Nightshift 24: Second M Block, Near the bathrooms and exit
((Coming from here.))
It wasn't a long way to go before he wound up at the doors leading out of the cellblock. Kimbley couldn't quite remember what room Wesker said he was in - not that it mattered - but he knew it would still be a while. The doors had just unlocked; he wasn't expecting anything, or anyone, else to show up and recognize him for a ( Read more... )
"The hell..." He mumbled, and he fell out of bed without much regard for where he landed or who might have been watching. Luckily for him, a bleary glance towards the other bed in his room told him that he was alone, and as he gave a low groan and rolled onto his back, he realized he was no further out of this weird purgatory than he'd been before.
He scowled.
A moment later, the door from his room slammed open with the ferocity of something caged, though his gait was unsteady as he walked down the length of the hall, and he growled to himself when he found he had to lean a hand on the wall for support as he rounded the corner into the area between the patient rooms and the bathroom.
He used his other hand to hold his head, swaying.
Fuck.
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A figure staggered out of one of the hallways, bracing himself against the wall as if in pain. Kimbley came a few steps closer, realizing that there was something familiar about this man. Short black hair, ridiculously ta --
The back of his left hand held a tattoo.
The Ourouborous.
Greed.
This was one person Kimbley knew was supposed to be dead. He'd seen the skull collapse, knew the man was far from alive. He shouldn't be here. But if he, himself, was here - back from the dead with no signs that showed him as worse for wear - then there was nothing that said Greed couldn't be alive, either.
Alive, and looking for revenge on the man who'd wound up getting him killed.
Kimbley took several steps back, planning to take off through the exit door. He wasn't really a coward, but when faced with an angry Homunculus who wanted you dead - well, Kimbley didn't want to die again just yet.
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"The hell do you think you're doing?" He grumbled at whoever had been checking him out before straightening slightly and leaning his back against the wall. When his shoulders hit the cool surface, he paused, looking towards his left shoulder and seeing that the bandages that had once been holding it together were gone, as well as the pain that had come with them.
He smirked. Maybe the bastards had done him a favor, and maybe now they'd pay for it.
He leaned forward, feeling steadier as he crossed his arms over his muscled chest and glanced towards where he knew the exit to the main hallway was. This time, he'd kick some ass, this time--
Some kind of familiarity stopped his vision and made it crawl backwards to a shadow that stood out worse than a bad memory.
That---
The beam of a stray flashlight caught the figure's face, and for a moment all Greed could do was let his own countenance fall.
It tightened again, in a wild grin.
"Well, well, well."
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The second time was now.
For a few long moments, Kimbley was frozen in place by that sharp grin and the murderous intent in those purple eyes. But he was a soldier, trained to react on a moment's notice; within a few seconds he had broken out of his stupor and took another few steps down the hall, away from Greed. Fast steps. And shortly he turned away, trying to get as much space between himself and the irate homunculus.
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"You always were a chickenshit!" Greed yelled as he began to give chase, though after a scant few steps, he realized why he'd taken a breather once he'd gotten down the hall in the first place.
He swayed mid-run, keeping his equilibrium for a lucky second before blood rushed to his head like a flood to an ocean, and his side slammed into the hard floor.
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Kimbley didn't see it happen, but not long after Greed's words processed in his head he heard a distinct thud. The chasing footsteps had cut off. Curiosity sneaking up on the cat, Kimbley paused in his run and glanced over his shoulder.
Greed was on the floor.
Hah. So this place had weakened him - and more than it had done so to Kimbley. Unless this was just a lucky moment, exhaustion and idiocy all catching up at once, his sudden sharp fear was crushed by a smug sense of superiority.
Instead of running while he had the chance, like he should have, Kimbley turned all the way around and pointed his flashlight directly at the fallen homunculus and gave a wide, cruel grin.
"At least I can stand up," he said, ready to spring backwards if Greed should suddenly recover from his fall.
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But then again, homunculi also weren't supposed to be in a disgraceful mess on the floor while some double-crossing slimebag stood over them and laughed.
Greed's fleshy palms pressed against the floor faster than his weakened shield could cover them, and though his violet eyes narrowed in the wake of the mocking light, the taunt did more to anger him than it did to hinder him.
"So can I," the homunculus growled in response to the slight, shoving himself up despite his lack of balance and glaring at his quarry. Although he still wasn't solid on his feet, his hands were finally covered in black carbon, tense as they hung at his sides and he began to grin again.
He lunged.
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He leapt back, but in his newfound hurry the side of one foot caught on the other, making him stumble. As he slammed a hand out to catch the side of the wall, he realized that this one tiny detriment was going to cost him too much, and that he had to move a lot faster than he was to get away from Greed.
In the time it took him to think this, his feet had scrambled back at least another foot, but it was too little too late. Greed lunged and slammed into him, black-clawed hands (hell! he still had those, and he couldn't even start making someone suffer by touch?!) catching him and sending his flashlight clattering down the hall.
Kimbley slammed into the floor back first and immediately tried to scramble out from under Greed, not in the least bit opposed for going for the eyes to give him even the slightest chance to escape.
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Such an attack towards a homunculus might have been laughable back home, but here, it could prove a little more fruitful, if not very. Greed hissed at the desperate ferocity and shut his eyes, jerking back just far enough to allow the bomber more room to move, though whether or not he could get away was still a question up for grabs.
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His legs were still caught, though, as was most of his lower body. Kimbley tried bringing his knees up and shove back to no avail. Still with his forearm pressed viciously against Greed's throat, Kimbley jerked the arm caught in the carbon-clawed grip, trying to free himself from the potentially deadly grip.
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He managed to keep enough of a hold to dig his claws in at both of the points where he grasped his adversary, and it was he felt them pierce skin that he looked up and smirked once more.
"I wouldn't... do that, if I were you."
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Before he'd ever gotten a chance to see Mustang, and the expression the man was guaranteed to have.
Damn it.
Still, he kept his arm right where it was, only pulling it back the slightest bit. He strained his head and neck back, trying to take as little damage as possible from those damned claws. He was in a bad spot, and he knew it - now there was just trying to find that one opening, that one damn opportunity, where he could kick once and jerk his whole body and escape those freakish hands. And not get killed in the process.
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"Can't you guess?" he asked in a dry, almost bored, tone. "The only thing worth living for: the opportunity to kill."
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That is, unless he wanted someone dead, which meant that Kimbley was up one shitty creek.
"You always were a shallow ass, weren't you?" Greed growled through grit teeth, yanking Kimbley's neck up and pressing it hard against the wall. "I got you all out of that damn prison. You owed me."
Survival of the fittest or dog-eat-dog, the bastard might reply, but Greed knew it was more than that. This hadn't been about survival; it'd been about some asshole moving on to his next kick. It wasn't a sentiment Greed was unfamiliar with, but it also wasn't a sentiment that should have fucked him over.
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Normally, Kimbley wouldn't have seen any reason to validate himself, especially not to Greed. But hell, he was dead. Greed was dead. And they were both here, with suppressed abilities, neck-and-neck and looking for revenge. (Greed was, anyway.) Why shouldn't he tell the homunculus exactly what the truth was? The truth was usually more interesting than a lie, and got better reactions, anyway.
"If you look at it that way," he hissed, fingers curling into his palms, "then I don't owe you anything."
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