Sinner's Run Ch. 03

"That's that freaky Experiment chick's thing," Nala snarled.

"We should insert ourselves into this fight," Larka said. "It is still early in the Game, if we can stop them now, they won't have a chance to run amok during the rest of the game."

"I agree," Nala said, and pulled the trigger of her Vindicator. The heavy round traced a neat path through the air, hitting the dirt a foot to the left of Montana. "Ah, shit. They know we're here now."

"They would have found out eventually," Larka said, drawing the Sunburst off her back. "Now, we fight."

"I mean, do we have to?" Noah asked, watching the fight below intensify. "Can't we just wait it out until the very end?"

Nala shot him an annoyed look. "Not with these three assholes you can't. Also, I don't do the 'hide and wait' game." She shouldered the Vindicator rifle and took the N-99 submachine gun off her lower back. "We're going. Stay here and get picked off if that's how you want to be!" Nala ran forward, letting her body weight fall backwards so she could slide down the hill towards the fight.

Noah gave Larka a pleading look. The fraskarian shook her head. "We fight as a team. The key word there is 'fight.'" She followed Nala. Noah watched them go for a moment, before making a frustrated noise and following suit. Every instinct he had was screaming at him that he was going the wrong way. The mortal fear of getting shot again rose in his mind. But the alternative was remaining alone and getting picked off. He'd gotten lucky against the team of two. The odds were stacked against him even more now that there were three-person teams. He really didn't have a choice.

So he followed in Larka's footsteps down the hill and across the flat plains, making sure to keep the sparse trees between him and the fighting as much as possible. "Taking a shot," Nala's voice said in his earpiece. The crack of her Vindicator followed. "Sorry Archangel."

"Stay close," Larka said, racking the slide on the Hacksaw. "Isnitz gunthr."

Before Noah could ask what the phrase in her species' language meant, Larka rushed around the corner. Another of Nala's Vindicator shots lanced through the air, aimed at a target they couldn't see. Noah stood still, paralyzed by fear and overstimulation. His hands shook, the rifle in them rattling.

"Hey, get in there!" Nala yelled down at him. "Larka needs help!"

A rustling sound behind him made Noah turn around. Fidget hit the ground with a comical oof behind him, a large armor cell appearing in her hands as she replenished her defenses. She didn't spot him at first, not until she turned and started reloading her gun. Then she yelped and took a few steps back.

"Wait, hang on," Noah said, stepping towards her. "I'm-"

Fidget slapped the bottom of the magazine in her N-99 home and took aim. The pit of Noah's stomach dropped out.

At least until a deadly accurate Vindicator shot from above hit Fidget in the chest, making her shields vanish in a flash. "Oh, yikes!" she yelped, before spinning and sprinting away.

"Hold still, dammit," Nala hissed, as more shots kicked up the ground around the running Fidget. "Shoot her, you idiot!"

The command registered with some vestige of Noah's brain, and he brought the Hyperion in his hands up. The sights centered on Fidget's back, growing smaller with each passing second. The shaking had gotten so bad the side of the rifle knocked against his jaw. He was supposed to pull the trigger? Just like that?

Larka thundered back around the corner, popping the top on a large armor battery. "Finyan, are you alright?" she asked, as her shields flashed back into life.

"Incoming!"

Nala slid down the slope and landed next to them, just as a hissing noise sounded from above. All of them looked up to see lengths of red material coalescing in the sky. Larka barked something that sounded like a curse and grabbed the big shield generator off her back. She tossed it to the ground, and a second later it flared to life with a loud mechanical hum. The red missiles dropped, cracking against the large dome shield. It held fast against the impacts.

Nala grabbed Noah by the collar and pulled him close. Her easygoing expression was gone, replaced with one of anger and annoyance. "Get. With. The. Program."

The panic boiling inside Noah burst free. "I didn't ask for this!" he yelled in her face. "This isn't something I wanted to be a part of! Everyone was just standing around talking twenty minutes ago and now we're trying to kill each other!"

"What the fuck did you expect, Killer?" Nala snapped back. "This is the Run. We may all get along at the Barracks, but out here, everyone knows the score." She shoved him away, contempt curling her lip. "Don't make me carry your ass to the winner's circle."

"They come," Larka said, jamming the stock of the Hacksaw into her shoulder. "Ready yourselves."

Larka's dome shield vanished. Gunfire immediately lanced into the space it had covered from Quirrel, who was shooting from a crouched position in the distance. A moment later, the red cloud from Experiment 32 whipped through their position. The mist stung Noah's skin through his armor like a swarm of hornets, making him howl in pain.

Nala and Larka attempted to fight back, shooting at Quirrel, but the wiry man ducked behind a rock. Footsteps sounded above them, and Noah looked up in time to see Experiment 32 leap down into their midst, armed with a Thunderbolt automatic shotgun. She held down the trigger, chunking Nala's shields into nothing with three rapid shots. Nala snarled and lashed out, but 32 backed up, still holding the trigger. Three more shots took Nala down to her knees, clutching at her abdomen. "Oh, fuck this!"

32 turned around. Her scarlet eyes appraised Noah with a look of bored disinterest, as if he was nothing more than a part of the environment. She calmly yanked the drum magazine out of the Thunderbolt, another materializing in her hand as she loaded it into the weapon. It clicked into place, and the sound seemed to burrow into Noah's ears right to his cerebral cortex.

He let out a frantic, terrified scream and brought his gun up. The barrel pointed right at 32's face as he pulled the trigger. However, Noah had fired a real gun a grand total of once in his life, the day before, and had no awareness of the concept of recoil. The gun swung wildly upwards, the laser shots going way over 32's buzzed hair. In his panic, Noah didn't register this, and kept firing until the Hyperion was empty. He stared up at the sky for a long time, breathing heavily.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Nala muttered.

Noah looked down just in time to see 32 set the stock of her Thunderbolt against her shoulder. "Wait," he began.

She pulled the trigger. The first two shots took away Noah's armor. The next three hit his body. Noah didn't know what he expected, but it was far worse than any kind of pain his mind could have conceived. The buckshot tore into his body, as if searing ball bearings had been driven into his flesh. His mind went into shock immediately, registering the mist of blood poofing out with each shot. Pain like he never imagined suffused his entire being, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than for it to stop. Behind 32, he saw Larka fall to her knees.

Then 32's final shot hit him right in the chest, and Noah was treated to a lovely image of blood misting in front of his face before blackness crashed down on him.

A shame, but not entirely unexpected. The first Game is always the hardest. The aftermath, even more difficult.

Noah opened his eyes. Light stabbed down, and he winced, closing them again. His hands slid against a cool, smooth surface.

"Hey, Killer. Wake up!"

A foot kicked him in the side, immediately making Noah's eyes snap open. He jackknifed up into a sitting position, blood rushing to his head and making the world spin. "What the-" He took another kick in the side, making his body twist away from the blow. "Augh!"

"What! The fuck! Was that?" Each phrase was punctuated by a kick.

"Nala! Ablashka! Enough!"

The kicking stopped, and Noah rolled onto his side, clutching at his flank as his mind caught up with his surroundings. He was back in the Atrium at the Prime Barracks, none the worse for wear. Well, save for the ache slowly creeping through his side from the heavy kicks courtesy of an irate Nala. The kaldar was being held in a full Nelson by Larka, the bigger fraskarian lifting her bodily off the ground. Nala's legs were still kicking like a cartoon. "Get off me!" she snarled. "I owe him two more, one for each shotgun blast he just sat there and let me eat!"

Noah remembered the pain of being shot, the blood misting up in front of his face. He looked down, hands scrabbling at his chest armor. The breastplate came off with loud pops, clattering to the ground next to him as he poked and prodded at his chest. Everything was as it should be. There was no grievous wound that should have been there, no evidence he'd ever been shot whatsoever. Yet he clearly remembered the buckshot tearing into him, and how much it had hurt. "What the fuck?" he whispered, his voice shaking.

Nala squirmed free of Larka's grip. She tackled Noah to the ground. Her fist cracked across his jaw twice. That pain was very present and very real, and Noah threw up his arms to defend himself.

"Oh so now you can act under pressure!" Nala seethed, leaning her whole weight down on him.

Larka's massive white paws immediately scooped Nala up and hauled her off Noah. "Be still!"

"Oh fuck off, Larka, I got it all out of my system."

Noah sat up slowly, holding one hand against his side and another against his jaw. Nala was back in the full Nelson, glaring daggers at him. "So it was a fluke you won yesterday. Got it."

"Oh, be off with you." Larka let Nala go and gave her a shove towards the D Hallway. "Go! Rashaak!"

Nala snarled, showing fangs, before stalking off. Her tail lashed back and forth behind her as she dragged her claws against the metal walls, the keening sound ringing out through the Atrium as it receded down the hall.

Larka knelt down by Noah. "What happened, finyan? Why did you freeze like you did?"

Noah looked down at his hands. They were shaking again. "I couldn't..." he began. "When Fidget came down the slope, I just froze. And then she just...took aim at me. Like we hadn't just been talking together a few minutes ago." He let his head fall into his hands. "How can she...how can she do that?"

Larka was silent for a time. Then her hand gently nudged under his arm and lifted. "Come, finyan."

Her strength alone was enough to hoist him to his feet. Noah let himself be led down the A hallway, to the third room on the right. Larka tapped the door, and it slid open to admit them. She ushered him inside, and the door slid shut behind them. "Excuse some of the mess," she said.

Larka's quarters had the feeling that they'd been occupied for a long time, rather than the fresh, sterile feel that the room Noah had slept in the previous night. The smell he'd caught off her fur permeated the space and everything in it. Larka had a large bed to accommodate her bigger frame, nestled into the corner next to a wide bedside table. A chest of drawers ran along the wall next to it, with a strange metal apparatus sitting in the corner. Next to that was a long desk with a computer on it. A small kitchenette took up the last wall, with what looked like a fridge next to something that definitely a sink of the future and a hot plate. In the center of the large room was a round table with several comfy-looking chairs around it. It looked like a miniature apartment rather than a bunk for a gladiator.

"Sit, finyan," Larka implored him, gently nudging him towards one of the chairs in the center of the room.

Noah sat down hard, as if his legs had been cut out from under him. HIs body felt weighted, his hands still shaking like they were on the verge of being frostbitten.

Fabric rustled as Larka knelt down in front of him. She folded her large paws around his trembling hands. "Finyan. Breathe deep with me." She took a deep breath, her dark eyes fixed on his face. Then she exhaled slowly. "Join me."

"You keep calling me that," Noah said. "Why do you keep calling me that? What does it mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're breathing," Larka said, continuing to breathe in and out.

Noah swallowed, feeling like if he did it any harder he'd lose some of his tongue. He waited for her to exhale, then inhaled with Larka, pursing his lips as he did so it was almost a whistle. She held the breath for several moments, then exhaled, and Noah did the same. At first it seemed ludicrous, but after a few repetitions, them just simply breathing in silence for a time, he felt his hands begin to grow still in hers.

"That's it," she said softly, rubbing the back of his fingers. "Finyan means 'young one.' It is a term of endearment."

Noah nodded, trying to figure out what it was he wanted to say. "I'm sorry," was what he finally settled on.

Larka nodded once, slowly rising. "Enduring pain is never a pleasant thing. Death, even more so. But it is the life we chose to live. Agan and again." She moved over to the apparatus in the corner, slowly tapping critical cinches on her armor to loosen the plates. "Until we finally are granted what we seek."

Noah felt a chill crawl up his spine. "I died, didn't I?"

Larka dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Or came as close to it as most never will. The enigmas that run the Games have access to technology the likes of which seems impossible. We sustain mortal injuries, yet return to the Atrium as if nothing happened. Our bodies become wracked with pain, yet we wake up whole. I questioned it for a while. Now, I simply accept it."

Her chestpiece came off in two halves, connected by the straps that hooked over her shoulders. Underneath it she wore a ratty, well-used undershirt that clung to her fur. Muscles bulged under the fabric like little mountains and valleys, a physical strength to match the inner one. The shirt had two long openings down the back to accommodate her wings, which Noah could see nestled into little nooks below her shoulders. His eyes were drawn to those muscles as they flowed down to her waist, where a tiny little bob of a tail flitted to and fro.

"I just saw Fidget and froze," Noah said, still staring at her back. "And then she made to shoot me and I locked up even more. It was like we hadn't even talked before."

"It is the nature of the Games." Larka continued stripping off her armor with slow movements, as if the process was a sort of ritual. "Though I was here before she, I cannot begin to count the number of times she has eliminated me, and I have eliminated her."

"So that's just it? You all just lay waste to one another out there and everything's all okay when you all get home at the end of the day?"

"More or less," Larka admitted, getting down to her boots. They went at the foot of the armor rack, leaving her in her underclothes. She turned and moved back to him, kneeling down in front of him again. "Keep breathing, finyan."

Noah forced himself to suck in air and blow it out slowly. "I couldn't do it," he said. "I'm not the kind of person who can just do that."

She looked into his eyes. "Then what are you doing here, finyan? Why did you seek to join the Games?"

"I didn't!" Noah's voice started to spike in volume, and he forced himself to speak normally. "I didn't seek to join the Games. This place isn't real. It's just... just a game to me. I don't know how I'm here right now talking to you."

Larka inclined her head to the side. "I do not follow."

"All of this isn't real," Noah said, forcing his voice out through a tight throat. "Yet it is real. It doesn't make any sense."

Larka reached up and touched his forehead, her blunt claws gentle against his skin. "You feel real to me," she said. "A moment of hesitation is not uncommon. In fact, I think it's a good sign. You don't just take to the vicious cycle of the Games. For me, it was something I had to learn."

"Because you failed in your duties as a Warden," Noah said in a quiet voice. "You weren't trained to be a killer."

Larka recoiled, her eyes widening a little. "How do you know that?" she breathed.

Noah realized his mistake. Coming from a world where Sinner's Run was just a video game, there was an entire page on the official website dedicated to character lore and backstory. All of the Primes came to the Run for their own reasons, some of them more open than others. Larka was one of the ones who bore a secret shame, a need to repent that drove her to compete in the Games. As a fraskarian Warden, her job had been to protect noncombatants in skirmishes between her species and pirates. During an attack on an aid convoy, her frustration had boiled over and driven her to take up a gun and fight. But in her pursuit of some of the pirates, it had allowed the remainder to pillage and destroy the rest of the convoy, killing dozens. Distraught, Larka had journeyed to Sinner's Run to pay penance for her mistakes, competing for winnings to send to her allies in the Wardens and support them like that.

Nobody else on the Run knew about that. He, in this bizarro world, had no business knowing about that. What could he say to recover? "You, uh, carry yourself like a Warden," he ventured. "I've met a few. And nobody just leaves the Wardens, so you must have done something to warrant leaving."

Larka stared deep into his eyes for several moments before blinking and turning away. "My shame is my own," she murmured. "As I'm sure many of the others have their own."

Lingering on the subject seemed a bad idea, so Noah tried to pull the focus back on him. "I don't have any," he said. "I mean, aside from like, being antisocial. And eating sweets that my mother told me not to when I was a kid."

Larka chuckled. "You are quite virtuous."

"Which is why it doesn't make any sense that I'm here. All I know is that one night I went to sleep, the next I woke up on the dropship above the Run. That voice, the announcer or something? It was in my ear during the preliminary game yesterday. It said I wasn't supposed to be there, but didn't do anything about it because it said I might be 'interesting.'"

"That in and of itself is interesting," Larka said.

"And now I've got Nala pissed at me because I couldn't shoot Fidget, and I'm still shaking at the thought of having to shoot at Fidget." A thought occurred to him. "And if the teams are random, that means I may have to fight you at some point. Or Nala. Oh, Christ, she's going to rip me apart if that happens." The color drained from his face. "Do her claws hurt?"

"A fair amount."

"That doesn't help!" Panic was surging inside him again, along with a burning desire to run somewhere, anywhere.

"Breathe," Larka reminded him.

"No, I'm tired of breathing!" Noah sprang up out of the chair, pacing back and forth with his fingers threaded into his hair. "This is a nightmare. How am I supposed to get out of here? I can't fight the others, I don't know how to leave, I don't know what I'm doing here..." He trailed off, his fingers clenching against his scalp. His legs trembled, threatening to give out.

Larka moved behind him, her strong paws coming down on his shoulders. Her thick fingers massaged into the skin, pressing deep and rubbing against the top of his shoulder blades. "Breathe," she implored him. "In and out."

Noah took shaky breaths, standing in silence with her behind him. Maybe it was his fragile emotional and mental state, but her presence alone was having an effect on him from being so close. The clear scent of hers floated around him, making him shudder for wholly different reasons. Her fingers exerted a constant, stimulating pressure on his body, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sensation. The kneading sent tingles through his shoulders, the feeling flowing down to his feet.