot forward like a bullet in an attempt to tackle River; however, the unexpected alarm forced his gaze up, if only for a fraction of a moment, and that span of time was more than enough to slow him down and smack into the corner of a table.
Meanwhile, Bourbon scrambled to gather his gun once more and swung it around to unleash a round on Bombay. A stray beam of crimson nailed him in the eyes milliseconds before pulling the trigger and growled as the ball of electricity missed the teenager’s head by a few inches, leaving behind a giant scorch mark and kindling flames on the books behind him. Bombay yelped while covering his head and making a mad dash for the other side of the shelf. “R-River!” he yelled out, hoping that the fellow Tribute would take cover with him.
Everything exploded at once. He should’ve expected it would. The flashing lights, the blaring noise.. Clyde lunged and River scrambled, slipping away just in time to avoid the guard’s attack. He almost paused to laugh at the sight of the man slamming into the table, but there wasn’t time for that. His head perked up at the sound of Bombay calling him, and on his way to take cover, River grabbed the Blazer he had placed on the ground, diving to duck behind the shelf with his fellow inmate.
The adrenaline was fading far faster than it came and Bombay could’ve sworn he was running on jelly legs coated with lead. Breathing shallow and erratic, he kept hastily glancing behind him to keep the guards in sight while struggling to keep up with River. Running. Another glance back. More running. Two more glances back. Glancing and gasping for air and wanting nothing more than to curl up next to Hana and cry until his eyes bled--
Another gasp ripped from his lungs as his body gave out, all energy evacuating his limbs as he crumbled to his hands and knees. Oh god, not now--anything but now. Shakily, he palmed and scratched at the floor, as if he was trying to dig his way out to freedom. Colors and blobs and shapes and voices--
the voices. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t.
Clyde’s footsteps grew alarmingly closer, each thud heavy and frightening as he ran. Just as the guard was about to pass Bombay in pursuit of River, he desperately snagged onto the man’s legs, throwing off his balance and forcing him to the ground. “You sonuva!” With a growl, Clyde’s boot slammed into the young prisoner’s face and he grinned smugly as a pained whimper escaped him. As soon as he was released, he started clambering back to his feet again, eyes set on River.
Meanwhile, Bourbon sprinted along the other side of the same bookshelf, catching glimpses of River’s form through the gaps and empty book slots, his Blazer in hand. However, his form was built for strength rather than speed and found himself losing sight of the prisoner. He stopped in the middle of the isle, breathing hard as his mind fought tooth and nail on deciding what to do next. “Come out and fight me, you little shit!” he yelled.
Piercing the ferocity of his yell were the clangs once again. In the distance, the same metal gates heaved a groan, then jerked, before they unlocked and slowly started rising up once more. An orchestra of cheers and rowdy yelling echoed down the halls and filtered into the library, as if a riot had broken out. A riot so loud that it had to have carried the voices of hundreds of men.
Hundreds of prisoners.
Bourbon looked at the odd occurrence, his brow sweaty and furrowed. However, the realization struck him a heartbeat later and another curse swam under his breath.
The security breach. It couldn’t have been anything else.
Chaos. Everything had devolved into chaos. He’d come into the library for peace and gotten barely a second of it. The guards… fire… suddenly, the gates went up and a chorus of shouts made their way into the burning library.
They could get out.
There was an escape, but he couldn’t reach it yet. Both guards were looking just about ready to ignore the rule against killing a tribute, and River ran like hell to avoid them despite the taunting chants reaching his ears from both guards. The only thing that made him skid to a halt was the sound of Clyde allowing his boot to meet Bombay’s face.
Anger boiled within him. What made a person so sick and twisted to enjoy the mess that this prison was? To bet on the lives of others and throw them in the dirt? People were cruel and they always would be. There was no way around it anymore. He had to fight back.
River turned and leveled Clyde’s own Blazer right at him, aiming for the man’s leg, and fired.
Clyde’s eyes widened faster than his body could move. Desperately, he tried to jump aside and dodge the deadly ball of lightning, only for a nerve-crippling pain to rip up his leg and spreading through the rest of his body like a forest fire. With a strained yell, the guard fell over once more, his leg trembling, and covered with burn marks and blisters.
The moment he was down, the man grunted as a weight crashed on top of him. Bombay flailed helplessly against the larger man, struggling to make out the reality before him through the tears rolling down his face. Clyde sneered before seizing the boy by the collar again and with a snap forward, smashed their foreheads together. Bells and ringing and exploding white lights exploded all around Bombay, rolling off the man in a daze. “Fucking KIDS!” he yelled, his rage rivaling that of a wild animal. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, only to buckle and falter. He pushed up again, this time gaining some motivation and strength--
Smack!
Darkness.
Clyde flopped like a lifeless bag of meat as his baton cracked into the back of his head, completely unconscious. Heaving shaky sobs and gasps, Bombay dropped the stolen weapon and frantically sprinted behind River while trying to spot Bourbon. Unfortunately, both parties were blind on their ends. Well--mostly.
“I said come out!”
It was Bourbon’s yelling alone that they had left. The lone guard was still on the other side of that shelf, that much was obvious. The fire from before had grown--incredibly fast--eating up the vast collection of stories and paper all around, crawling along the mahogany frame…
“R… River,” Bombay hissed as lowly as he dared. Quivering hands rested on the shelf, thin arms rigid with tension as he looked pointedly at the fellow Tribute.
He needed his help.
River flinched at the sight of Clyde’s body meeting the ground. It almost hurt, to smell the burnt flesh wafting through the room, mixing with the growing smoke and flames. He levelled the Blazer again, prepared to take another shot if necessary, holding firm at the guard’s outcry, before Bombay lunged. The sickening crack made River jump, biting down on his lip. So much blood… so much pain.
A cough threatened to rip through his lungs but he held it to the best of his ability. Eyes watery, but gaze clear, River shoved the Blazer into his jumpsuit pocket and turned to Bombay, nodding firmly. He wanted it to stop. The torture. The constant fear. He locked eyes with Bombay, placing his hands on the bookshelf with a firm nod. He inhaled deeply, preparing to topple with all his might. “..Push.”
At River’s call, he and Bombay pushed the shelf with every ounce of strength they had. At first, it didn’t seem to budge in the slightest, as if it was bolted to the floor all along. Bombay’s muscles burned, threatened to snap by the fibers under the foreign stress, before a long and withering groan reached their eyes.
The shelf wobbled, tilting forward ever so slightly one degree at a time.
Then, the tipping point. Books slipped through the shelf like an avalanche and the only sound to escape Bourbon was a scream cut short and lightning burning fruitlessly at the shower of paperback. Wind and feeling evacuated his body as it was buried under the pile of books--
His consciousness fled with it the moment the shelf itself crashed over him, a booming thud echoing through the sweltering chamber. A mess of paper and wood and kindling fire.
There wasn’t a single stir from underneath.
Bombay stared at the chaos he and River created, dumbfounded and shocked into silence, before looking at him. His lips parted to speak, to say anything, only for a bubbling gag to jump in the back of his throat. His body heaved, followed by vomit spewing from his mouth and splattering the floor before him. The bile burned horrendously. His tears more so.
Once the bookshelf was falling, once it didn’t need to be pushed anymore, once it toppled and crushed the guard beneath it with a deafening thud, River was still. Unmoving. Flames rose around them, dancing on the edges of the bookcases and eating away at the words in the pages now reduced to ash. The orange fire flickered in the reflection of River’s brown eyes. He was still, and he did not move. Looking someplace else.
Not until Bombay keeled over. River jolted, like someone had snapped their fingers in front of his face. A comforting hand met Bombay’s back, brows tilting with sympathy. “It’s okay.” River whispered. “W-we’re okay. But we —“ The cough he had tried to avoid ripped out of him, leaving River hacking into the crook of his elbow. “W-we have to go.”
Sloppily, Bombay raised an arm and swiped it across his eyes and mouth, leaving behind a stained mess. The motion didn’t help much, not in the slightest, but it was better than continuously staining his boots with chunks and acid. Sucking in a ragged breath, Bombay tried to adjust his glasses, before discarding them completely. That kid had thoroughly broken the frames; he was lucky enough that the glass hadn’t shattered or else he’d be blind and bleeding by now. Fingers curled tightly into the fabric covering his sore stomach. “Okay, o-okay, o…” His diaphragm lurched with a voiceless sob. “S-sorry.”
Bombay latched into River’s wrist before either of them could register the motion, but he made no matter to regret it nor let go. This was a stranger, but he was loved by Hana and that would have to be enough for the teen until further notice. He wanted to get out of here.
River looked down at the vice grip that Bombay held around his wrist. He studied it for a moment, like it was something foreign. But it didn’t scare him. All he did was look back up to meet Bombay’s eyes with his own. Growing redder and wetter but still reflecting the flames, River parted his lips. “Y..you don’t have to apologize to me. N-not… not
ever.” He said firmly, nodding. His gaze was drawn to Clyde’s limp body on the floor, and without breaking their hold, River bent down to retrieve the baton.
“L-let’s go,” He hissed, tugging on his wrist to urge Bombay to start running with him to the exit.
Bomboy followed through the motions like a brain dead puppy on a leash. Like a brain dead Dudley… No, he didn’t want to think about that. For once. Just this once. Too much had happened already. Numbly, he trudged for the exit with River, words and thoughts failing him…
Something subtle.
Something low and rumbling and evading the prisoners’ ears.
Behind them, the pile of burning books and wood shifted, and the bleeding, broken, vengeful form of Bourbon emerged like a demon from the pits of Hell. Flashing a scowl and crimson stained teeth, he shakily leveled his Blazer. His scream rattled and gurgled like the grinding of a million rusted nails. “Die!”
He pulled the trigger.
Electricity sliced through air and smoke and heat, rocketing straight for River and Bombay--
Vrrrrrrzt!
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
A wall of crackling blue energy erupted from down below, phasing through the floor and up through the ceiling at a slanted angle, its illuminance blinding and buzzing with plasmic energy. The electric bullet met the wall with a muted whir, flattening and melding into it like butter melting on a stove, absorbed completely by the phenomenon before suddenly rocketing out again.
Straight back at Bourbon.
The guard shrieked, an inhuman and horrified sound that barely lasted a second. Soon, sizzling usurped it and the body flopped back into fire and wood, motionless.
How many times could everything explode at once? River could
feel what was happening before his brain and body registered. A flaming figure of a man, bloody and thirsty for vengeance, arose from the ashes like a phoenix.
All of a sudden, he wasn’t really keen on dying. Not this close to victory, anyway. With a desperate yell, River tackled Bombay to the ground.
It didn’t matter.
By some grace of God, a shield arose. For a moment River considered the fact that someone might be watching out for them; but up until now, that someone had done a
very shitty job. He rolled off of Bombay the moment Bourbon collapsed back into the wreckage, chest heaving, frantic breaths coming in, out, in, out. Eyes wide with shock. They’d been…
saved? They were alive!
“B-Bombay! A-are you okay?” River choked out, tone raspy.
Bombay didn’t reply immediately, still reeling from the rapid fire occurrences. They were safe. Everything was okay. He could’ve sworn it was all over--but then there was a vile scream, firing, and buzz and whoosh, then the oxygen rushed from his lungs… and he was on the ground. Blinking and struggling to recount which way was up, the young man could only bring himself to nod. Once. Twice. Several times more. Like a bobblehead with a loose hinge. Wincing and rubbing his tender back, he sat up, gaping at the glowing barrier before them. “W… W-what is…?” he muttered, pure confusion making his brow furrow.
Nothing about today was making any sense. Absolutely nothing.
Gently, Bombay tugged River’s wrist, his grip having never faltered from the tackle. “W-we gotta go,” he said while staring at the prisoner pleadingly.
Trying to catch his breath, to stop it from running away, River glanced back at the pile of ash that Bourbon was now becoming. He nodded again, frantically, and picked the baton up once more from the ground. “I-I’m never s-s-setting foot in a-another library.” River choked out, pulling Bombay along to the exit.
Bombay scrambled along while nodding vigorously. “D-ditto,” he rushed out.