As elated as he felt watching that bitch scream under the flames, he couldn't stay and watch. His plan had worked, but at what costs?
Where the fuck was he? And was he still alive?
Torn didn't know why he especially cared--why he was still attached to a bastard like Erol--other than the fact they had strong history. Rivalry, disagreements, hostility, but not always. Not when they were younger, and Mardammit if Torn wasn't somewhat sentimental.
Fucking broke his heart to see the cock-sucker writhing like one of his own test subjects across those steps.
"Dumb piece'a shit," couldn't've done it without you.
Oh, great. Torn. Part of him hoped that he would see his way to put Erol out of his misery; the other part railed in fury at even considering begging him for a mercy kill, and hated Torn all the more for having the power to do so.
Granted there were plenty of worse options. Precursors curse him to hell if it had been Dexter - or the boy -
"F... f... fuck you-" he managed before a broken scream of agony ripped his voice in two. Twisting, he kicked onto his side, body struggling to escape even though he knew it was useless. A pained gasp, what might have been a whimper, and he's returned to his back, spine arched so nothing touched the ground between shoulders and hips, desperate to escape the signals from his own nervous system.
Without much to-do about it, he removed a blade from where it'd been tucked into his girdle, and approached the writhing officer. There's no recovering from this, and he wouldn't waste his eco even if there was. Torn blindly trusted Redd's system, not knowing there was always a possibility.
Kneeling on a step beside him, he cradled the younger man's head in his hand. In his other hand was the knife. This was familiar, a flipped version of years ago when Erol held Torn's head up off an airtrain floor. Torn's hands had been shackled behind his back. Just like now, they both knew why the other was holding a knife in one hand and a former brother in arms in the other.
Erol had shut his eyes in agony, but they fluttered open again at the touch. He knew what was happening here in a glance, and was caught between fury and sobbing relief. Thank Mar, it was going to end // how DARE Torn take mercy on him??
It was neither of these that prompted him to latch on to the older man's forearm like it was a liferaft. Quite literally, that's what he was. Something else to cling to, another focus besides the pain, another person...
Why it was so desperately important to hold on to another person, Erol didn't know. Maybe the touch of a former comrade meant something... maybe it was nothing more than base instinct.
A choked sob of pain made its way out of his throat before he strangled it back down, covered it with short, panting breaths - quick enough to lead to hyperventilation, but that would be a boon at the moment.
Comments 7
Where the fuck was he? And was he still alive?
Torn didn't know why he especially cared--why he was still attached to a bastard like Erol--other than the fact they had strong history. Rivalry, disagreements, hostility, but not always. Not when they were younger, and Mardammit if Torn wasn't somewhat sentimental.
Fucking broke his heart to see the cock-sucker writhing like one of his own test subjects across those steps.
"Dumb piece'a shit," couldn't've done it without you.
Reply
Granted there were plenty of worse options. Precursors curse him to hell if it had been Dexter - or the boy -
"F... f... fuck you-" he managed before a broken scream of agony ripped his voice in two. Twisting, he kicked onto his side, body struggling to escape even though he knew it was useless. A pained gasp, what might have been a whimper, and he's returned to his back, spine arched so nothing touched the ground between shoulders and hips, desperate to escape the signals from his own nervous system.
Reply
Kneeling on a step beside him, he cradled the younger man's head in his hand. In his other hand was the knife. This was familiar, a flipped version of years ago when Erol held Torn's head up off an airtrain floor. Torn's hands had been shackled behind his back. Just like now, they both knew why the other was holding a knife in one hand and a former brother in arms in the other.
He wouldn't make the mistake Erol made.
Reply
It was neither of these that prompted him to latch on to the older man's forearm like it was a liferaft. Quite literally, that's what he was. Something else to cling to, another focus besides the pain, another person...
Why it was so desperately important to hold on to another person, Erol didn't know. Maybe the touch of a former comrade meant something... maybe it was nothing more than base instinct.
A choked sob of pain made its way out of his throat before he strangled it back down, covered it with short, panting breaths - quick enough to lead to hyperventilation, but that would be a boon at the moment.
Reply
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